Garbage Day

Kilnar snapped the tome she was holding shut.  Her beloved simulacrum - the culmination of one of her many contingency plans - looked up from the ritual spellbook she had prepared for her curiously.  "What is it?" the simulacrum asked, curiously, leaning forward in her chair slightly.  The small cote of doves that cleaned themselves in the birdbath near the fount ceased their preening and glanced at the two identical women.

"It seems our guests have arrived," the true archmage said.  She stood abruptly.  "You have everything you need."

The simulacrum nodded with a smile.  "We are quite adept at preparation, after all."

"Destroy the teleportation circle after I depart.  It seems my return to this place will have to be mundane in nature, but it is better than the alternative of allowing it to fall into the hands of those vile creatures.  The notes will guide you in my absence."

The simulacrum nodded again.  "That, I shall not forget."

Kilnar scooped her wine glass from the table and held it aloft towards her body double.  She was identical in nearly every way - even her blade was a spare foil of lesser enchantment she kept in case of emergency.  She would do well.  "Die well, magistrix," she said.

The simulacrum hoisted her own wine glass, clinking it against her mistress's.  "Live well, magistrix."

The pair downed their glasses and placed them back on the table.  With a swift incantation and a flash of scintillating force, Kilnar Goldensword vanished from her study.

The simulacrum of Kilnar Goldensword glided across the study's pristine stone floors, glancing around the beautiful rows of books.  While everything of irreplaceable value had already been moved to the Grand Vault, there was still great knowledge to be found here.  She knew the contents of every tome, yet still she found an urge to re-read them.  Curious.

She stopped at the fountain full of doves - two of which were currently bound as familiars to her and her mistress.  "It seems it will be up to us to entreat our guests, my dearies.  What say we give them a welcome they shan't soon forget?"

---

Magistrix Kilnar appeared in the midst of the Servant quarters.  On her orders, they were not to stray far from this room in case of emergency.  Just like this.

Besides the brave young volunteers that were monitoring and protecting the Prismatic Wall Generator with Ser Talindra and Captain Kaelis, every living being under her employ and care was here.

"My lady?" her chamberlain, Delian, quickly stood as the Seeker of Wisdom manifested before them.

"We've little time, everyone.  You have two minutes to gather your things.  Come along, now."

They knew the evacuation plans.  Kilnar had made sure of that.  That would not stop the panic, nor the fear.  The next one-hundred and twenty seconds were a scramble as guards strapped on their half-removed plate and their weapons, as servants and their families threw anything they could fit, they would need, into bags and casting the rest aside.

"Follow me, everyone.  Swiftly, now," she said.

The Seeker of Wisdom lead her people through the manor halls, past the kitchens, the entry foyer, and the baths.  She turned to her chamberlain as she strode forward.  "You remember where my private bath is?"

"Yes, my lady."

"I shall be along anon.  Pray, get everyone through the portrait and drain my bath, will you?"

The elf, closer in age to her than any of the others, nodded.  "Everyone, stick close to me.  The Magistrix will be along shortly.  Come along," he said, leading the small gathering into her art gallery.

Kilnar spun back for a brief moment and stepped into the vast antechamber that branched off into the rest of the manor.  She paused briefly at the edge of the expansive water systems that stretched out across the building.  She sighed, forlorn to leave this place.  But she would return, one day.

Effortlessly, she lept across the water and landed on a small white stone dais floating in the midst of the synthetic river.  She knelt down, her dress spiraling across the mystic runes that appeared upon it at her touch.

Reception Mode, Omega Adaptation, she willed the arcane functions to obey her command.  As she stood, she saw the subtle shifts in the manor as its magics adjusted to receive guests - both the ruly and unruly.

Satisfied, she retreated back towards the Gallery and moved to rejoin her people.  They did not have much time.  The manor had likely already been breached, and they had ten minutes before the generator restored the wall.  By her calculations, she had three minutes to exit.

They would need only two.

---

As she entered the warm chamber, her people were already gathered.  She glanced around quickly, ensuring she had not left anything important here.  A hand tapped the side of her robe, where her thin, light-weight spellbook was securely kept.  Wouldn't do to forget this, she thought.

"Come along, please.  Double file, if you will."  The magistrix descended the stairs down into the empty bath and moved to the far wall, placing her hand on the stone.  A glyph appeared upon the stone before both vanished in a long, narrow, perfectly-cut corridor.  Beyond it, one of the many sections of the ancient ruins beneath their besieged city.

She lead the servants and guards out after her, swiftly setting the pace for the others.

And just so.  It seems they had needed two and a half minutes to clear the barrier.  A near-miss on her calculations, but one within acceptable parameters.  She sighed in relief as she heard the magic restored some distance behind her.  They were out, and nearly safe.  Or at least, as safe as they could be.

"Torches, everyone.  Weapons at the ready, just in case.  I'm going to get us to safety.  A moment," she said, her eyes glowing for a moment as she drew a symbol in the air.

