Hordecraft

## Summary

Hordecraft is set between the end of *Warlords of Draenor* and the beginning of *Legion*, and features the adventures of mostly Horde characters, though comprises of a number of simultaneously-running plotlines.

## Hordecraft

### Chapter One: Fel Crystals

As the Horde and Alliance came to the ends of their expeditions in the faraway land of Draenor, it seemed strange that such large crowds would gather in Outland for what was advertised as an urgent missive from the Aldor priesthood. Yet here they were, thousands gathered in the heart of Shattrath city as the young but talented draenei priestess took her place beside the ever-glowing form of A’dal. Rhaelli smiled and greeted her guests with courtesy, being sure to make verbal note of the presences of the more “esteemed” guests in her company today. Formalities aside, she clasped her hands together and began her speech.

   “To understand why the Aldor has gathered you here on this day, we must first look back far into the past of this world, when Outland remained the only Draenor known to us. The Burning Legion warped the minds of the orcs such that we draenei were no longer peaceful neighbours, but hated enemies. Much blood was shed, and those draenei that were not slaughtered were taken as slaves. Such atrocities were committed in pursuit of false promises. Gul’dan used many of the slaves in his vile experiments. Experiments which occasionally resulted in the birth of a half-breed. You are all familiar with the name “Garona Halforcen”, yes?”

She paused, an affirming murmur rising in the chamber. Everyone was familiar with Garona’s tragic tale to some degree, and those that knew little of her story would at least recall the name.

Rhaelli continued. “Garona was not the only of her kind, as many of you will know. Though she was one of but a few. Today, I wish to tell you the tale of two sisters-- how much of this holds true, I cannot say, as it is all that could be gleaned from fractured writings of the old Shadow Council-- but I believe it may shine some small light on the confusing situation I will explain shortly.

  “Now, according to the recovered tomes a true rarity occurred for one Shadowmoon orc, who had mated with a draenei captive. She birthed not one, but two hybrid daughters. Possibly the very first set of hybrid twins, though of this we cannot be sure. More astoundingly still, both girls survived infancy and were subjected to the same ageing magic Gul’dan used to empower Garona and younger full-blooded orcs in the clans.

“Unlike Garona, these twins were not trained as assassins-- their natural affinity for fel, which likely came from their warlock mother, set them both on the path to become warlocks as well. What made these two unique, however, was how they were able to merge their mastery of fel magic with draenei crystalline technology. It is written that it was from these twins that the first “fel crystals” were created-- draenic crystals of all shapes and sizes packed full of pure, concentrated fel energy in its rawest of forms. Enormous quantities of power could be stored within crystals no larger than a child’s forefinger. It was no wonder the Shadow Council’s warlocks coveted these artefacts so dearly. Records suggest that even Gul’dan would carry a pocketful of fel crystals for his more taxing magical tasks.”

Rhaelli took a moment to pause, surveying the faces in the crowd. Many were rapt and eager for her conclusion, with only a few watching her with blank eyes, their minds somewhere far away. They would not deter her. She reached into the deep pockets of her silken robe and retrieved a small object wrapped in a thick cloth. Despite being folded around its contents several times, the sickly green glow of fel permeated the fabric. The whole room knew what would be within before she unwrapped the fel crystal, carefully holding it aloft for all to see. It was tiny-- about the length of a gold piece-- and glowed with a verdant brilliance to rival A’dal’s. It stung Rhaelli’s fingers to touch it.

   “So my question to you, my honoured guests, is how could something so powerful be found lying in the dusty roads of the Lower City? And not just one-- but three dozen!”

On his cue, Rhaelli’s younger brother Haeluun came forward holding a small woven basket filled with shimmering green crystals. He made a tour of the chamber to allow the awed guests a moment to inspect the stones, but not touch.

Rhaelli sighed, shaking her head at the absurdity of the situation. “Just by standing close to them, you can feel their power. And these certainly were not in Shattrath before-- we would have felt them. They came from somewhere. We must find out where, even if we may fear the answer.”

Address now complete, the meeting was allowed to disperse. Many people loitered about to discuss their theories on the crystals’ origins while some formed orderly, yet clumpy queues to speak with Rhaelli.

Among the loiterers were Tor’far; an eight-foot-tall Darkspear troll who was unpleasantly adept at the role of a shadow priest, and Taliessin Emberheart; a spirited blood elf mage who was not above deliberately sending unsuspecting Horde members through incorrect portals. Today, Tor’far had dragged Tali here for the talk. She had ties within the Aldor and would come to every talk held here, but Rhaelli’s message had been so urgent it only seemed right to bring a friend along. Tali had not been her first choice-- that honour had gone to her mate, an affable warlock named Dinistrio-- or even her second, for that matter, but he had been the only one available for a trip to Shattrath and so had to suffice.

Despite this, bringing Tali was turning out to be a fortunate choice. The mage was filled with a speculative energy after Rhaelli’s address and rattled off one-by-one his ideas on the crystals.

   “This could be a sign, Tor’far!” he was saying, pointing over at where Haeluun still held the basket. “After Archimonde fell we knew it was only a matter of time before the Legion turned their focus to Azeroth again! Do you think it could be Gul’dan? You know, the alternate one? Perhaps he somehow learned of his counterpart’s creations-- or perhaps these are *his* crystals, and he had his own hybrid twins on the newer Draenor create them. So many possibilities!”

Tor’far grunted in agreement. It seemed to her like this mystery would not be one so easily solved. “Interestin’ that these be showin’ up in Outland, though-- I would’a expected ta find them scattered about Azeroth. Why Outland? There be nothin’ left for the Legion here, right?”

Tali’s big green eyes twinkled. “Ooh, but what if there is? You might be on to something here! Was there something we forgot all those years ago? Hmm... Auchindoun is sealed up tight, and Prince Kael’thas and Illidan are dead. As is Lady Vashj. And all the demon hunters were locked away by the Wardens back on Azeroth...” He trailed off, his expression becoming distant for a moment. Tor’far gave him a little nudge to bring him back to his senses.

