Warcraft 1. Chapter 1: Maldelic

"If a body loses its will, the will to live, it dies! If a soul loses its body, it may still linger as a ghost… but that is because of its will. If that does not prove what I say, then think of the worst alternative: when body that loses its soul still lives. Although it hungers for the soul it lost for all time; it still walks the earth. Beings such as that will claw at the edges of others' souls and create more soulless in the pursuit of finding what they lost, but their attempts to replace a lost soul are as futile as attempting to forge a pristine diamond from coal dust. What causes that body to continue to seek in vain? The will does! Pray to whomever it is that you humans worship that you will never be left as a living will without a soul. Even I, a taker of souls, ensure that the body is slain when the soul is taken. But, I digress. Let us continue the lesson."

**Chapter 1: Maldelic**

"Your soul is mine." A drowned sounding voice seethed as a violet stone formed in his hand and bearer of the soul from which he formed the stone dropped dead. Holding the stone out like candy, he cast a summoning spell. In response to the call, a Voidwalker which he had dominated ages ago appeared and became his to control once more.

"Send me back!" The voidwalker cried out to no avail, but its master had already moved on to take the soul of his next victim.

Pausing to order his minion, the master flaunted his domination of the lesser demon. "You will not go back, you will attack them." The summoner, a warlock by training, pointed at a group of high elves who were standing guard at the Quel'lithien lodge in the Northeastern hills of Lordaeron.

The entire area surrounding the Quel'lithien lodge had become a corrupted and rotting land known as the Eastern Plaguelands. A dank mist hung in the air across the entire region and everything was in a constant state of decay and disease. The only plants that seemed to grow well anymore in the Plaguelands were mushrooms, and they grew to be fifty or more feet tall. Certain places, such as the Quel'lithien lodge and the grounds upon which it stood, were protected and purified by the magic of the elves. The warlock envied the elves for this and committed himself to make them suffer as he had suffered; however, this was only an excuse for the warlock to take what he really wanted: the elves' souls.

Souls were the currency of the warlock's trade. With souls he could summon demons, defeat his enemies, and even craft marvelous magical stones. While most warlocks would take only the souls that they needed, this warlock was obsessed. Many of his comrades and mentors wondered why he kept so many souls, but none of them asked. In truth, everything the warlock did lead him to take more souls. The people whom he took the souls from were varied too. While some warlocks would only take the souls of those they condemned, this warlock collected on a whim. Even more peculiar was the warlock's practice of taking souls from beasts; these souls were much less valued by the common warlock then those of intelligent beings.

Once when a merchant noticed his hoard and asked him why he kept them, he furnished the strange reply "Because they sing to me". Every soul that the warlock captured cried out against its imprisonment, forming an eerie song for any warlock willing to listen. Most warlocks never listened for this song or blocked it out if they began to hear it, but this warlock was completely obsessed with perfecting it.

"Yes, master." The voidwalker obeyed and charged headlong into combat as his master stood back and picked away at the elves in a symphony of shadow and flame.

Each elf who fell to the warlock gained him another soul to use; they all spoke shrill pleas, crying to be released in some way and at least not fed to one of his demons. After having cleared the lodge, the warlock held his rotting hand to his dry bug-eaten chin. "Good, now to find more. I have enough whining elves and anguished lamenting scourge souls." He spoke to himself as he usually did. "I need souls to add strength to the symphony… Scarlets should do."

The 'Scarlets' that the warlock mentioned were the many and zealous members of the self-titled "Scarlet Crusade". The Scarlet Crusade was a group of humans that had risen up in opposition to the undead scourge that had gripped the plaguelands, the Horde, and even the Alliance to some extent. Despite their sophistication and organization, many viewed the Scarlets as an overgrown pitchfork mob. To the warlock, the zealous shouts of their contained souls added force and volume to the 'song' that he heard all the time. The nearest 'infestation' of scarlet crusaders was in the southeastern city of Tyr's Hand; a city-state which had managed to protect itself from the blight that had transformed eastern Lordaeron into the Plaguelands. It would take him more than a week to reach the borders of Tyr's hand even at full gallop, but the warlock was willing to search far and wide to try and perfect his masterpiece.

Climbing onto his favored steed, a dreadsteed from Xoroth that bore the name 'Keidran', the warlock began to make way for Tyr's Hand. Even though the steed did nothing but carry him, the horse was famed for being more malignant and evil than any of his lesser demons. After riding for a few hours, dreaming of how he could perfect his symphony with only the most powerful and deadly of Scarlets, the warlock quickly pulled his steed to a halt. The abrupt stop was called for because the warlock felt a pulsing from the bag that he tossed his soul shards into. Opening the bag, the warlock quickly discovered that the offending object was a small globe that he had been given by the brotherhood of warlocks who were in the service of the Dark Lady.

Service to the Dark Lady, Sylvanis Windrunner, and her undead followers who were known as the 'Forsaken' had always been a touchy subject for the warlock. It was true that he was a member of the Forsaken and he had carried out missions for the banshee queen in the past, but he was no soldier and he truly served no one except himself. Picking up the globe curiously, the warlock spoke to the stone in almost the same languid tone as the voidwalker which also accompanied him. "What do you want from me?"

The voice returning through the stone belonged to an Orc who had come to the great Undercity in Lordaeron to train the less experienced Forsaken warlocks and indoctrinate them into the brotherhood. The warlock had not spoken with the Orc or needed his training in quite some time. "A message has come for you from a powerful warlock. You will return to the Undercity to receive it." The Orc, whose proper name was Kaal Soulreaper, spoke to him.

"Why should I? If this is a message, leave it in the postbox and cease your prattle." The drowned voice continued, not wanting to be disturbed from seeking Scarlet souls.

"Prattle? Do not forget where you gained your training warlock." Kaal threatened, angered by the insolence of his former student. "This message comes from a power that neither of us is fit to question."

"My name is Maldelic. You will remember that." The warlock simmered for a moment, angry that he was being called to return at a time like this. "I am not coming! Whatever this is, it is not more important than my symphony."

"I have heard enough of this disrespect!" The voice paused for a moment. "Come here!" The warlock in the Undercity caused the stone to glow brightly. Before Maldelic could toss it aside, the stone summoned both him and his dreadsteed to the Undercity.

The Undercity was the capital for the Forsaken. It was a buried city located deep underneath the ruins of the former Human capital city of Lordaeron, although calling it a city barely did it justice. This capital was an underground metropolis for the undead. It was amazing that such a large cave structure could hold up with an abandonded city on the ground above it. The metropolis was constructed following a pattern of concentric rings with various catacombs and chambers twisting off of it. Most trade activities took place along the center and inner rings while the craftsmen and trainers did business in the outer ring. The outer ring was divided into quarters which were named for the types of warriors that trained in that quarter. The destination within the city that Kaal pulled Maldelic to was the Temple of the Damned within the Undercity's 'Magic Quarter'.

This temple, the center of all warlock and mage activity within the Undercity, took up the majority of the 'Magic Quarter'. Adorned with a gigantic stone skull and a tiered top portion, the temple resembled a ziggurat. The building had several large entrances; two on the sides that led to the top floor of the temple and two on the front which led into the main room. The main room was a large circular open space that reached to the roof of the temple. This room was lined by multiple stories of smaller chambers where warlocks and mages slept and practiced their arts. Typically, warlocks kept to the lower floor and the main room while mages resided in the side chambers and upper floors of the temple. With the rituals that the warlocks practiced below, no one could blame the mages for wishing to train as far away as possible within the gargantuan building. If the amount of shadow and arcane energies channeled in that building were part of a single spell instead of separate practices, they might have torn a hole in the world.

The light was dim in the temple as usual, coming only from ritual candles on the ground and the torches around the walls of the main room. The warlocks in the temple preferred dim light, for anything brighter reminded them of the holy forces which they abhorred. To match the dim light, he air in the main room carried a dank smell which was a mixture of brimstone, incense, and rot. It was amazing that any being aside from an undead could tolerate such a smell for an extended time, but nevertheless many of the warlocks in the temple were Orcs. Most Orcs on Azeroth had returned to the ways of their forefathers and embraced the elements, but there were still those who studied shadow magic. Perhaps the Orcs put up with the smell of the Undercity because they knew that this city was the furthest they could go from the watchful and ever-wary eyes of the Warchief, Thrall. The scent was so thick in the air that it coalesced as visible smog and hung around the ankles of the temple's inhabitants, shrouding their boots and the shorter demons that they had summoned. Rats roamed the temple freely, often being swept up and eaten by hungry imps who stood around waiting for the next command from their masters. Although the temple itself and the entire Undercity were only five years old, the decay from being a bastion for the Forsaken sometimes made the buildings resemble ancient ruins more than recent constructions.