Thalodien, dear, she thought to her old friend upon establishing the telepathic link, My employees and I could use your assistance.  We find ourselves outside of the manor at present, in the ruins below.  You wouldn't happen to be in the city still, would you?

Kilnar?  Sweet fucking hell.  You know how to pick a good time, don't you?  A lot's happened.  As he spoke, Kilnar projected everything they saw around them.  I've got a lock on your location.  I'll... try to find a team to back me up.  Things are a little hectic right now, but we can walk and talk.  Err, think.

You're a darling, Thalodien.  Full glad am I that you've still around.

And abandon the best boss I've had the pleasure of serving?  Please.  Finnall would never let me hear the end of it, and neither would my pocketbook.

Kilnar smiled.  "Help is coming, dears.  Stick close to me, now, and try not to make any noise."  She, and a number of the other elves who held basic, light-producing magics, conjured them to join the torches as they moved forward, deeper into the ruins as they moved to rendezvous with her beloved spymaster.

---

They traveled a short distance in the ruins.  According to her link with Thalodien, they would be met with Resistance members soon.  He had filled her in on everything she had missed - the Red Mist, the occupation, the Resistance.  They had a lot of work to do.

As they moved into another ancient Amani site, a long hallway with a handful of geometric exits, she finally saw the torchlight coming around the corner.

She smiled.  I believe I see your torchlights, Thalodien.

There was a pause.  We don't have torches, Kilnar.



Her heart sank as she froze in place.  

Get out of there!

She quickly glanced around.  The other passageways were filling with lights as lumbering figures came into view in every direction.  They were surrounded, save the way they came... and there were only a few exits that lead anywhere but directly back into the prismatic wall.

"Get back," she said, holding a hand out.  The hallway began to echo with orcish battle-cries as the greenskinned warriors spotted them.  Her guards stepped forward, flanking her and drawing weapons as they did, making a wall between themselves and the servants, who cowered back into the hallway behind the wall of steel.

This chamber is too narrow for widespread magics without endangering the others.  I cannot teleport all of us out of here, so that is not an option.

They would have to stand their ground and wait for reinforcements.

Her blade flickered from its cloth scabbard as she held out a hand, sending a sea of soft-teal arcane missiles soaring down every hallway, striking into the orcs as they charged forward.  Some found themselves with holes blasted through themselves, but not all.  The dozen or more marauders fell upon her and her guards.  They were significantly larger than she was, but Kilnar found that a boon, especially in such close quarters.  The first blade that struck her elegant estoc caused a harmonious ripple as she turned the strike aside, using his size and strength against him.  One, two, three.  One, two, three.  Her strikes came in threefold strikes, a waltz of black blood as she pirouetted through the green tide as the burly brutes attempted to overpower her.  She even managed to evade the spray of viscera as her guardsmen rebuffed the initial strike, her robes unmarred by the battle, her defenses imperviously bolstered by her magic.  She glanced back.  Two of her men were down, but the others were holding their own, and the line had not been breached.

A one-eyed warrior stepped forward, a vicious glaive that threatened to scrape across the ceiling of the low chamber as he brandished it.  From his guttural shouts, he seemed to be their commander.  He rounded on Kilnar, intent on locking the archmagistrix into combat.  He was stronger, faster than the rest.  Though she was able to rebuff his assault, she found it more difficult to land a blow on him without overextending.

Perhaps a change of strategy is in-

One of the orcs ran past her, just outside of her reach.  In lieu of a weapon, he carried a clear barrel, held aloft over his head.  It was filled with a thick, red fog.

No!



She reached her hand out, but it was too late.  The orc, now between herself and her people, slammed the glass on the ground, shattering into pieces.  The mist spread quickly from the point of impact.  Instinctively, she held her hand out, erecting a barrier of shimmering force beyond the orc.  The mist collided with the wall, rebounding from it and away from her people.

Her servants and guards were safe.  But she was helpless to stop the Red Mist as it washed over her and the orcs that surrounded her like a tide of blood.

Her attempts to hold her breath did nothing to save her.  Her lungs began to burn hot as the air was stolen from them.  She staggered backwards, coughing breathlessly as she raised her blade, trying desperately to turn aside the attacks of the many orcs that still surrounded her.  The eyepatched orc in particular revelled in her weakness and redoubled his efforts, coming at her like a storm of steel and fury.  Her muscles strained to even hold her blade aloft as she felt the blade bite into her side.

She collided with a wall, though she knew not how she had reached it. Her vision was blurred as she dropped to her feet, the blade clattering to the ground.  She felt as if her skin was simultaneously burning, freezing, and sloughing off.  Between her gasping coughs, she felt her senses fail her one at a time.  The smell of sulfur and blood filled her dulling nostrils, her vision blurred, her tongue tinged with iron and copper as blood filled her mouth.  Her ears were ringing.