It worked. Tali rubbed his chin, brow furrowed in deep concentration. “I’ll have to visit the libraries in Dalaran again. I know of some Shadow Council scribblings the Kirin Tor have restored and preserved that may prove as useful as the ones Priestess Rhaelli referenced.”

   “And I’ll consult with the Loa,” Tor’far added with a nod. “They might know somethin’ about this. They always seem like they be one step ahead’a everythin’, you know?”

Tali did not know, but he nodded politely all the same. He’d learned the hard way that it was best to just take the troll’s word for anything concerning the Loa. Asking questions only led to long-winded and confusing explanations of concepts that at first seemed obvious to him but then became completely incomprehensible. He supposed it was something you had to experience to understand, and he accepted that.

Plans set, the pair shared a portal back to Orgrimmar and then went their separate ways. They would meet again in a day or two to discuss any findings or new ideas. They had the time to, for now at least. There was no way of knowing when the peaceful lull following the close of the Draenor campaign would come to an end.

Rhaelli remained at her post long after their departure to field any questions the guests might have about her tale. Among them, she was pleased to discover, was an old friend of hers. Ystara Mistleaf was a renowned Priestess of Elune whose healing capabilities far eclipsed Rhaelli’s own. Strangely though, Rhaelli was one of the few people Ystara regarded as an equal. The priestess of the Light bowed to the priestess of Elune.

   “Blessings upon you Ystara, it is good to see you again!” Rhaelli said with a smile.

   “And you, Rhaelli,” Ystara replied. “Your talk today was concerning. I wondered if I might take one of these “fel crystals” to Darnassus for study. The power they radiate feels almost... familiar. I wonder if they have a connection to the fel poison that sickened my sister Feldris some years ago.”

Rhaelli’s gentle features creased in sympathy. She remembered Feldris well-- once a vibrant, energetic elf with a thirst for adventure and natural skill foretold in her rare amber eyes, in the end a withered, fragile version of what she had once been. There had been fel magic within her, Rhaelli recalled, a magic that had turned upon her body when it would not be released. The tentative subject of allowing Feldris to seek out warlocks who could help her find an outlet for the magic had been broached, but Ystara was vehemently opposed to the idea. There would never be a night elf warlock, and Ystara intended to be sure of that. Mere days after Rhaelli’s visit, Feldris vanished without a trace. Ystara would give no further detail than that and had since done her best to avoid speaking about Feldris altogether.

   “Of course Ystara, take all you need,” Rhaelli said, beckoning Haeluun over with his basket. “Be careful, they sting to the touch.”

Ystara recoiled the hand she had reached out with, thanking Rhaelli for the warning. She turned her head to call behind her. “Sister! Stop speaking with that orc at once and assist me!”

With a sigh and a muttered curse, the third Mistleaf sister slouched her way over to the priestesses. She nodded politely enough to Rhaelli, but refused to so much as look in Ystara’s direction.

Ystara did not look at her either. “Elyfar, take a crystal and place it in your bag. You are to give it to my apprentice when we return to Darnassus.”

Elyfar shrugged and plunged her hand into the basket, wincing at the sting without complaint. Once the crystal was safely tucked into her battered satchel, she graced Ystara with a poisonous smile. “Anything else, sister? Shall I polish your staff, or perhaps lay down in the dust to spare you the discomfort of walking in it?”

Wordlessly, Ystara unstrapped her staff from her back and handed it to her sister. Elyfar gave a laugh of angry disbelief and threw it at Ystara’s feet, stalking off to lose herself in the lingering crowds.

   “I am still having discipline issues with that one, as you can see,” Ystara said as she turned back to Rhaelli. “I’ve all but given up training her as a priestess. There was simply no potential.”

Rhaelli was not quite sure how to respond to that. She was stunned half to silence by what she had just seen from Ystara. Never in her life would she consider speaking to Haeluun in such an uncaring manner!

Evidently Ystara had recognised a degree of disgust on the draenei’s face, for she gave a quiet laugh and shook her head. “Oh Rhaelli, you needn’t worry. If you lived with her you’d know that such harshness is truly the only way to make her learn respect.”

Rhaelli was not at all convinced but opted to drop the subject. There were, sadly, far more pressing matters at hand.

   “The crystals,” Rhaelli continued. “They must be handled with care, particularly if you mean to extract any power from them. There must be magical wards set up within them that make the process exceptionally volatile for anyone who does not have some kind of prior access.”

Ystara nodded. “The Sisterhood of Elune has dealt with artefacts of similar power in the distant past. Rest assured that we shall proceed with the greatest caution.”

They bowed to one another once more, with Ystara hurrying off through Shattrath to find Elyfar. Rhaelli took a moment to reflect upon their brief meeting before she saw to the next guest in the line. Her thoughts turned again to Feldris, her curiosity about the night elf’s fate running wild. She slipped her hand into her pocket and toyed with the wrapped fel crystal that rested there. Its energy flickered and pulsed as Feldris’ tortured heartbeat once had. Perhaps Ystara was right to think this energy familiar.

Rhaelli decided she would find out.

### Chapter Two: The Boat to Darkshore

Elyfar had known today would be unpleasant from the moment Ystara had rudely awoken her to drag her to Shattrath, and was now equally as certain her older sister would be in a foul mood when she returned to their home in Darnassus. Elyfar had been sure to arrive back as quickly as possible to hand over the fel crystal to Ystara’s apprentice, a meek young priestess named Anei Rainsong, and then did her best to make herself scarce.

She’d stolen away to a cosy yet not *entirely* legal establishment located beneath Alegorn’s cooking shop, accessible through a well-hidden trap door. The underground tavern was busy today and Elyfar took care to hide herself within the crowd of elves and worgen, each of which she and all the other patrons knew by name. No one would bother her here, she was sure of it.

Making her way to the bar, she dropped a few pieces of silver onto the counter with a sigh. Without a word, one of the barmaids took the coins and replaced them a moment later with a generous glass of Lavastone Pale. It was her usual choice-- smooth, rich, and strong enough to blur away all her worries for a little while.

She’d barely had the time to sip her drink when the tavern’s extravagant owner slid across the bar to greet her, his purple face split in a sharp-toothed smile. Just like everyone else, Elyfar knew Thylean Darksong quite well. Perhaps even a little *too* well.