"Damn you Kaal, it will take me a month to get back to the Tyr's Hand!" Maldelic exclaimed as soon as he appeared. Looking for the dark Orc, Maldelic thought first to attack him and then suddenly heard Kaal's malevolent voice whisper "May your flesh be cursed with weakness!" at him. Falling off of his steed, Maldelic found that he was barely able to climb up to one knee again. "What is the meaning of this? I have little time. I must complete my symphony."

"What? Are you a bard by profession?" Kaal stepped forward into the light of one of the torches and laughed heartily, knowing that Maldelic was subdued.

Kaal Soulreaper was an Orc of average stature and above average intelligence. Any Orc who could convince the Warchief to let him remain a member of the Horde while practicing shadow magic could be called cleverer than the average Orc. Although Kaal was not the most powerful warlock in the Horde, he was certainly more powerful than any of warlocks whom he had trained, Maldelic included. The Orc always wore long dark robes and his eyes glowed red like a caged demon was peering out of his soul and waiting for a chance to escape. Despite this caged disdain, the Orc was always willing to share his knowledge and bring more Orcs and Undead into the fold. Kaal had a few simple demands from his students: obedience and respect; Maldelic showed Kaal neither of these and so he often incurred the Orc's rage.

"Warlocks have no need of such frivolous pursuits. Now, stay your tongue insolent pup." The master warlock leaned over into the shadows once more, picked up a bag that had been sitting at his feet, and threw it at Maldelic. "You don't deserve a gift like this. You are a greedy and disrespectful warlock who hordes souls. You never pursue advancement among us and you never give anything back to our dark brotherhood. The world would be well rid of you and your constant ranting about symphonies and music." The evil Orc paced back and forth before the weakened undead, the shadows making him look much larger and more imposing than he really was. "Nevertheless, you have received a calling from the Greater Shadow Order of the Itjahzi; a legendary order of warlocks whom I have only found mention of in archaic texts from this world. In all of my work raising new brethren I have only been contacted by a greater order once. Being contacted by a greater order, especially one as powerful as the Shadow Order of the Itjahzi, is a calling that comes once in a lifetime. You could never have warranted this on your own."

"So you're jealous then?" Maldelic interrupted Kaal, grinning at his victory over the Orc. "It is a shame that I have been summoned to them and you have not; since you seem to idolize them and I know nothing about them. I will answer this summons to spite you then… as soon as my symphony is complete."

Ignoring the Undead's insolence this time, the warlock trainer focused on what Maldelic had said. "I thought you a fool before, undead, but you would be truly mad to ignore summons from a Greater Order. The only reason I am even giving this package to a lowlife like you is because ignoring it would also mean my death. Now, take it and get out of my temple." Kaal barked angrily at the impudent Undead.

Able to move again, Maldelic slowly climbed onto his steed and trotted out of the temple, trying to run his steed through as many ritual symbols as he could on the way out. The Undead considered if he was getting out of practice in being bested by Kaal Soulreaper, but then again he had never tested his former master's full power. Quickly, the warlock put the idea aside as he looked at the package which was sent to him. The package itself was a plain brown wool bag which was tied with a simple rope. The only remarkable part of the package was a small vial which was tied to the other end of the rope which closed the bag. Untying the vial, Maldelic raised it to his eye level as he crossed a bridge over the putrid green river in the Undercity. The vial appeared to contain only a rolled up piece of parchment, so the warlock leaned over as he led his horse off of the bridge and broke the vial on a higher part of the stone edge of the bridge. Although everything was trivial compared to his hunt to complete his symphony, Maldelic decided to read the note and humor the 'Greater Order'. Glancing at it once, the warlock suddenly pulled on the reins of his steed to make the demonic animal stop and then examined the note more carefully.

"I know the perfect symphony for which you search and I hold it deep within my soul. All of your attempts are shameful and for naught. If you ever want peace, you will come. –M.D."

The warlock grew angry, confused, intrigued, and paranoid at the same time after confirming what the note said. Dismounting, the warlock led his steed over to an empty spot along the walls of the magic quarter and then sent the steed back into the nether. Placing the package on the ground and sitting down beside it, Maldelic tried to calm himself down by talking the situation over with himself. Aside from his obsession on symphonies, the time Maldelic spent talking to himself also made him stand apart from the crowd. The warlock never believed it was useful to talk to anyone else, but he needed to talk aloud to himself to be able to hear his thoughts over his symphony. "How?! How could anyone know about my symphony or know what it will be? Who has been watching me? How do they know what I want?" Maldelic upended the bag to examine the rest of the contents.

"Runes of teleportation… pah." The warlock rifled through emptied contents of the bag and chuckled at its contents. Continuing to search, the Undead found an item of more interest. A small golden signet ring was in the bag, bearing two initials on the top, a name repeated on each side of the edge, and a curious phrase around the band. The ring also appeared to have been used to seal wax on letters before. All of the writing on the ring was in the language known as 'Common'. Although the Forsaken accepted a dialect of Common called 'Undercommon' as their language, many of them still knew Common from their human lives. Maldelic only had a cursory knowledge of Common as he retained no memories of his human life. Piecing together what he knew, the warlock slowly translated the ring as he examined it. Starting with the phrase on the band, Maldelic read the text. "Enlightenment through exploration." The Undead translated the phrase from the band. "Is this some sort of trite motto? This is completely irrelevant." Turning the ring to look at the top, Maldelic continued. "M.D." The warlock looked at the lettering on the top of the ring and then suddenly grabbed the note from the outside of the bag. "M.D. here too! This ring belongs to the man who wrote this." Peering closely at the edge of the ring's top, Maldelic focused on the last bit of writing on the ring. "Drakivaz… Drakivaz? I know this name. Why do I know this name? I've never heard it before. It must be his last name if he is M.D. Now, why would he send me a signet ring?" The warlock thought for a moment then shrugged and slipped the ring in his pocket. "It should at least fetch a few silvers at the market, but why do I know this name? There must be more in here."

Only a few moments before, the selfish warlock had not cared in the least about the summons, but now he was intrigued by the names and the notion that someone might know the symphony of souls which he strived endlessly to create. Pausing for a moment, Maldelic considered another possibility to himself. "This could all be the work of that damn Orc. He knows I have mentioned my symphony and he disdains my search. If he is tricking me with something this close to me, I will kill him." The warlock jumped up, slamming his hands together in anger. "I don't care if the city exiles me, I will kill him!" Maldelic nearly yelled, quieting down and sitting against the wall again upon noticing that he was drawing attention with his vocalized internal monologue.

Examining the rest of the bag's contents, the warlock was nonplussed. The bag contained warm clothing that looked to be his size, some meager and smelly rations, a few torches, and finally a great shadowy hammer-head with some rusted out engravings upon it. Recognizing that one of the markings on the hammer-head was a common alliance marking, the warlock quickly slipped the hammer back in the bag followed by the other items he had dumped out. "Clearly, whoever he is, he doesn't care for my safety."

Although the better part of his instinct drew him to return to his task of gathering souls, Maldelic was intrigued by the note and the contents of the bag. Taking out the runes of teleportation, the warlock set about assembling the small glowing shards on the ground. The runes fit together like pieces of a puzzle, forming a large circle adorned with shadowy symbols. For once in his unending pursuit of his symphonies, the Undead's heart moved him away from his search and towards the mystery that lay before him. Looking closer at the runes, he saw that they were made of a strange ice which wasn't melting. Taking his gloves off for a moment, the warlock touched one of the runes and found it so cold that it was painful to touch. Continuing to puzzle the runes together once he had put his gloves back on, Maldelic began to talk aloud about the situation once more. "The Itjahzi; an order I've never heard of. Not that I care much about orders and hierarchies anyway. My task is far too important for me to waste time on such organizations. I expect this 'M.D.' must be a powerful warlock to have me summoned, but if he is vulnerable and knows my symphony then I will just take his soul and tear my masterpiece from it bit by bit."

Moving blindly ahead, Maldelic quickly completed the summoning circle. As the last rune was placed, the separate pieces glowed with a bright blue light and fused together. The warlock knew enough of the mage's school of magic to tell that the runes led somewhere far away, but the location runes within the circle were a character set which he had never seen before. Being used to endless searching, this only intrigued Maldelic further. Picking up the bag, the Undead looked around the Magic Quarter once more to see if Kaal or anyone else was watching him. Seeing no one, the undead stepped onto the runes while talking aloud again for re-assurance. "All curses on that damn Soulreaper if this is some sort of deception." The warlock disappeared along with the bag in a nova of frost and shadow energy.

* * *

"_Good, he has used them. Now, let's see how well he can hear me." A voice in the dark commented; the progress of the warlock was watched by unseen forces_.

