The Seeker Pt.I.III

This story follows the story of Sateal Emberheart following up to and during the Shattering
<-- Part I:II / Part I:IV -->
==Chapter II==
It was momentarily liberating. A brief reprise for Sateal to see and experience such a sight. The defiant drops bursting from the clouds to fall upon his time-worn face as he lay sprawled across the sodden bench. It rained in the land where it was not permitted to rain, and this, to the aging war veteran, was greater than any act of defiance against the all-powerful Magisterium who so persistently politically pestered him. He adhered to it, he protected it with his life, he raised his children to respect it, but deep down he knew he despised the very core of what formed the culture he found himself in thanks to the facadical ‘meetings’ he had been forced to attend to dispute whether or not he was a traitor to the kingdom he so often shed blood for. Sadly her knew there was no better ‘kingdom’ on Azeroth than eternal Quel’thalas. Flawed as it may be; it was still his home.
The rain continued to beat down upon the glimmering city as if it sought to cleanse and baptize some unbearable, unwashable taint blemishing the face of Azeroth. it drizzled every so often in Quel’thalas. Mana alone cannot sustain the wildlife anymore it can a blood elf. Food, spring water were factors of life that were impossible to ignore.
Sateal’s idle musing didn’t subside the now torrential downpour. Anarchy, liberation. He had not experienced anything close to this since the aftermath of the Scourge invasion. This time, though, there was no unbearable loss involved, and his beloved home was not being razed by the shambling undead visages of his former kin.
For a time Quel’thalas became a limbo for those who survived the Scourge and the fall of their kingdom. They were without laws, without social ranking and without the concept of wealth. Each and every one of the remaining Quel’dorei knew that in order to survive without the society and monarchy they grew up in they would have to cast away the frivolities of rank and class. This new way of thinking in itself was a joy to experience. Naturally there was the crippling addiction elves suffered that put a dampener on the otherwise stable egalitarian regime. The months that ensued taught the former sun priest, now without a faith, Sateal Sunheart, the virtues of necessity and usefulness. If an elf did not pull his or her own weight, they were a liability, a “parasite”, and they were dealt with as you would a leech or tic. Life was hard, punishing, cruel, and unflinchingly so in the forgotten rat infested city. The loss of loved ones took their toll on minds even more than the starvation did, because the loved ones simply continued to shamble mindlessly through the streets. Husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, sons, brothers, sisters and - a daughter.
Of course as soon as a leader appeared with undisputable social standing and a minor army at his back; the disillusioned sun priest and remnant “Sin’dorei” joined his cause without hesitation. Unknowingly allowing their new shepherd to lead them into the abyss; with remembrance and retribution in their hearts, and the Lament of the Highbourne upon their lips. Yet despite it all. Despite the resulting wars and killings and deaths and immoral acts, Sateal knew that Kael gave his people hope, and a future - faith. Never again since for the blood knight.
Now; the city reeks of the ignorant young and the hedonistic fools who have forgotten what life was like, a life that made them better, stronger as a people. It united them in a way the propaganda the Arcane Guardians droned through the streets could not. As they thumped by, completely oblivious to the rain. Perhaps, he thought to himself, perhaps they are the ones this world is trying to purge with the torrential downpour. The hedonists. He let out a boisterous chuckle as she pushed himself to his feet. His silver hair clung to his skin in a mess of wetness as the knight traipsed his way towards the red-lantern district.
Before the reminiscing blood knight knew it he was standing before the entrance to his city apartment. Drenched to the bone and squinting his unfocussed emerald eyes as he tapped his dull iron key against the scratched lock in a futile drunken effort to slide it into place and gain passage into his home sanctuary. With a metallic thunk and a click he soon found himself plodding through the bare halls of the building with a bottle of Suntouched red in his grasp. His nose mostly led him through his impermanent home. He followed the familiar copper-scented trail through the narrow corridors with curiously confused emerald eyes which ultimately concluded its journey within his study. His place of work, which harbored a dangerously sobering scene.