   “Someone looks glum,” Thylean chirped, adjusting his round-lensed spectacles with one hand and stroking his small, turquoise beard with the other. He looked ridiculous doing so.

Elyfar set her glass down. “What, more than usual?”

Thylean’s smile grew and he settled into the vacant barstool beside her. “Aye. You look as though someone’s pissed in your moonberry juice! Hm, let me have a guess.” He tapped his long, painted nails against the bar. “Ah! Is it perhaps something to do with that frightful sister of yours? I don’t recall her name... I don’t find her particularly *memorable*, if I’m honest.”

Elyfar chuckled at that. “Yeah. She’s as insufferable as always. Woke me up to drag me to Shattrath this morning to listen to some dull Aldor sermon. While we were there, she was... herself, if that means anything to you.”

Thylean nodded. “Oh believe me, dear, it means plenty. Do you remember my brother Tharion? He used to be a good friend of Feldris’. He would bring back some very colourful tales of his unwilling interactions with Ystara. Why, once he’d smuggled in some felweed to help to ease Feldris’ pain a little, and when Ystara discovered it she set his hair alight!” He laughed a little bitterly. “Ah, it truly baffles me how Elune could bestow her powers upon such a hateful creature. There must be some greater reason for it. Perhaps... perhaps Ystara shall meet a terrible fate, and her tale would be one of caution to others!”

By this point Elyfar was halfway through her drink and having difficulty following. “...So... perhaps Elune’s got plans for her to die violently, is what you’re saying?”

Thylean shrugged. “Something like that. What I mean is there might be some sort of divine punishment planned for her, and in the years to come we’ll be telling all the little elves to be nice to others so they do not end up like that terrible old Ystara Mistleaf!”

   “Oh man, here’s hoping,” Elyfar said. She raised her glass to the notion. “I’ll be telling my kids the same, if I ever have any.”

Whatever Thylean had meant to reply with was lost when a loud commotion began near the rope-ladder leading up to the cooking shop. At this distance it was hard to see what was going on, but from the shouting it sounded as though someone who should not be here had just entered. Thylean got to his feet and wove through the crowd, wrinkling his long nose when he saw the absolute last person he’d wanted to see standing there. Well, levitating, actually. Clearly Ystara Mistleaf would never lay her feet upon such common ground.

   “Ah, the Darksong runt,” she sneered, addressing Thylean. “I am led to assume this filthy squat is yours? How interesting. The High Priestess will be *very* eager to hear about this.”

An unhappy murmur rose in the crowd, but Thylean shushed them. If there was anyone in Darnassus who could withstand Ystara’s threats, it would be him. He perched himself on the edge of the bar and smirked down at her, enjoying this new height advantage. Behind him, he knew Elyfar would be attempting to make her way out of the tavern unseen-- unfortunately not the easiest endeavour, as the back exit had a tendency to stick. He would buy her as much time as he could. He tilted his head to the side and pretended to look confused.

   “Really, Ystara? Are you sure the High Priestess would like to be bothered with something so trivial? She’s ever so busy already!”

Ystara narrowed her eyes. “I will decide what is and is not worth the High Priestess’ time, Darksong. Now, I would rather not spend any more time in this horrid place than absolutely necessary. Where is my sister?”

Thylean gave her an odd look. “Why Ystara, no one has seen Feldris in years! I could not possibly know that!”

Anger flashed in the priestess’ eyes, and to everyone’s surprise she swung her hand out and slapped Thylean right across the face, sending him tumbling behind the bar. “I do *not* have time for your games!” she bellowed, lifting her head to shout over the crowd. “Elyfar, you little sneak! Come out now or this place *burns!”*

There was silence for a moment, and then a deep sigh. Elyfar emerged from the crowd and glared at Ystara. “Why all the shouting? I gave the crystal to Anei like you asked.”

Ystara’s furious gaze bore down on her sister. “Indeed. Well done for following such a *simple* instruction. What a pity you chose to run off and hide from me like a child. Do you not know there is work to be done?”

She then reached into the bag at her side and smacked a scroll against Elyfar’s chest. “Go home and get changed. You are to take this document to Darkshore. The boat leaves in a half hour.”

Elyfar looked down at the scroll for a moment, sucking in a slow breath. “...You came all this way, assaulted my friend and threatened to burn this place... because you want me to deliver a scroll?”

Ystara smiled sweetly. “Yes. Now hurry along home. It would reflect poorly on the entire Sisterhood of Elune for you to be late.”

Elyfar glanced behind her to Thylean, who was rubbing his sore cheek. He caught her eye and offered a smile and a shrug. It was a comforting gesture that told her he bore her no ill will for what had happened tonight. That would be on Ystara’s head alone.

She left quietly with Ystara and walked in silence until they reached their home. It was a nice place--  spacious, airy and well-furnished-- filled with treasures that had been in the possession of the Mistleaf family since before the War of the Ancients. Most had once belonged to one of their ancestors, who had been a handmaiden to Queen Azshara, Ystara would remind people with fervour. She saw it as something to be proud of, and similarly took great pride in keeping her home utterly immaculate.

Elyfar headed up to her room when they arrived, rolling her eyes when she saw a mooncloth robe laid out ready on her bed, along with silver bracelets and a circlet. She’d always despised the robe. . It simply did not suit her, she felt. Her skin and hair were whiter than the mooncloth, and the dress did not hang well on someone as flat-chested as she. The skirt would drag on the floor when she slouched (which was always) or get caught in doors or brambles (which, again, was always). But there would be no arguing with Ystara tonight, lest she take out her rage on someone undeserving again.

She struggled her way into the dress and sighed unhappily at her reflection in the bedroom mirror. It just did not feel right. It would never feel right.

She slipped on the bracelets and took the scroll again, deciding against wearing the circlet. She was uncomfortable enough as it was without a piece of metal poking at her temples.

Ystara waited at the door when she made to leave and gave a disapproving shake of the head at her appearance, but made no comment. Not so much as a word of farewell as her sister left.