Maldelic appeared on his back in the middle of a barren snow-covered field. To the south, he could see pieces of stonework jutting out of the snow and to the north, the silhouette of a great tower rose many miles in the distance. The warlock could tell that the horizon obscured most of the tower from his view. The Undead stood up and tried to regain his senses. Some teleportations were as simple as stepping through a portal as if it was a doorway, but this teleport had been rough. The warlock felt weakened and disoriented, like he had been pulled through the twisting nether between places by his neck and dropped at his destination. "Where has this taken me?" he shivered, which was unusual for an Undead. "What cold can make the dead feel it? This should not be possible." Maldelic looked around and saw more barren tundra to the east and a forest of sickly trees in the distance to the west.

The wind howled once more, almost knocking the Undead over. "This must be Kaal's trick; send me here to freeze solid." The warlock searched through his bags for the globe that Kaal had contacted him through. Frowning in disgust, he realized that the globe was powerless in this location. Throwing the device across the snow, Maldelic looked at his surroundings in more detail. To the west, in the direction of the forest, he now saw the gaping entrance of a cave. The warlock could have sworn that the cave has not been there a moment ago. The cave opening was facing east, so the Undead knew it would be out of the fierce wind if he could reach it. Opening the sack again, Maldelic pulled out the warmer clothes which he had noticed and quickly pulled them on over his robes.

"These fit perfectly." The warlock commented aloud and picked up the sack again once he was dressed. "M.D. knows far too much about me." The traveling outfit consisted of a grey fitted long coat with buttons to fasten the front shut, a heavy woolen hat, a set of thick gloves, and a re-enforced set of boots. The circlet that the warlock wore for battle caused demonic horns to appear on his brow, so the warlock had to rip holes in the hat for it to sit properly. Much to his despair, Maldelic had to take of some of his battle gear to fit into the warm clothing. Having to take off these valuable protectives, like his shoulder armor, put Maldelic ill at ease. Despite the worry, the prospect of becoming a frozen ever-living statue was worse than losing some protection.

All the time that he was dressing, Maldelic thought of where he might be and of what he would do to Kaal Soulreaper when he returned to the Undercity. "Once I find a way south again, I'll get ahold of some seaforium charges and blow up his temple. South? How do I know I'm in the North?" Maldelic looked to the sky and studied the angle of the sun to confirm his suspicions. Coming to an epiphany about his location, the warlock suddenly shouted out. "Northrend… I must be in Northrend. No wind or cold could cut like this except on the frozen continent. Why have I been brought here?"

Looking to the cave again, Maldelic shivered and began walking towards it. "I'll have to find out once I am out of this wind; my joints are starting to freeze up." The pace of walking was slow and the cave was deceptively far away. Initially believing it to be close by and nearly too small for someone to fit in, the warlock quickly discovered that it was large enough to fit a fully grown dragon. Reaching the entrance, the Undead pulled one of the torches out of his bag and set fire to it with one of his common spells. Out of the wind, Maldelic rested against the edge of the cave entrance and thought about what to do. He knew that he wanted revenge on Kaal for this trick, but he also knew that he had no good way to return to the Undercity. Perhaps if he stood still enough Kaal would summon him back, thinking he was frozen and dead. Pausing to examine his surroundings, Maldelic became completely distracted from the idea of revenge. This cave was not a typical cave past the entrance and the warlock had failed to notice that as he approached. The inside of the cave was lined with a strange blue crystal. The entire wall bore the crystal, but veins of higher concentration also ran through it. Being a miner by profession as well as an engineer, the warlock knew rocks and minerals. Nothing Maldelic had seen before resembled the crystal on the walls of the cave. In addition to the crystals and the cave, the area had a magical aura about it. The warlock could tell that the aura was arcane because he had a sensitive place on the back of his head that tingled and burnt when he was exposed to arcane magic. Never having had this examined, Maldelic had learned to ignore the feeling and use it to figure out when mages were nearby.

Thinking back on this tactical ability, the warlock looked deeper down the cave. "I know what you're doing Kaal, you've hired some mages and hid them down this cave." The warlock said quietly to himself and then turned and yelled down the tunnel, straining his drowned-sounding voice so that whoever was in the cave could hear him. "I know you're in there, assassins, come out here so you can at least see who is going to kill you!" For a moment there was no noise from the cave, but then the echo of what Maldelic had said returned to him. Shockingly, the echo sounded different; it lacked the drowned gargle of his voice and sounded almost human. "What trickery is this?" The Undead yelled down the cave again, receiving the echo in the same voice as the first echo. Leaning against the wall of the cave again, Maldelic sat down. "Well, I'll just wait out here then. They'll get bored eventually and come closer."

The warlock had planned to keep a vigilant watch and the edge of the cave, but after a short time he ended up falling asleep. Maldelic never dreamed, and so sleep was a minor inconvenience rather than something for him to look forward to. This time however, the undead had a vision while he slept. In the vision, he saw a man sitting at a large wooden table surrounded by darkness. The table was worn and looked to be made from wood common to the parts of Lordaeron outside of the plaguelands. The only light was coming from a single large candle and a small oil burner which was keeping some colored wax hot. The table was stacked high with rough blank pieces of paper, envelopes, and sealed letters. The man at the table was writing a large number of short letters. For each short message, he poured a few drips of the dark green wax on the envelope fold and pressed his ring into the wax to seal the letter. The ring which he used was the same ring that was now in Maldelic's pocket. Maldelic could not make out the man's face, but he could hear the man. As the man worked, he quietly hummed a curious low-pitched melody. Upon hearing this melody, all other thoughts ceased in Maldelic's mind. The warlock stopped paying attention to what the man was doing and to the surroundings in the vision because the melody was perfect. The notes, the transitions and the rhythm were exactly what the warlock hungered for. Although he had worked for a long time on his symphony, Maldelic was still stabbing at the notes and had thought nothing of a tempo. The great hunger that filled the Warlock's body and drove him to endlessly work on his masterpiece was completely satiated by the sounds he heard in his vision. Feeling extreme relaxation, Maldelic simply stopped and listened to as much of the music as he could.

Waking suddenly, Maldelic looked around and felt the emptiness grip him again. His torch had burned down in the time that he had slept. After realizing that no one was there, Maldelic looked down his nose and noticed an icicle had formed on it. Breaking the ice away, the warlock tried to grasp from memory at the perfection that he had heard briefly in his dream, but the tune had already left him. He could not find the melody again; only the cacophony of all the souls he had captured filled his thoughts. Speaking aloud to himself, Maldelic reviewed what had happened. "A dream… I never dream. Kaal is playing games with me, but how could he know such perfection." The warlock thought back to the note as he stood up and paced around the mouth of the cave. "M.D. might be real. Was that him in the dream? I can't remember. This might just be another temptation to put me off guard!"

In answer to his doubts and without his request, Maldelic suddenly heard a hint of the same melody from his vision coming from the depths of the cave. Lighting another torch and racing down into the cave about twenty yards, Maldelic hoped to come upon the source of the sound. As soon as he had passed the entrance, the crystal on the walls shimmered and then grew across the mouth of the cave like water freezing on a pond. The transition was quick, so quick that by the time Maldelic realized what was going on, it was finished. Turning around and dropping the torch, Maldelic ran back to the mouth of the cave and began to beat on the newly formed crystal. "Let me out of here you damn Orc!" The warlock protested loudly, hearing the human echo from the depths of the cave once more.

As Maldelic continued to rant and pound on the crystal, his torch slowly went out again and gave way to complete darkness. Looking around, the undead strained to make out anything in the cave until suddenly, the crystal all around him lit up with a dim blue glow. Ceasing his cries for release, Maldelic wondered at his surroundings. The arcane aura he had felt was magic running through the crystals and not some group of hired mage-assasins. Now the magic caused the crystals to glow when all other light failed. Staring at the walls, the warlock noticed the thick veins were not staying in one place. Shapes and pictures began to swirl about the walls of the cave, as if the crystal was trying to communicate with him. One of the shapes interested Maldelic enough to call him away from the cave entrance. The thick veins of crystal had coalesced to form a map of Azeroth on the wall. As he approached the map the crystal veins focused on the High Elven lands of Quel'thalas, shifting to represent only those lands and not the rest of the world.

Quel'thalas had been ravaged by the undead scourge and the Lich King during the so called "third war". Maldelic had never liked that title since it was one used by Humans and wasn't even a war between orcs and men as the first two wars in this era had been. Since that time, which was over six years past, Quel'thalas had remained closed to everyone except the elves. Maldelic had only ever killed elves for the harmonies they could sing in his symphony, so he was nonplussed as to why the map would show him Quel'thalas. "Why has this changed? What does this cave have to say to one such as me? I have no past to be reminded of and I want no future aside from the one where my symphony is complete." Maldelic looked into the luminescent depths of the cave.