If there was one thing Elyfar disliked about as much as her sister, it was boats. The constant rocking on the waves made her queasy, and the constant fear of drowning played about in her mind like the chorus of a song. She was a very poor swimmer with no natural buoyancy, nor was she particularly athletic. It had made for some very stressful trips to Teldrassil’s lakes in the past.

She settled into the ship’s cabin and tried her best to relax, deciding to read through the scroll she was given to take her mind off of the visions of her impending doom. Much to her disappointment, it was not particularly interesting-- just a notice to the priestesses in Lor’danel informing them of recent additions to the Sisterhood of Elune. She recognised Anei’s name there, along with a bracketed message marking her as Ystara’s newest apprentice. Elyfar could not help but feel sorry for the poor girl-- she herself had experienced the horrors of an apprenticeship with the older elf. Ystara was an impatient and demanding teacher, and on several occasions had driven her apprentices out in tears. Perhaps most unpleasantly of all, she was actually *proud* of it.

The boat gave a sudden lurch and the scroll nearly flew from Elyfar’s hands. She rolled it back up and stashed it in her bag, grumbling a bit. Another lurch knocked her off balance, and a third tipped the ship at a steep angle, sending her sliding across the floor to smack painfully against the cabin’s wall.

She clambered onto her feet, trying to ease her way to the cabin door to see what was going on. As she reached it, it swung open and a human sailor came tumbling through, slipping and sliding about as the ship rocked viciously.

   “What’s going on?” Elyfar called to him, now clinging to a banister for dear life.

The human seemed slightly dazed but heard her, grimacing. “Big storm, came out of nowhere! Sky’s black as pitch and the sea’s churning.” He forced himself to his feet, but fell immediately when the ship rocked. “It’s going to be a bumpy one, miss!”

Elyfar nodded in response, watching the sailor force his way back out of the cabin. She peered past the doorframe to see exactly what he had described-- a furious, black sky and high waves slapping the light boat with tremendous force. The wind howled and rattled the windows, mussing Elyfar’s so-tidily done hair.

Crew members staggered about on deck, all shouting to each other in panic. Their words were torn away by the gale, but the fear on their faces spoke loudest. This was very, *very* bad.

Elyfar saw the colossal wave before it properly registered in her mind; a great, dark thing looming like an approaching mountain. White froth foamed as it began to curl upon itself, dropping a shadow over the entire ship. Only then as the sailor’s faces froze in terror did the severity of the situation fully dawn on her.

The wave toppled onto the ship with an almighty crash, splintering the wood of the cabin under its weight. The ship submerged, pieces of the hull tearing off to be thrown about by the waves. The cabin filled with water almost instantly, and it was all Elyfar could manage to not fly into a panic there and then. She struggled to pull herself through the doorway, unable to work out which way was up. The current pulled her about helplessly, ripping out the air she’d held in her lungs. She kicked and struggled, her legs becoming caught up in her skirts. Out of the corner of her eye she spied another human sailor-- a strong one-- moving with relative ease to the surface. He looked her way for a moment and she waved her arms, wordlessly imploring him to help her. But he looked away, and swam on.

That was the last thing Elyfar could remember. She did not see the the torn wooden beam that smacked into her head until it was too late. Unconscious, she moved with the water as it roiled.

Elyfar had known today would be unpleasant from the moment Ystara had rudely awoken her to drag her to Shattrath. Now, as she stared up into the grinning face of one of the biggest trolls she had ever seen, she was certain of it.

### Chapter Three: Saved By The... Troll?

Elyfar was hardly an expert on trolls and had only seen a handful in her life-- all peaceful, gentle druids with no affiliation to the Horde-- but the one that currently smirked at her was bigger and meaner-looking than any other she had seen so far. It took her a moment to fully understand her situation as she initially believed herself to be dead. A little confusing for a troll to be the first thing she would see in whatever afterlife she’d prematurely stumbled into, but her fogged mind was in no place to question such things.

It was a sharp stab of pain from the back of her skull that brought everything back into focus. She felt sand and the thin beginnings of a line of grass beneath her. She was also soaking wet, bruised and sore all over. She slowly eased herself onto her elbows and reached behind her head, touching a warm and sticky patch that coated her fingers in angry red when she pulled them back to investigate. Now things were beginning to make more sense to her.

She looked again to the troll, ever-grinning, and finally reacted properly to it. She gave a startled yelp and lurched backwards, trying to crawl away to safety. The troll laughed-- an unexpectedly deep and pleasant sound-- and reached out with a large, three-fingered hand to grip her shoulder and hold her in place.

   “Ya won’t be gettin’ far with a head wound like dat, elf,” he spoke in curiously fluent Common. “The moment ya get to ya feet, dizziness gonna hit ya and it’ll be another hour before ya come to again.”

Elyfar looked at him in disbelief. Her confusion had returned at full force. Firstly, how was a troll speaking Common so well, and secondly why had he not killed her yet? She wondered if he wanted to get some information out of her beforehand. Unless he wanted to know about the boring specifics of the Sisterhood of Elune or what drinks were best in Thylean’s secret bar, he would be sorely disappointed.

The troll furrowed his brow when she did not speak. “What? Ya don’t speak Common? Well, dats gonna be a problem cuz dats the only Alliance tongue I know. No, wait, I know a little Dwarvish. Ya speak dat?”

   “I, uh, I speak Common just fine,” Elyfar replied. She narrowed her eyes at him, now that she had regained a little composure. “What do you want from me?”

The troll shrugged. “Nothin’, really. I just saw ya washed up on the shore and figured I’d help.” He rolled his eyes when Elyfar gaped at him. “Don’t be actin’ so surprised. The Horde be perfectly capable of helpin’ others, you know.”

Truth be told, Elyfar had not known. She’d not left Teldrassil in quite some time, and even then hadn’t gone far. She took a moment to examine her surroundings, rather relieved to recognise the dark, stony coast of Darkshore. At least this was familiar territory.

This raised another question to Elyfar. “What’s a troll doing in Darkshore?”

   “Horde business,” he replied with another shrug. “Ya just gonna ask me questions or am I gonna get a word’a thanks after savin’ your life?”

   “Oh, er, sorry. Thank you,” Elyfar said. She sat up straighter and rubbed her head. “Sorry. I’m not really with it right now.”