Still curious, Maldelic decided to touch the map and see what would happen. Reaching out, he felt that the crystal on the wall was warm from the energies flowing through it. As soon as his hand was on the picture, the crystals lit up brightly. Trying to pull his arm away, Maldelic noticed that it would not move from the wall. "Oh, I'm going to regret this." He looked at the wall as a beam of blue energy shot from the crystals into his eyes. The warlock's vision clouded over and his consciousness faded.


	2. Chapter 2: Arisia

**Book 1 - Chapter 2: Arisia**

_"Why her? What's so important about including her?" A voice spoke in the depths of the caves beyond where Maldelic's body lay unconscious._

_ "Because I want to remember that, I don't want to just start with the terror that came later. You know that I cannot speak much from here, my friend. The memories only go so far, your scrying must do the rest to spur it onwards" Another voice echoed in reply to the first._

_ "So you really wish this? It's an existence which I wouldn't wish upon my greatest foe. You should surrender yourself to oblivion, it is only for your service that I have given you any other option." A third being chimed in with a very dark voice._

_ "I cannot. I will not die yet. We begin." The second voice ended the conversation._

* * *

For over five thousand years, Quel'Thalas had been the home of the high elves. Led by the elves of the Convocation of Silvermoon, the kingdom had gone through millennia of peace and war alike. Although some of the lands within the borders of Quel'Thalas were still held by their ancient owners, the Amani trolls, the elves saw fit to claim the entire peninsula extending northward from the main body of Lordaeron as theirs. Aside from the mainland the elves also claimed the large northern island of Quel'Danas and several smaller islands. Quel'Thalas and its associated islands were bordered by the North Sea, which stretched from the north coast of Lordaeron to the southeastern reaches of Northrend. The kingdom was tranquil, eternal, and beautiful.

In a small elven village near the sea on eastern coast of Quel'Thalas, a young high elven girl with light blonde hair which came to midway down her back sat on a low tree branch near the village square and slowly turned the pages of a spell book. Above all, the high elves prided themselves on their ability to manipulate magic. It was in pursuit of the right to practice magic that they first left their ancestral home across the great sea and founded Quel'Thalas. While most elves chose different callings than magic, all elves had at least some basic knowledge of the subject. The girl who studied her spell book so diligently was named Arisia Wrathfletch, though she hardly ever was addressed by anything more than Arisia. This young elf studied magic all the time, and for her it was not understandable and a grueling task. This did not dissuade her, for she knew that one day everything would fall into place and she would be the greatest mage alive.

Very early in the Spring each year, just as the Silverleaf was beginning to sprout, a caravan came through Arisia's town. The caravan was known simply as "The Northern Caravan", for it traveled between Quel'Thalas and the great forests of the Grizzly Hills on the northern continent of Northrend.

The Northern Caravan had become a celebrated event in the town. Each year when the caravan visited, it was a time of reunion and of new beginnings. Many elves returned from their journeys to settle down while eager young elves joined the caravan to get out and see the world. The best of goods were set out for the members of the caravan while the caravan set out its best findings to share with the local elves.

Looking down from her perch, which was partly concealed by the new-grown leaves, Arisia had a great view of the central square of town where the 'Market' between the townsfolk and caravan had formed. She winced and rubbed one of her temples for a moment while sighing. Her studies were being quite cruel to her today and the noise and bustling in the square didn't help one bit. Trying to concentrate on her spell book and block out the brouhaha from below, she looked again at the spell for Arcane Intellect. "Maybe I should try Frost Armor, Arcane Intellect might make my headache worse," she mused.

"Arisia? Is that you, Arisia?" a voice hailed up from below and behind the young elf.

Almost rolling off of her branch in surprise, Arisia dropped her spell book and caught herself around the branch. Now hugging the branch closely for safety, the girl turned her head towards the source of the voice. "Yes. What is it?" she answered, sounding flustered.

Bending down to pick up the dropped book, the elf who had addressed Arisia smiled up at her. "Do you remember me? It's been years since I was last here."

"Ranilok? Ranilok Ithfira?" Arisia said in surprise, almost losing her grip again. Giving up the high perch, the girl swung down gracefully and stood in front of her old friend, quite eager to speak with him. "Years? It's been ages. Twelve years, right? Are you coming back to stay? You left just after the war."

The war which Arisia spoke of was the second war between orcs and humans. Although neither of them had been personally involved in the war, they were old enough to know that it was happening and feel fear when the orcs burned the southern borders of the forests of Quel'Thalas. Although humans won the war with the aid of the high elves, the elves suffered a great number of casualties. In response, the Convocation of Silvermoon isolated the country, letting its alliance with the humans, dwarves, and gnomes decay.

Ranilok had left with the Northern Caravan three years after the war's end and he had not been back since. The elf had many reasons for leaving including the death of his father, Merador Ithfira, and his mother, Silassa Ithfira, at the hands of the orcs. Merador and Silassa had been a magisters in the high elven capital city of Silvermoon, and Ranilok would be expected to take up his father's place before too many more years passed, or risk losing his family's status in Silvermoon. Some thought Ranilok reluctant to take the prestigious position, but he left because he wanted to see the world before he was expected to bind himself to the capital city.

Handing the book back to Arisia, Ranilok smiled. He had always had a fondness for his slightly younger friend. "Well, you're almost right. It's been fifteen years, not that long really. I wanted to make the journey and see how Quel'Thalas has changed. You haven't changed much, you're still beautiful. So what have you done with yourself all these years?"

Arisia looked around for a diversion for a moment, but saw nothing which could serve as one. "I am still studying magic. I have a few more years, the Kirin Tor are not looking for apprentices right now." Arisia smiled as she took her book back. The girl was honest about her age, but she mentioned her age like an excuse. "Not much has changed around here." Arisia expertly changed the topic as she raised her arms to gesture at the greenery around her. "The woods are quiet. It's been so peaceful that my mother even stepped down from her place among the rangers."

"You're kidding, right? What would she do with herself?" Ranilok was visibly surprised, but as soon as he spoke he glanced back towards the caravan. Not waiting for Arisia to answer, Ranilok moved on. "Why don't you come over to the town square? I'm actually supposed to be minding my table right now."

Arisia thought about the caravan for a moment, and then shook her head. "No. I'm really not interested in the caravan. It's too busy."

"I'm sure you'll enjoy it. You could use a new spell book." Ranilok shrugged away Arisia's concern and then gestured at the ratty blue spell book she held. "That's the one you've had since I left." the elf keenly remembered and then took Arisia's hand, towing the reluctant girl over to the caravan. Although she did not put up a fight, Arisia felt annoyed about having to be in a crowd.

Ranilok's table was set up in front of a traveling coach that was hooked to a smaller open-top wagon. The caravan was well established enough to have comfortable traveling and sleeping arrangements in the coaches and separate storage for goods and tools in the open wagons. Although the caravan was rich enough to have coaches, the vehicles were built practically and for warmth rather than splendor. Each coach was a plain-looking closed-top conveyance with a full wood roof and sides in order to stand up to the cold; canvas would not do in a place like Northrend. The interior of each carriage was filled with personal items, furs, and small magical burners which could maintain fire-based magic without the aid of a mage.

The table where Ranilok had laid his wares was provided by the village as the caravan could not afford to carry large numbers of tables with them. Ranilok's table was stacked high with spell books and also had a few small stone trinkets. A crowd of eager buyers awaited Ranilok's return, each of them heavy with gold in order to satisfy the high prices of obtaining such rare items. Ranilok had cast a shield over his books so that the crowd could look but not touch while he was away fetching Arisia. Lowering the shield, Ranilok began to service the buyers in turn, raking in gold as he did. Arisia stood and watched the exchanges from in the crowd, slightly cross that Ranilok had brought her to his table only to ignore her. Being continuously bumped from side to side as elves and men rushed by, Arisia quickly darted to the other side of the table and shook herself for a moment, like the crowd was dirt that she was trying to dust off. Sighing, she leaned heavily against the wheel of the coach behind the table. "Why did he bring me here if he was just going to work!" she spoke quietly to herself in a flustered manner as she watched Ranilok making sales.

The crowd continued to mass at the table, not giving Ranilok a moment of rest. As time passed on, Arisia became more annoyed with being ignored by Ranilok. Leaning forwards to see the books that everyone was haggling over, Arisia saw that they cost far more than she could ever dream of affording. Judging from this, she guessed that they must be full of material that was far beyond her understanding. It puzzled Arisia that elves would be giving up what must have been their life's savings for frosty-looking books, and she wondered if she would have to tender such large amounts to advance her knowledge some day.

Looking back from the books to Ranilok, Arisia saw that he was still heavily absorbed in bartering with a thin, aged-looking, magister over one of the stone trinkets that had been brought back from Northrend. Sighing, Arisia decided not to wait any longer and slipped off towards home, being bumped around as she fought to escape through the crowd.

Arisia's home was larger than most high elven houses in the small village, having two full floors as opposed to being a simple one-story round structure. As with other structures, it was constructed from light colored stone and had a brilliant blue roof. Although the house was large, it was only occupied by Arisia and her mother Adria. The majority of the space in the house was full of memories and artifacts from Adria's time as a member of the Farstriders, an elite group of archers who served Silvermoon and protected Quel'Thalas.

The name Adria Wrathfletch was known in the historical accounts of the second war. The elf had been a distinguished captain among the Farstriders and had survived several notable battles. Within the Farstriders her assignment had been scouting, however she had often been used in special missions requiring precise use of a bow over long-distances. The family line that Adria and Arisia continued was so important that the name Wrathfletch endured as a family name despite the patronymic naming scheme prevalent in high elven society. After the Second War, Adria had taken a typical path and returned to Silvermoon to train new recruits before they were sent to regular postings throughout elven lands.

Arisia's father, Kelthir, had not been as lucky as Adria. Kelthir had been a member of the Kirin Tor and had joined the Kirin Tor expedition after the borderlands of Quel'Thalas were burned. The expedition traveled beyond the Dark Portal, which was a tear in the fabric of reality that transported one to the orcish home world of Draenor. The elf was never heard from again, and news eventually reached Adria that the Dark Portal had been sealed. Arisia had taken up magic in his honor, rather than continuing the legacy of Wrathfletch women joining the Farstriders.

Arisia entered the house looking flustered. She had decided to run home from the square to escape the clamor and collisions that she had been faced with. When she entered, she saw Adria was sitting propped against the side of one of the long couches in the house. The woman was fletching some arrows. After completing each arrow, she would touch it to a gem embedded in a ornate bracer lying on the table nearby and it would quickly disappear in a small flash of magic. The bracer had a near-twin upheld on a display among other pieces of Farstrider memorabilia. Both bracers were made of a thin silvery metal and were covered in bands of runes. The full bracer wrapped the space between ones elbow and wrist, then tapered off from that point to a diamond-shaped section which sat over the back of the hand. The large gem on each bracer was positioned on this plate and if worn properly would be centered over the back of the hand. The bracers had no visible split in them, but also were also too well fitted to be slipped off over the hand. Only women of the Wrathfletch line knew how to open the bracers.

Immediately, Adria started at Arisia with questions, as she always did when the caravan came through town. "Have you decided to sign up this year?" she asked.

Turning red with embarrassment and annoyance, Arisia shook her head, "No. I haven't signed up any year before when you asked."

"But you were young then," Adria made an excuse for Arisia, "you're certainly of age to go now."

"Mother, the last time you asked me was last year! Nothing has changed." Arisia raised her voice slightly in annoyance.

"Isn't that the point, though? You need change. Sitting around here minding the house isn't going to do you any good." Adria touched another arrow to the bracer and watched it float for a moment before it disappeared.

"I need to stay here and study my magic. I'm sure Father would want me to, and the Kirin Tor might be accepting apprentices soon." Arisia defended the course that she had been on for the last fifteen years while pacing around the room. The girl remembered why she had gone to sit in the tree outside in the first place – she wanted to avoid her mother's badgering.

"Kelthir would want you to make something of yourself." Adria's tone grew solemn. She did not like to mention Kelthir because it only reminded her of his absence.

"I am making something of myself! I just need more time. Do you really want me to leave this house that badly?" Arisia kept up her defense, though she felt guilty for raising her voice this much to her mother.

Keeping her calm as she always did, Adria continued and then looked down regretfully, "If you get too much older, no one will be willing to take you on as an apprentice. You are my daughter, and I love you, but the Kirin Tor would never take you. They are the most powerful magi in Lordaeron." Looking up again and into her daughters eyes, Adria's tone became very serious and critical. She did not like to be this way with Arisia, but she felt that studying magic would be a hopeless dead end for her daughter. "Can you even cast one new spell that you've learned this year? What about last year? You don't even have your spell-book with you."

"Of course I have it, it's right here." Arisia looked down at her satchel and noticed that aside from her coin-purse and some other odd items, it was empty. "Oh no!" She ran back to the door for a moment and looked out at the bustling crowd in the square. Turning back to her mother with a look of shame on her face, Arisia spoke quietly. "I must have dropped it. I'll have to go look for it once the crowd is gone."

Seeing that the argument had been taken out of her daughter, Adria backed down on her assault. Adria had a habit of doing this and it made Arisia feel guilty of some sin she could not name. "Of course, I will always be proud of whatever you choose to do."

To Arisia, this meant: "I will never be proud of you unless you make something of yourself." Arisia wondered if every mother had the power to say something and imply the exact opposite, or if it was something her mother had learned from the Farstriders. Sighing, the girl walked quickly up the stairs to her room on the second floor and looked for a story to read until the crowd waned for the night.

While the girl only had one spell book, she had shelves upon shelves of fictions. Whenever magic study became too nerve wracking, which was often for her, she would sit down and read a through a story. Usually, the stories would lift her spirits and she would feel like having another try at her spells. However, if outsiders had been privy to her habits, they would easily see that she read fictions ten times more often than she picked up her spells. Currently, Arisia was working her way through the story of Kurdran Wildhammer and his gryphon Sky'ree. The girl wasn't much of a historian, so she did not know if Kurdran even existed in the first place. Nevertheless, the stories of his heroic acts in the second war and his noble choice to stay behind and continue the fight when the portal closed touched her. She thought that perhaps her father had made the same valiant choice.

Maybe if I go with them I can find the magic to bring him back, Arisia thought seriously of the going with the caravan for her father's sake. She had dreamed of being the one to find a way to bring the expedition back ever since she had taken up magic. No. I get to thinking this every year. They're going the wrong direction and I would only be doing what she wants. The thought of giving in to her mother's wishes put the girl off of the idea of joining the caravan even more. The girl despised being pushed and prodded so much to leave. Truthfully, she might have gone on the caravan years before if it had been her idea. Unfortunately, her mother thought of it first and had not let up on the idea since then. Going back to her reading, Arisia dismissed the idea of the caravan. They would be gone in the morning and her mother was only at her worst when the caravan was in town.

* * *

By the time that the crowd cleared from the square, it was dark and the torches were lit. Arisa had eaten some cheese and bread rather than preparing a meal or asking her mother to do the same; she did not want to endure more lecturing. The girl headed back outside after finding a coat to wear over her dress; as the nights were still chilly this early in spring. Creeping quietly, Arisia moved towards the wagons in the town square.

She wanted to find her book and get back to her house most of all, but she also wanted to catch a glimpse of Ranilok again. While he had annoyed her earlier by ignoring her, she didn't hold it against him. Ranilok had changed so much since he had left, and she thought him handsome when she would never have entertained such thoughts before he left. Then again, she thought, Ranilok was wasn't really concerned with her either before he left. He had always been concerned with showing the new spells he had learned to all of the other young elves in the town. It wasn't just spells that he had shown every time, in everything he was a show-off. For a moment Arisia considered the human saying 'absence makes the heart grow fonder', but soon Ranilok came into view and she put it from her mind. Stopping for a moment, Arisia admired Ranilok, he was standing at his table and studiously writing down some figures on paper. Perhaps, she continued thinking about him, he had grown out of showing off. If that was the case, he would be even better. She had always liked his short fiery-red hair and his eager and intense attitude. If he were mature now, she might have to ask him to dinner. He would probably be too busy with the caravan to think of asking her.

Heading to his table first, she saw him fold up the paper that he had been writing on and start stacking the books that had been stacked on his and nearby tables. Ranilok had not had this many books when she was at the table earlier; he must have been packing for the entire caravan. Arisia stopped suddenly again when she noticed there was still a bit of a crowd in the square; they had been obscured from her view as she approached. The crowd was composed of elves and humans her age, arranged in a half circle around a speaker, who was giving his speech in the human language known as "Common". Having observed the caravan in past years, she knew that this was the group of new recruits receiving a speech about what to bring and what to expect. Ignoring them, she finished making her way to Ranilok's table.

"Oh, there you are," Ranilok looked up and greeted Arisia, "I apologize for being inattentive before, but there was a magister who was sure he had seen trinkets like mine which had cost less gold and wanted to offer me that price. He did not seem to understand that in coming from Northrend, these trinkets are uniquely old and valuable. I hate it when people take the work that we put in to finding these things for granted. It would be like comparing Frostweave cloth to Linen. Sure, they are both cloth and they are both used to make clothes, but they aren't equal by any stretch of the imagination." Ranilok stopped himself, noticing Arisia glancing over at the crowd instead of paying attention to him. "But, sales can be quite boring. So, how was your evening?"