The troll nodded. “Understandable. Wouldn’t expect almost drownin’ to be much fun.” He looked over at the shoreline for a moment, watching the dark water lap around the debris he’d pulled the elf free from earlier. A thoughtful expression crossed his painted face. “Strange...”

Elyfar followed his gaze uncomprehendingly. “What’s strange?”

   “That you were the only one I found dere,” he said. “Where did the rest of the crew... oh, never mind. I saw sailors in Lor’danel before I found ya. Dey must’ve swam free and left ya for dead.”

Elyfar pursed her lips and nodded as more memories returned to her. “Yeah, they did. I don’t know why, though. None of them were rude or standoffish on the boat, but when it came to danger they all just...” she gestured vaguely, finding this train of thought painful to dwell on.

   “Humans are selfish,” the troll said. “Dey only be lookin’ out for themselves. We figure its a survival thing for them. Not a smart one, though.”

   “Who’s “we”?” Elyfar asked.

   “Me and my friends in the Horde,” he replied. “Got a whole bunch’a different people. Couple trolls, blood elves, undead... even a draenei.”

Elyfar stared at him. “Draenei? What, so... a defector?”

The troll nodded. “Dey weren’t satisfied with what the Alliance had to offer, so came to us lookin’ for a better life. Dey be much happier now. Its nice to see.”

   “Do you... do you regularly get people defecting from the Alliance?” Elyfar asked. This was all news to her-- she’d never known such a thing to be possible.

   “Nah, its very rare. I only know of dat one so far,” he said. He glanced back at her, and his expression became unreadable. “More are always welcome, you know. Doesn’t look like the Alliance is doing much for ya from what I can see.”

Elyfar was instinctively horrified by the notion and shook her head, a move she came to regret when a wave of dizziness rolled over her. “No, the Alliance is fi-- ughh, I shouldn’t have... done that...” The world span around her, colours blurring together and moving with terrible speed. Black spots danced around in the corners of her vision.

The troll reacted at once, leaning over and taking her by the shoulders once more. He turned her around and made her lean against him, something she likely would have protested had she been aware in that moment. For now, she was just thankful for something solid and warm to help steady herself.

   “Be still, elf,” he said. “Dats a nasty head wound, ya best not disturb it.”

She mumbled in response and complied, trying to settle her spinning head. She wasn’t drowning anymore, she wasn’t on that lurching boat with all those cruel humans. There was solid ground beneath her and help at her back. It didn’t matter that this help came in the form of a troll, of all things. At this point she wasn’t sure she would have minded if he were an orc.

Very slowly, the wooziness lifted and she could think and move once more. She picked herself out from the troll’s grip almost reluctantly, settling back on the sand.

   “Better now?” he asked.

Elyfar nodded carefully. “I think so. Thanks again.”

   “Its nothin’,” the troll replied, stretching his long arms out in front of him an gazing at the grey sky. “Ya think ya gonna be alright on ya own? I can’t be here forever, much as I might want to.”

   “Its not far from Lor’danel, I’m sure I’ll make it,” said Elyfar. *Then from there, back to Darnassus, and Ystara will be furious at me for losing that scroll...*

She must have looked unhappy at her thoughts, as the troll put a big hand on her shoulder, his expression sympathetic. “Look, it sounds like my words before ‘bout the Alliance hit a nerve in ya. If dat be true, and one day ya be lookin’ for help dey can’t provide, go to the Exodar and find a draenei named “Kozelle”. Tell dem Zuaya sent ya.” He retracted his hand and jerked a thumb in his direction. “Dat be me. Kozelle will know what to do from dere.”

Elyfar thought on his words for a bit and nodded. It was unlikely she would ever need to take the troll-- Zuaya-- up on that offer, but on the slim chance she would, it was very nice to know there was an option to. She thanked Zuaya again and informed him of her name now he had told her his, and something about it made the troll smirk.

   “Mistleaf, eh? I heard of dat family.”

Elyfar wanted to ask Zuaya what he meant by that, but by the time she found the words the troll had already left, disappearing into the somber forests behind them. She stared at the spot he had once occupied, still bearing his imprints in the sand. *What a strange troll*.

Eventually she mustered the strength to stand, and made the arduous, yet short, journey to Lor’danel.

### Chapter Four: The Purple-Eyed Priest

A few days had passed since Rhaelli gave her speech to the priests in Shattrath, and in the time since she had tucked herself away in her study to properly examine the fel crystals. They were an unusual bunch-- some would resonate with varying frequencies, their power pulsing in an almost visceral manner, while others seemed to almost be dormant, their pulses fainter and dulled. Others lay perfectly still, and though power lingered within them there was no resonance or pulse to speak of. She sorted the fragments into three piles, referring to them as “Living”, “Dormant”, and “Dead”. Of the three, the dormant crystals were the most in number, followed by the dead, and then the living.

She had her theories as to the natures of these different crystals, and was pondering them when the rattling sound of her bead curtains parting alerted her. She turned to greet her visitor; a young Forsaken priest with a stitched face, off-colour blond hair and curiously purple eyes. He had been present for the meeting, she realised, but try as she might she could not recall the man’s name.

   “Hello there,” she said, rising from her seat. “How can I help you?”

The man smiled up at her, his gaze momentarily drawn to the neat stacks of crystals on her desk. “Hello, Rhaelli. I do hope I’m not disturbing something important. I came here to ask about these... “fel crystals” in a little more detail. Your talk was informative, but I believe there is more to be learned.”

For some reason, hearing the man speak was enough to send chills down Rhaelli’s spine. She felt her hands go clammy, and the Light within her almost *wilting*. It was a puzzling reaction, and one she felt quite ashamed of. Was she subconsciously scared of him, perhaps? Was there some terrible instinct within her to be mistrustful of the undead? She certainly hoped not, but the feeling would not pass.

   “You needn’t worry about disturbing me, friend!” she said, trying desperately to maintain her cheerful demeanour so as to not offend her visitor. “I was examining the crystals myself when you entered, actually, so perhaps you’d like to join me, ah... I’m terribly sorry, I cannot recall your name.”

The Forsaken priest bared his teeth in what Rhaelli assumed was meant to be a friendly smile, and moved to inspect the crystals on the table. “Its Rhamiel. You wouldn’t have known that. Hmm... is there a reason you have sorted them into piles like this?”

    “Oh, yes” Rhaelli said, pointing from stack to stack. “These here resonate with lively frequencies, those in the centre have only slight resonance, and this pile has none. They all contain power, but it is an unusual discrepancy, don’t you think?”

   “Very unusual,” Rhamiel agreed, picking up a “living” crystal and squinting at it. Rhaelli would have warned him about how they stung to touch, but seeing the near-total lack of skin on his fingers decided it probably would not be necessary in his case. “And *all*of these were found scattered around the Lower City?”

Rhaelli nodded. “I could not pinpoint the exact locations, but yes. That is what the city’s Peacekeepers said.”

Rhamiel did not reply at that, instead staying quiet while he selected crystals from all three of the piles, inspecting them closely and discarding several. He murmured an affirmation under his breath, and then held out four of the crystals for Rhaelli to see.

   “These fit together. Look,” he said. He demonstrated his point, slotting the fragments against one another where they fit the cracks perfectly. “Either the shards were once bigger and simply fragmented on impact, or they were all part of a whole-- and there is no telling what that might be.”

Rhaelli observed the now-fitting crystals with awe, her mind buzzing with the possibilities of what this could mean. “By the Light... and these pieces are all from different piles?”

   “Yes. Well, sort of,” Rhamiel replied, his brow furrowing. “...This chunk was comprised of two high-frequency pieces, one low-frequency, and one of the dead ones. But... feel it.”

He placed the crystalline lump in Rhaelli’s hands, and what she felt caught her interest too much for her to even feel the pain touching it caused her. All the pieces resonated with renewed vigour now, even the dead one.

   “Incredible!” she exclaimed. “And all the more mysterious-- you certainly were correct to believe there was more to be learned here.”

Rhamiel gave a knowing smile, again causing a feeling of great discomfort within Rhaelli. “Indeed. I can hardly blame you for overlooking the complexity of these little shards-- fel magic is such a primitive thing. My time dabbling with the Void has perhaps hindered my ability to appreciate something so *simple*.”

Ah. A shadow priest. That explained the purple eyes, Rhaelli supposed. She wondered if Rhamiel had thought this reveal might shock or repulse her, but she knew her fair share of shadow priests and found most to be nothing to be scared of. She kept her polite smile in place, for what reason was there not to?

   “I can only imagine. My experiences with the Void have been... well, rather unpleasant, to be honest, but extraordinary nonetheless.” It was true, and she thought back to how she and the other fleeing draenei watched one of the naaru they had squirrelled away onto their vessel slowly fall to darkness. It had been as awful as it was beautiful.

As she thought back to it, she felt a most peculiar prickling sensation at the edges of her mind. It startled her, and she glanced over at Rhamiel with suspicion, only the find that the Forsaken was quite calmly poking crystals around and not paying her any attention at all. *Strange...*

Her little brother Haeluun wandered in at that point, wrinkling his pale nose at Rhamiel in disgust and turning to face Rhaelli.

   “Sister, I want to go to Dalaran. Its boring here, and I’m sick of A’dal humming in my head all the time,” he said, crossing his small arms over his chest.

Rhaelli sighed. “Please, Haeluun, we’ve talked about this. You have to ask mother’s permission, and not barge in when I have a guest.” She gestured to Rhamiel, an action which proved to dissatisfy Haeluun even more.

   “Ugh, you should really stop letting these creepy priests into your study. You’ll get hurt-- I know a bad shadow priest when I see one,” Haeluun said, glaring full-force at the Forsaken.

Rhamiel seemed unfazed by this, and merely looked at Haeluun with mild amusement. “Hm. Rather young to be playing with the Void, aren’t you? Didn’t you know? Little boys who play with purple fire get *very*badly burned.”

Haeluun opened his mouth to protest, but Rhaelli stepped between them before he could worsen the situation. “Rhamiel, I’m terribly sorry for my brother. Please pay him no mind.”

She felt Haeluun shove past her, grumbling. He pointed accusingly at Rhamiel. “I’m serious, Rhaelli, this man is very bad news! Don’t let him take any of the crystals! I saw what would happen, I saw it in a dream and--hey!”

His warnings were lost as Rhaelli slipped her hands under his arms and lifted him, carrying him carefully out of the room as he kicked, screamed and tried to bat her with his tail. She set Haeluun down outside and instructed one of the Peacekeepers to make sure the little draenei made it back to their mother safely and, more importantly, *promptly*.

   “I’m so sorry for him,” Rhaelli said to Rhamiel again as she reentered. “He is young, and the young are often a handful.”

Rhamiel simply nodded at that, smiling still. “I’ll forgive him. Us shadow priests have a tendency to be difficult. But I must ask that you not take his advice, if one could call it that, regarding the crystals. I require but a few, and I assure you they would be in safe hands.”

Rhaelli hesitated. It was not so much Haeluun’s warning that made her do so, but the lingering sense of wrongness that had not left since Rhamiel set foot in her room. But if something was truly amiss, she could not place it, and for that reason she quashed her fears as best she could.

   “Of course, please take what you need. I would be grateful if you would share any new findings with me,” Rhaelli said.

   “I’ll be sure to,” replied Rhamiel, already stashing crystals in the pockets of his robe. He made to leave, but turned back as one last thought occurred to him. “Oh, and if another naaru happens to turn to the Void, do let me know. That too would be invaluable to my research.”

   And with that, the purple-eyed priest was gone, the bead curtains clacking softly closed.

### Chapter Five: Disturbance in Dalaran

Another day was drawing to a close in Dalaran. Sitting awkwardly in a human-built chair clearly not made to accommodate a troll’s posture, Fen flicked through her tome a bit more hurriedly, knowing soon the librarians would come to shoo lingerers out for the evening. The book was nothing special— simply an instructional manual on the history and use of glyphs— but Fen was eager to absorb its contents. As one of the few troll mages in the city, she felt like an ambassador for her people and was eager to dispel unfair rumours about the Horde’s— and particularly the trolls’— so-called “savagery”. It was a colossal task for anyone to undertake, and for a fourteen-year-old like herself it became practically impossible.