Ranilok had guessed at Arisia's boredom correctly. She had lost him as soon as he mentioned the magister and had turned towards the voice that she heard from the crowd. Arisia was sure that the man speaking to the crowd was not the same man who had spoken in years past; he was far too young. The speaker was a human of normal stature with shoulder length black hair which hung in a loose and unruly manner, but was at least kept out of his face. He spoke slowly and with deep voice that resonated far beyond the crowd without any exertion on his part. Arisia thought his voice much like the one she imagined her books narrated by. He spoke very formally and with such perfect pacing and emphasis that Arisia wondered if he spent all of his time practicing rather than doing anything useful. For some reason from his rough appearance to his deep voice, Arisia found the man handsome. He was definitely not the same type of handsome as Ranilok. Arisia could see herself going to dinner with Ranilok, but she could see this man lying on a bed with her and reading stories to her as she drifted off to sleep. Listening to him and continuing to watch, she began to consider whether she found Ranilok or the speaking man more attractive. The girl was so lost in thought that she didn't notice for a moment when Ranilok stopped talking. "Oh yes, sales can be boring. I wish I could afford one of these books, but I can't even read them." Arisia looked back and caught up with the conversation after a moment of awkward silence, distracting herself from comparing appearances.

Forgetting his question about her evening, Ranilok replied. "They aren't skilled books. I knew spells from some of the books I have left here when I was only three years into my studies in Silvermoon before the war. You must have taken a break from magic while I was away." Ranilok commented, thinking it impossible for Arisia to have studied so long and come up so short.

"Yes, I took a break." Arisia lied, blushing from embarrassment. Looking around on the ground for a moment, Arisia frowned. "I lost my spell book in the crowd. That was the book that my Father started with before he joined the Kirin Tor."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I would offer you one of these, but you said you couldn't use them and I doubt I could replace a book of such significance." Ranilok spoke as he used a levitate spell to move a few more stacks of books into the wagon. Arisia looked jealously at what he was doing, thinking Ranilok was showing off again. She had tried for years and she could not even lift one of her hair-clips. Catching herself, she remembered that Ranilok had no idea how bad she was at magic, so he was just casting common spells for a mage of his skill. While Arisia looked around the sides of the table and Ranilok continued to lift books, the speech to the caravan recruits finished and the recruits dispersed to prepare to leave the next morning. Seeing that the crowd was gone, Ranilok looked to Arisia. "You could ask M. He wasn't selling today and he might have noticed something."

"What kind of a name is M?" Arisia questioned Ranilok. She had heard strange names given to men before, but she had never heard of a man named for a letter.

"It's what we call him. I don't think anyone who knows him uses his full name," Ranilok said as he turned back to his book stacks. "I am almost finished here, M is over by that wagon." The elf pointed with one hand as he continued to levitate book stacks with the other.

Looking where Ranilok had pointed, Arisia realized that the only man he could have meant was the man that she had been staring at only moments before. Immediately the girl blushed as her thoughts drifted back to comparing him to Ranilok. Slowly approaching the man, who was turned away from her, she saw that he was rolling up maps and packing documents that he had been presenting to the crowd. He was more muscular than Ranilok, but shorter. Nevertheless, he was still slightly taller than her. She liked the way that his hair swayed and shook loosely as he worked to pack up his supplies. He was also humming a curious deep melody. Arisia had never heard one quite like it, and her fantasy of him reading to her quickly grew into one of him singing her to sleep. Stopping halfway, she tried to clear her mind. Get over it girl he's just a man, a man with a silly name, she silently reassured herself.

"Another year, hopefully I will do as well with it as Daniel." The man quietly thought aloud and then paused. "If you mean to say hello, please say it rather than sneaking up on me." He spoke without looking.

Arisia turned as vibrant a shade of red as some of the leaves did in Autumn upon hearing the man. Sheepishly, she stepped into the light of the square and continued to approach the wagon, the blush quickly fading from her cheeks. Without realizing it, she had been walking up to the wagon in the shadows of the trees at the square's edge. "Your name is M?" Arisia greeted the man with this question to ensure that she had approached the right person.

Closing the chest into which he had just loaded the last of his documents, M looked to Arisia. He had seen plenty of elves during his travels, and Arisia was prettier than most of them in his eyes. Putting looks aside, he and greeted her in a jovial manner. He seemed very intelligent and full of energy to Arisia, he wasn't just putting on a show for the crowd. "Well, no, but that is what the others call me. Saying Methuselah would take too long. That's my name, Methuselah Drakivaz, but you can just call me M – as you already know. It means 'man of the spear'…" he paused in thought very briefly, then shrugged and continued "…but I have never like a warrior."

The man was more forthcoming with information than anyone she had met before, but what astonished her more than that was that Methuselah had spoken that entire greeting in the space of around ten seconds. For his voice to move that quickly without stuttering, he must have been thinking even faster than he spoke."My name is Arisia Wrathfletch," the girl spoke quite slowly and calmly in contrast, not having had to speak common very often and having had to speak it even less when infatuated.

After waiting a moment to see if Arisia would say more, Methuselah continued. "So, how may I help you? Did you miss the meeting? I can still sign you on with the company." The man asked cheerfully, using the same speed he had spoken to the crowd with for a moment.

"I don't like traveling. I have everything I need here." Arisia's defensively made excuses, as she had when she was talking to her mother. She noticed the man frown slightly at that, and then hastily tried to qualify her statement. "I am not saying the caravan is bad, but it just isn't my calling."

"Then what is your calling?" The man asked, trying to get off of the subject of the caravan.

"Magic." Arisia replied confidently. "I actually… I lost my father's spell book in the square today. Ranilok told me that you might have seen it."

Looking past Arisia for a moment and to Ranilok for a moment, M nodded in the elf's direction, thinking that Ranilok had very good taste in women. "So Ranilok sent you here? Did you know Ranilok from before he left with us? He told me that it is his first time back. I thought we might lose him with the way he talked about coming back here. He has looked forward to it all year, like he wanted to meet someone" The man had sped back up to his quicker cadence during these statements. It was starting to become clear to Arisia that he normally spoke fast and only slowed down when he needed to make a point.

Thinking about what Methuselah had just said so quickly, Arisia looked back at Ranilok for a moment and smiled. She quickly came to the conclusion that Ranilok might have returned to see her, and thought it very sweet of him. "Yes, I knew him before he left." Arisia said and then looked back at M. "So have you seen the book? It has a blue binding and looks a bit old."

Wincing for a moment, M spoke. "Ooh. I think I might have seen it. Hold on." The man walked to a nearby wagon where more caravan merchandise had been packed. "It's none better for the wear of having been in the crowd." He rifled through some other found items stacked in an open corner of the wagon and took hold of one, turning back to Arisia with a sincerely regretful look on his face. "I'm sorry." He lifted the book out of the wagon and held it out for her.

To Arisia's delight, the man held out the spell book in the condition that it was before Arisia had dropped it. Smiling, Arisia giggled at the man's overly apologetic behavior and took the book from him. "It's not damaged. Thank you for finding it."

"What? You mean it always looks like that?" Methuselah's face filled with incredulous surprise. "You need a new one." He blurted out, then paused and then looked slightly regretful again, this time at what he had said. "Oh, but that was your Father's spell book, so a new book wouldn't do. Sorry."

"It's nothing to apologize for." Arisia slipped the spell book back into her satchel and closed it. "I should be going." Arisia looked towards the side of the square in the direction of her house. Methuselah hated to see her go, since she was pretty and seemed to him like the type that would be interesting if one could get her to talk. As she turned, Methuselah looked to Ranilok and saw the elf give him a nod in Arisia's direction.

Methuselah took the nod as a sign that Ranilok wanted Arisia in the caravan and as confirmation that there might be something interesting about her. "So, have you ever left the Eversong Woods?" M started talking again suddenly, keeping Arisia from leaving. It was like he had pulled an invisible leash on her because she had already turned to leave and her head suddenly snapped back in his direction.

"No, why should I leave?" Arisia answered honestly and was not defensive this time. If it had been her mother asking this, her guard would have gone back up immediately, but Methuselah's had made her laugh and she was also thinking about Ranilok, so she was caught off guard.