But as the saying went: “Darkspear never die”, and nor would her aspirations.

A shuffling sound nearby made her long ears twitch, the smell of cheap perfume faintly masking sweat reaching her nostrils a heartbeat later. The librarian at the head desk was on the prowl. Fen’s brow creased in concentration as she raced across the pages, mouthing the words in an attempt to memorise them better. All too soon the librarian was upon her— a tired dwarven woman with grey curls and a face more lined than Fen’s notepads. Before the dwarf could utter a word, Fen was on her feet and returning the book to its shelf. She flashed the librarian a sharp-toothed smile. “I’m just on my way out.”

  “You’d best be,” the dwarf said, glaring. “I cannae have you stinkin’ the place up with yer troll-stench.”

Fen would have arched an eyebrow at that if she had any. Instead she settled for a humourless smile, the kind that said*“I could kill you right now, but I won’t.”* Without another word she left, feeling the dwarf’s close-set eyes boring into her back. A year ago she’d have considered shouting at the rude little woman, but experience taught her it was best not to react at all. She’d complained to her fellow Horde mages about this unfair treatment and many shared similar experiences. The Kirin Tor’s relationship with the Horde was tense as always, and it only looked to worsen with time.

When she conveyed this news on occasion to her parents, they’d unfailingly urge her to leave Dalaran and study in Silvermoon instead. Blood elves could be obnoxious at times, but at least there was less risk of Jaina Proudmoore turning up and slaughtering people on a whim.But Fen could not see it that way, and felt nothing but sympathy for the woman for all she had suffered.

There were many times Fen found herself agreeing with Tor’far’s proclamations and Dinistrio’s quiet encouragement, but something deep within her froze these doubts in her mind. It was as though her very spirit wanted to be here, within the walls of the floating city. As she walked back to her home she gazed up at the darkening sky, the sun throwing rays of colour across the clouds before the horizon dragged it out of sight. Stars began to twinkle, more and more winking out from nowhere the longer Fen watched them. She was reminded of Archmage Rhonin’s iconic speech, remembered the swell of pride and accomplishment within everyone in the moment he spoke it. She had been younger then and her mother and father, both fresh from battle, were by her side. What possessed the troll couple to bring their young daughter to Northrend in such a tumultuous time escaped Fen entirely, but ultimately she was glad that they had. While they were off fighting tooth and nail on the snowy ground below, Fen had stayed in Dalaran. She befriended a number of mages in that time, several with which she remained close to this day. Through them, her fascination with magic began, and under their guidance blossomed.

So caught up in her thoughts was Fen that she nearly missed the cloaked figure hurrying right into her path. She balked and stepped back to give them some space. The beginnings of an apology died on her lips when the stranger swiftly closed the distance between them, a sick green glow growing beneath their hood. Fen felt something cold slide between her ribs, and knew immediately it would be a dagger.

Calling upon her arcane powers, Fen blinked behind her attacker and all but shouted the incantation to cast an arcane barrage. The fear in her voice surprised her, as did the way her three-fingered hands trembled as she lifted them to focus her attack. The twin bolts of blue and violet energy swirled about one another, slamming into their target in a burst of power that should have been enough to bring them to their knees.

But the attacker remained standing, and were it not for how tattered their cloak had become would have looked as though they had not been touched at all. The green haze had coalesced into two orbs, like the lenses of Gnomish goggles. They were surely too large to be eyes.

Fen brought her hands together and began to cast a polymorph spell, relishing in the image of her attacker running about mindlessly as a sheep. It would last only for a few moments, but would be more than enough to subdue them and call for help.

Of all the ways Fen imagined her spell would be interrupted, being swept off her feet by an enormous wrathguard was quite far down on the list. She struggled in its grip, glaring down at the cloaked figure who she guessed was responsible for this. They laughed, drawing back their hood.

The scarred face of a female orc stared back up at Fen. Her skin was bright green, her long silver hair fell down her back and shoulders messily. Her left ear seemed to be missing, and beneath the scars her skin was timeworn and wrinkled. An old orc, Fen deduced, and one that had seen many battles.

Worst of all were her eyes. They were such a bright green the street lamps seemed dim in comparison. Despite clearly being the product of some kind of fel abuse, Fen could not call them similar to the eyes of a blood elf. They simply seemed so much *more*, their glow so strong they pierced the skin and bone of the orc’s face itself.

  “Who are you?!” Fen demanded, wriggling in the demon’s grasp. The wrathguard merely tightened its grip in response, making her stab wound twinge painfully.

The orc laughed, the sound like hailstones hitting a window. “A careful soul. One that does not leave witnesses to her exploits.”

Fen frowned. “Witnesses? To what, you stabbing me? Because yeah, I’m *pretty sure* I saw that.”

It was the orc’s turn to frown now. She peered at Fen with an odd mixture of suspicion and self-doubt. “You saw only that?”

  “Yes!” Fen cried, cringing as the wrathguard squeezed her again. “I was having a rather nice time watching the sunset before you showed up, too!”

There was a moment’s silence as the orc watched her carefully, searching her face for any hint of a lie. When the green eyes left her, Fen was certain she saw a flash of regret cross the battle-worn face.

  “In my clan, it is dishonourable to take the life of an innocent child,” the orc said, starting to pace.

  “Yeah that’s more or less the case for most “clans”,” Fen grumbled impatiently. “You can avoid a lot of dishonour by having this beast release me, you know!”

The orc’s gaze was on her again, and now she was shaking her head. “It is too late. You have seen me already. I cannot risk the Kirin Tor knowing I was here.”

Fen was thrown by two things. The first, how strangely apologetic this fel-infused orc seemed to be at the prospect of killing her.

And second: the wrathguard.

Right off the side of Dalaran.

### Chapter Six: Home Sweet Home

The Mistleaf homestead in Darnassus was a place of beauty and serenity. Carved from the wood of pale trees, it sat tucked in the corner of the city, half-obscured by gentle foliage of blue and violet. It was a large place, far too big for the tiny number of their family that lived to walk its halls. It was just Ystara and Elyfar now.