"Why indeed?" Methuselah's tone was even more energetic now, and he spoke very quickly again. "You should leave to see the world of course - to explore! There is so much in this world that men and elves have never seen. In twelve years of traveling, I've been places that you would not believe existed without seeing for yourself." He paused and thought aloud, asking himself a question. "What's a good one? Ah, the great fallen tree Vordrassil! Ages ago it must have been so tall that it could scrape the clouds, but it fell and now enormous pieces of it are strewn about the Grizzly Hills in Northrend. It's amazing just to see those pieces and think of what the tree must have looked like. Bear-men live in the old hollowed out stump, but we can't figure out their language and so we've kept our distance." Pausing again, he wondered at what he could mention next. "Another, another. The keep of the giants! It's an enormous castle near Daggercap Bay, built in a way that dams the nearby river. We've been into some parts of it, but many doors are locked and are far too large and heavy for us to breach. We don't know who locked them, or what happened to the giants."

"But that's absurd! Why would they just disappear? Maybe they're asleep inside." Arisia joined into the conversation. "Could they sleep so long and not die?"

Smiling, Methuselah felt that he was making encouraging progress – he had gotten her to talk. "You have quite an imagination. Do you read much? I mean, aside from your spell book."

"Oh, of course I do. I've read so many stories. Everything in them is amazing and I wonder where the authors come up with so many fantastical ideas." Arisia thought back to all of the books on her shelf.

Methuselah continued smiling, enjoying the conversation and his success. "Usually from having seen something themselves and built upon it. Try this one: A story about why the great tree in the Grizzly Hills fell. Some writer could say that the tree was evil and that it had to be torn down, or that the bear-men tunneled so high and so deep into the tree was weakened and broke in the wind, or even that the Goblin princes of Kezan cut it down for money."

"Goblins are real?" Arisia interrupted and eagerly waited for the response.

"Of course they are. They helped the Horde in the Second War, but they never joined. Nowadays, their services go to the highest bidder, always. They're quite good at it too, they never walk away on the downside of a deal." The man shrugged. "Decent life, if lacking in morals. So, tell me what you're reading about now."

"Oh, no it's silly compared to your stories. I'd guess it's not even real at all. But then again, goblins are real." Arisia spoke shyly, feeling her constant reading of fiction to be slightly childish. She thought that if Methuselah knew of her ideas being read to by him, he would laugh.

"Go ahead, I am sure they're interesting. Not every story had to be about epic lands and world-changing decisions to be good." The man encouraged Arisia. More and more as the girl crept out of her shy exterior, Methuselah liked what he saw. To him, Arisia seemed very bright, inquisitive, and open minded – all qualities he liked to see in women.

"Well, it's called 'Warriors of the Sky'. It's about a dwarf named Kurdran Wildhammer, but it must just be fiction. He's too perfect in the story to be real. Regular people never live such grand adventures, flying through the air and throwing hammers at dragons." Arisia referenced the book, thinking back to the chapters she had just read.

"Well, maybe it's embellished a bit, but he's real." Methuselah said dismissively.

Looking at the man's eyes to see if he was joking and interrupting him from continuing on at his blinding pace, Arisia spoke, "You're not kidding, are you? What about Aerie Peak?"

"Of course I'm not kidding, and Aerie Peak is real as well. It's an amazing sight. I don't know if they described it in your book. It's built into a hillside, and roosting atop one of the buildings is an enormous stone gryphon. It must be hundreds of feet tall. You would have to be flying on a gryphon with the dwarves to see the entire thing. I did once, I had a friend who convinced one of the riders to take me up."

"That must have been amazing!" Arisia exclaimed, thinking of what it would be like to soar through the sky on the back of a gryphon as Kurdran had.

"So then don't you see?" Methuselah exclaimed, "There are so many beautiful things in this world. Some stories are more true than others, but everything that gets written in stories and legends comes from somewhere. I've seen these wonders, and you could see them too."

Arisia's thoughts immediately jumped to the other fantasies she had read, stories of the majestic dragonflights, of battles between horrible trolls and brave elves, of pious priests defeating evil summoners and magicians, and of elf princes competing for the hand of the fairest elf maiden in the land. Until now, such things had been exactly what they were - stories. Arisia had read them, enjoyed them, and then put them back on the shelf. She had known that he was trying to get her to come on the caravan as soon as he mentioned exploring and was preparing to say no, but more and more as she listened she began to want to see the sights that Methuselah had mentioned. My mother would win then, the girl thought, she would win and I would never hear the end of it. How can she hold me back and want me to go at the same time, Arisia continued thinking about what to do. "Do you leave early, before anyone would be awake?" Arisia asked innocently.

"Yes, we leave at sun-up. Why?" Methuselah asked, interested that she would be so concerned about the departure time.

"It doesn't matter." Arisia refused to answer, she was too busy celebrating on the inside. Methuselah had given her a way around her mother with this information, and she planned to take it. Speaking from the heart, Arisia fixed her eyes on Methuselah's and caved in to the desire that had been building in her over the course of their conversation. "Take me with you."

"Sure." Methuselah smiled and opened the lid of his chest and took out a copy of the papers he had passed out to the crowd, then handed them to Arisia. Next, he had Arisia quickly sign her name in the company ledger as well. "You should go, it is already very late and you will need sleep to wake up at sun-up tomorrow. I look forward to traveling with you, and I am sure Ranilok will be happy as well. I am sure of it, it will be fantastic!"

"I know it will." Arisia clutched the papers and spoke in a reassuring tone. "Goodbye," she said as she turned and left the square quickly, lifting her dress and jogging back to her home.

As Arisia left sight and earshot, Ranilok finished strapping the canvas cover over the book-filled wagon and then came over to Methuselah. "She left? I thought she would come back to talk to me once she got her spell book," the elf questioned the human.

"Don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to talk to her on the boat." Methuselah smiled and spoke about Arisia with a bit of admiration. "She's interesting and spirited, but she does her best to hide it. She'll have a lot to learn."

"Wait, she's coming with us? I couldn't have seen that happening." Ranilok chuckled. "She's kind and pretty, but she is hopelessly homebound. If she was going anywhere, she would have left years ago."

Realizing he must have misinterpreted Ranilok's nod, Methuselah sighed. "I thought you wanted her to come with us. You nodded at her."

"Oh, I was just saying that I knew her..." Ranilok paused, and then smiled as well. "… but, I would certainly be happy to have her along."

Addressing his other concerns to Ranilok, Methuselah sat on the edge of his table and adopted a parenting expression. "Is she having trouble with her parents? That is, if she even lives with them."

"She does, but you're asking the wrong elf. I've been gone for fifteen years." Ranilok sat next to Methuselah on the table and thought for a moment before continuing. "When I left, she had just found that her father had been lost with the Kirin Tor expedition. Before that, she had been training to be a Farstrider like her mother. When they evacuated the outer villages like this one during the war, we both ended up in Silvermoon training as reserve. Everyone who was old enough to shoot or strike was being trained at that time. I used to watch her practice, and she could outdo any of the other initiates in Silvermoon."

"That's strange. She told me her calling was magic." Methuselah wondered for a moment if Arisia had been telling the truth to him.

"Well, it is now." Ranilok noticed his friend's change in expression and quickly saved face for Arisia. "The trainers never treated her fairly when her mother was away. Some of them gave up because they couldn't provide valuable training to someone of her natural skill. The others were jealous of her family line and liked to set impossible goals that even they could not accomplish, just so they could say that their challenge had bested a Wrathfletch. Her mother should have trained her, but Adria was too busy on real missions."

"So, she gave up shooting because of them?" Methuselah probed deeper into Arisia's past, interested that it had been so eventful.

Ranilok shook his head, "No, but they couldn't have helped her. By the time her mother returned from the war, news of her father's entrapment on Draenor had already reached her and she had decided to take up magic in his honor. As I said before, I left with the caravan around that time, so I don't know how her mother felt about her decision."

Methuselah looked in the direction that Arisia had run a short while ago and thought for a moment before turning to Ranilok with some specific instructions. "If you see her mother before we leave tomorrow, don't mention anything about what she is doing."

"Why? She's more than old enough to go, Adria would be overjoyed." Ranilok was truly shocked at his friend's declaration.

Having always been more empathetic than his friend, Methuselah sighed at having to explain reasoning that seemed obvious to him. "She was very concerned about leaving at daybreak, before anyone was awake. I can just tell that there is something going on. We have no part in whatever it is, so we should play that part well. Now, help me move these tables out of the square so that we can get moving in the morning." The man stood up, quickly moving on to the next task that he had in mind.

* * *

By the time Arisia awoke the next morning, the sun was past being up and was nearly a quarter of the way across the sky. She had gone home the night before and gone straight up to her room to pack, her head full of the stories she read and dreams of being in a story one day.

Methuselah was right in thinking that Arisia did not want to tell her mother. Arisia loved her mother, of course, but felt that if she spoke up the woman would simply take credit for pushing her out of the door. This was Arisia's choice and she would not have anyone taking it from her. Ideally, she would just disappear and her mother would find from the registry that she had gone with the caravan. Arisia had thought for a while during the night if that approach was too cold, but by the time she fell asleep she firmly believed that it was the only way.

Yawning and stretching, Arisia stood up from her bed and looked around. She had left the two bags by the foot of her bed and a set of practical clothes, including pants, on her on her dressing table. Realizing how late it was, Arisia held her hand to her mouth and panicked for a moment, thinking she had missed the caravan and might have to put up with her mother for another year and with the embarrassment of being in the registry as leaving and yet missing the caravan. The townsfolk would probably think she wasn't able to muster the confidence to go. Speaking to herself for reassurance, Arisia tried to calm down. "I can still catch up with them. I just need to toss my bags out the window and leave like I am going to study somewhere, she thought."

Walking to the window, Arisia's spirits were raised. Ranilok's coach and wagon were parked outside the house and looked ready to go. As quickly as she cheered up upon seeing the wagon, Arisia's mood swung downwards again. Mother must know, the girl thought for a bit longer. I could lower myself out the window and go, Ranilok might be waiting in the coach for me, Arisia continued thinking as she also contemplated jumping the fifteen feet from the window to the ground.

Arisia dressed quickly and wrapped her hair up into a tight bun. If one had not seen her hair down, they could never have guessed from the size of the bun that it went halfway down her back when loose. By the time Arisia was back at the window trying to see if Ranilok was in the coach and thinking how she could jump down safely, she saw a short figure carrying an anvil walk out from behind the wagon. Although she had never seen one, Arisia knew from her stories that he was clearly a dwarf. The top of his head was bald, but long thick orange hair sprouted out from the sides accompanied by a massive beard which nearly reached his waist. Blue tattoos started in the bald part of his head and came down over his eyes to his cheekbones. The tattoos were stripes that came to points at both ends and had other points jutting off of them along the length. The dwarf loaded the anvil onto the wagon and then turned to see Arisia looking out the window at him.

Walking over to her window, the dwarf looked up and called to her. "Are ye finally awake, missy?"

The dwarf's accent was exactly like she had always heard, Arisia loved it and almost giggled in glee, but caught herself in case it seemed impolite. "Shh, I'll throw my bags down and jump out after them in a minute. Can you put them in the wagon for me?"

"Aye, ae can do that. Whae would ye jump, missy? The others are inside an ye could bring 'em oot with ye." The dwarf called up again as Arisia threw her bags down nearby.

Stopping dead as soon as the dwarf said this, Arisia was suddenly faced with having to pass her mother on the way out. Her tone became much heavier as she replied to the dwarf. "I see. I'll be down in a minute then."

After grabbing her satchel and spell book, Arisia slowly walked downstairs, peeking down into the main room before entering it. Her spirits sank more when she did this as she saw Ranilok and Methuselah sitting across from Adria and having a conversation with her. Gathering her confidence and calm, Arisia came down the stairs and into the room all at once, stopping as if she did not expect to see Ranilok and Methuselah there.

Adria immediately looked over and smiled. "Arisia, did you know that Ranilok had come back this year? He came over this morning to see you along with… what was your name again?"

"Methuselah, but you can call me M." He smiled too, speaking so cheerfully that it almost seemed rehearsed. "We had to repair a spoke on one of our coach wheels, someone must have leaned on the wheel and damaged it, so Ranilok thought we should visit."

"Yes, I saw Ranilok last night, Mama." the girl spoke, sighing in relief on the inside. Arisia could tell that Methuselah had decided not to break the news that she was leaving with them. The girl looked around the room for a moment, trying to figure a way to imply that she was only going out for the day. As she looked around, she saw that Methuselah's eyes were fixed on her, but they did not seem to question whether or not she was going. Before the silence that filled the room as Arisia thought could continue for too long, the dwarf that had taken Arisia's bags stuck his head in the door to see what the hold-up was.

"Thae wheel's fixed. Move yer arse or we'll hold up loadin' at thae shore." He reminded Methuselah bluntly and headed back out to the coach.

"Well, let's go then." Methuselah hopped up, pulling Ranilok up with him and quickly nodding his head once in a polite gesture of farewell. "We shouldn't keep Gevran waiting. I don't want to put up with a cranky dwarf on loading day."

Ranilok looked confused for a moment, until Methuselah elbowed him in the side and whispered for him to say goodbye. "Yes, we really can't stay any longer. It was great seeing you after all this time, Arisia. I'm planning to come back more often now, so perhaps we can spend more time together next year." the elf seemed about to continue until Methuselah elbowed him again and turned for the door with him.

Both men left the house and Adria watched them go. She had a sour look on her face now, seeing what she thought to be a great opportunity walk away yet again. She had told Arisia every year that the caravan was the right thing for her. Perhaps if her daughter went with the caravan, she thought, the girl might finally realize that she had no business practicing magic. Arisia made her so angry sometimes when she ignored advice and persisted in wasting time. By this point in her own life, Adria was already a full member of the Farstriders. Now she would be the last Wrathfletch in the Farstriders, the end of almost a millennium of tradition, and her daughter would be a useless klutz with magic until she was too old to make anything of herself. For a moment, the woman thought of chasing after Ranilok and pleading the man to take Arisia with them, but she knew the girl would never go. Arisia would stay here with her forever, not even able to summon food or water for herself out of her ratty spell book.

Arisia paused for a moment, looking from the door to her mother and back again, able to tell exactly what her mother was feeling. The girl hated to leave on a bad note like this, but she knew that it was now or never. Judging from the look on her mother's face, she thought the woman could care if she lived or died at the moment. A moment later, Arisia heard the coach door open and without any warning she started off for the door of the house to catch up with Methuselah and Ranilok.

Noticing this, Adria quickly pieced together what was going on. The woman's expression changed from sour to completely crestfallen. She had pushed Arisia hard, but she never imagined that she had alienated her daughter. The Wrathfletches would end, but the end would be her fault for driving her daughter away. Once she had returned from the war and mourned for Kelthir, she had constantly tried to get her daughter to go back to the Farstriders. After a while, she given up on that and simply pushed Arisia to go somewhere, like with the caravan. Perhaps if she had been encouraging to Arisia in the beginning, the girl would have seen how useless she was at magic and came back on her own. This is all my fault, Adria thought, I never listened. All of these thoughts hit Adria so fast that time seemed to stop for her. In that single act of leaving, Arisia had crushed one of the strongest captains to grace the Farstriders during the Second War. Adria felt cold down to the very center of her being as Arisia continued to cross the room towards the door in what appeared to be slow motion to her. Her only child was about to walk out of her life, possibly forever, without a word. Knowing that she had very little time to do anything, Adria jumped up expertly, using speed that she had not needed since she was in the Farstriders. The woman grabbed the bracer that she had been working with the night before as well as its near-twin from their display and headed directly for Arisia. Reaching Arisia next as Arisia made it to the door, her mother put the bracers down on a short table by the door, whipped Arisia around quickly by the shoulder, and embraced her. Adria could think of nothing to say, still being at a loss from realizing how horrible she had been. After holding Arisia there for a moment, she finally spoke, "I love you, Arisia, and I'm so proud of you. I know that you might never believe me, but I do."

Hesitating for a moment, her statement of rebellion completely squashed, Arisia sighed. Even though she hated her mother's badgering and nagging, Arisia still loved her and could not be cold enough to deny her mother the goodbye. "I love you too, Mother." The girl embraced in return, a few tears coming to her eyes.

Adria stepped back from Arisia and it was evident that she had been crying as well. Drying her eyes, Adria spoke again. "There is nothing more that I can do or will do, except this." The woman reached down to the table and took the bracers, opening and quickly snapping one around each of Arisia's forearms. The gems that adorned each of the bracers glowed with magic for a moment, as if recognizing their new owner. "Take the Wrathfletch, it has been our heirloom and namesake for generations. It will keep you safe."

"Thank you." Arisia looked down and wondered at the magnificence of the bracers for a moment.

"'ey, missy! Git over 'ere, we got tae go!" Gevran leaned out of the coach and called to Arisia. He had not been watching the tender moment and was sick of this morning due to the wheel repairs and all of the hold ups.

"Goodbye, Mother." Arisia gave her farewell and headed quickly for the coach, climbing in. As soon as she was aboard, Methuselah turned to Adria, nodded politely once more, then cracked the reins on the team of horses to start them off.

The coach rolled away as Adria watched it disappear into the woods. Inside, Arisia watched her mother disappear in the distance as well. Eventually looking to Gevran, Arisia smiled. "That went better than I thought it would."

"What are ye talkin about, missy?" Gevran had been absorbed in carving markings into a short wooden cylinder.

"Nothing really. Something I've needed to do for a long time." The girl smiled and looked out the window again, admiring the woods which she would soon leave behind for the first time.


End file.