The younger of the two stood now in what Ystara pompously called "The Hall of Honoured Ancestors"-- a long, winding walkway with walls filled with ornate paintings of Mistleafs passed. Their ancient matriarch, Ydrael Mistleaf, took pride of place as the first portrait seen on entry. Those of her husband and children were positioned to her right, along with the rest of the once-noble dynasty. Elyfar followed the walkway, pausing to examine the painted face of the pride of the Mistleaf family: a beautiful elf named Izshri, an amber-eyed treasure chosen as a handmaiden to Queen Azshara herself. Izshri had made their family noble all those years ago, and in some ways was perhaps to blame for Ystara's obsessing with restoring their rank now. Elyfar wrinkled her nose at the painting-- she wasn't *that* pretty. There was a cruel haughtiness in her fey-like features.

Further down the corridor Elyfar went, feeling more and more like a stranger in the presence of all these perfect Mistleaf faces. She stopped again at two portraits: those of Ystella and Arhara Mistleaf. Ystella, who had been Ystara and Feldris' mother, exuded kindness and elegance from her gentle face. Arhara, Elyfar's mother, grinned mischievously from the canvas. A twinge of sadness rose in her chest as she looked at them-- perhaps it would have been better if she had died along with her parents. Perhaps Ystara would think better of her as a long-dead cousin than a useless adopted sister.

The last painting in the hallway was her own. It had been done years ago, though the memory remained fresh in her mind. Ystara had forced her into the family regalia, which itched and pinched in all the wrong places. It didn't fit properly either, something the artist had concealed in her work. There was an unnatural smile on Elyfar's painted face-- that hadn't been there on the day. She had scowled and moaned and complained until the thing was done. That wasn't her smile. It looked a little like Ystara's though. Her portrait was resplendent-- a stunning, opalescent piece practically radiating gentle moonlight, symbolic of Elune's favour. Feldris' was nice, but quite plain in comparison. Elyfar had trouble recognising her in it, though, as it was done long before Feldris fell ill.

After these three, the paintings stopped. The corridor continued on for quite a way, the empty walls ready to hold the faces of new Mistleafs-- if there would be any. Elyfar supposed Ystara might have children if she could find a partner perfect enough to satisfy her. Personally, though, Elyfar was not so keen. It would have to be a noble-- Ystara would insist. And that cut down her options considerably.

She sighed, stuffed her hands in her pockets, and continued down the walkway. The sound of Ystara talking with her apprentices wafted through the walls, just loud enough to be understood. Elyfar recognised the voice of Gaeallaes Duskbloom, a particularly unpleasant noble boy with an ego that surpassed even his sycophantic capacity for Ystara. Quieter were the meek words of Anei Rainsong, a much more tolerable elf in Elyfar's opinion. She was very shy, but refreshingly humble. The Rainsongs were not as noble as the Mistleafs or the Duskbreezes, but Anei's sister had just become a sentinel, and that had added to the family's reputation somewhat. Enough for Ystara to take her as a student, anyway.

Elyfar could deal with Anei. But Ystara and Gaeallaes as well? No, thank you. Unfortunately they were stationed in the house's main foyer, and she would have to walk past them to reach her room or the exit. Either one would do. She sighed, training her gaze at the ground, and tried to hurry through without being seen.

It, of course, did not work.

"Ah, the drowned rat returns," Ystara sneered. Gaeallaes laughed, a little too loudly. "You see, students? If you do not allow the Goddess your full focus and devotion, she'll capsize your ship to teach a lesson."

Elyfar rolled her eyes, trying to ignore Ystara. Why was this foyer so stupidly big? Still quite a way from the doors.

"She lost an important scroll too," Ystara continued. "Which means one of you will have to write a replacement for me."

"I'll do it, Priestess!" Gaeallaes said, raising his hand enthusiastically. "It would be for the best-- I'll bet there are orcs with neater penmanship than Rainsong."

Anei turned her blue face away in shame, saying nothing.

Ystara smiled. "Good. I will not be trusting Elyfar to deliver something so urgent again. Gaeallaes, once you have finished writing the new missive you are to deliver it to Priestess Dentaria Silverglade in Lor'danel."

Gaeallaes nodded, turning to flash Elyfar a nasty smile. "As you wish, Priestess Mistleaf. I'll take my pedigree hippogryph and get there in half the time of a ship."

It seemed Ystara had grown bored of complimenting Gaeallaes' eagerness, and was now moving on to discuss Anei's difficulty with a specific shielding incantation. With the attention off of her, Elyfar darted through the front door, letting it slam behind her.

She took in a deep breath of fragrant, Darnassian air, letting the cool breeze soothe the tension brought about by any interaction with Ystara. By the Goddess, what a time she was having. Ystara showed no sympathy to hear about her near-death experience. Elyfar suspected the elder Mistleaf was disappointed she *hadn't* died there.

Loneliness was not an uncommon feeling to Elyfar, but it seized her in a vice-grip all the same. What a family. What a sister. Though if more of her painted ancestors lived still today, they would probably treat her with the same contempt. Did families of other races have this problem? She doubted such snobbery existed within the calm and sage draenei. And what of those in the Horde? Blood elves, perhaps. She didn't really know.

As she walked through the streets of Darnassus, Elyfar found herself considering the offer made by Zuaya, the troll that saved her in Darkshore. It would be a terribly rash thing to do, and in the process she would be giving up her home and most of her possessions. But, some spiteful part of her insisted, it would be so worth it just to see the look on Ystara's face. A Mistleaf-- one she personally adopted and raised-- joining the Horde? The fallout would destroy the family's reputation for good, and likely Ystara with it. Or, perhaps with no more reputation to obsess over, Ystara might be able to lead a normal life at last. Nothing Elyfar could do would damage her skill as a priestess, after all.

So joining the Horde could go one of two ways. Either Elyfar wins, or both she and Ystara win.

Winning wasn't something she was at all used to. But there's a first time for everything.

She broke into a sprint, passing through the teleporter to Rut'theran Village. The ferry to Azuremyst Isle was just arriving.