Her mind screamed with agony as she saw the blurry forms of orcs closing in on her through the obscuring mist.  Her body shutting down, she leaned back against the wall and dug deep into her magical reserves.

And felt a crack.

Something was horribly wrong.

As she tapped into her deepest reserves of magic, it began to flow and did not stop.  Like a hull breached by a cannonball, her magic flowed out in every direction, the agony of her mind projected outwards as she screamed, supernatural, unbridled might erupting from her vocalization.  The orcs clutched their minds in pain, several of their numbers succumbing to the pain as their ears, their eyes, ruptured before slumping to the ground.  Those that stood staggered backwards, sent reeling in pain as their minds struggled to reclaim their own senses.

Kilnar's ears rang as her reserves dried up.  Her body bereft of energy, she slumped to the ground fully, her fingers now gripped around her shoulders.  She felt weak beyond measure.  The stone beneath her was covered in blood, vomit, and thinning, cream-colored hair.  As the ringing became too much to bear, she heard nothing but her own labored breathing, and the shouting of more voices.  Time faded and spun into space as the room swirled and defied her perceptions.

Kilnar! a voice shouted both within and without her mind.  Kilnar, speak to me!

"Dear... dear..." she said, her voice dry and pained.

She felt warm fingers on her skin, abject pain at the sensation.  Arms wrapped around her and lifted her, but she could not even begin to resist.  Her legs, her arms, her mind all felt like they were thousands of miles away.

Stay with me, Kilnar, the voice said.  It was a familiar voice.  She knew it from somewhere, but her mind was bereft of anything but pain.  Stay with me.  I'm going to get you help.  I'm going to get you to safety.  You're alright.  You're gonna be alright.  Stay with me.

Stay with me...

The pain struck consciousness from her mind as the pain became too much to bear.

As the reclaimed vessel slipped into the Greenwood Channel, Kilnar could not help but feel that everything was going too well.  As she glanced around the surmised she was not the only one who felt this way.  As she stood at the bow of the ship, glancing across the water's edge, and at the other vessels that slipped into the night, a pit formed in her stomach.

"But Seeker," the elf said in a hushed tone, a suspiciously far distance from her "we've searched the whole vessel.  No signs of stowaways or anything of the sort."

"I understand, captain," she said calmly.  "Search again.  These orcs are craftier than you give them credit.  I would have thought your time with the Blood Shrike would have taught you that."

The elf clammed up, bereft of a response.  "Yes, ma'am," was all he offered before turning and delivering the orders to the rest of the makeshift crew.

Their group had not encountered much resistance, but she expected the others may had.  The vessel they had commandeered was one that had been under construction when the Sacking occurred.  It seemed the orcs, or perhaps the treacherous elves that had caused this whole mess, had finished it.  That, alone, was suspect.

"Magistrix Goldensword?" a voice called her attention from behind her.  She turned fully to face him, so that she could see from beneath her cowl.  It was Rohan Sunveil.  He and his wife, Clarya, were two of the lucky souls pulled from the former palace during the Blood Shrike's raid.  Two of the only other people in this world who were suffering from her... condition.

"Rohan," she said, calmly.  Though she had only a few days to interact with he and the others, and even though their cursed, withered features seemed always to display some degree of concern, she could tell he was perturbed by something.  "Is something wrong?"

The man nodded.  Once, he was likely quite handsome.  The Sunveil family was an old one, and were known famously - and, at times, infamously - for their mercantile prowess.  Though he was, perhaps, not the brightest star in the sky, he was earnest, well-spoken, and cunning enough to be aware of his shortcomings.

But he was young, and afraid, and wholly out of his element.

"It's... the other elves.  They will not allow us to aid them!  Clarya and I are proficient sailors - perhaps moreso than some of the others.  But... they refuse to allow us to help.  The others that... were... The others from Sunstrider Spire... They won't even come out from below deck."

Kilnar sighed.  She anticipated this, and had noticed the signs herself.  The other elves had begun to fear them as monsters.  Grotesque mockeries of everything it was to be a quel'dorei - twisted, shrivled, wrinkled...

Unable to bend magic to their will.

She had felt the latter even more keenly than the other effects of the twisting she had underwent from the attack involving the Red Mist.  Though her body had begun to recover from the exertion, her magic had not.  It was as if her reserves of magic had sprung a leak.  Indeed, it felt like she had even less control over the arcane than she had when she unleashed the psychic scream against her attackers.  She feared that, in time, not even the simplest of magics would obey her command.

And it felt hollow.  Dry. Barren. Like her soul was grinding against her bones, lubricated by the ancient magics that had flowed through her veins for a thousand years.

But she would notallow that to deter her.  Nor would she suffer her own people entertaining the notion of casting her or others like her from their midst, especially not in this time of crisis.

"I've heard them sneering and gawking, too.  Calling us wretched, grotesque.  Withered, skeletal fragments of elves.  Treating us like we're some sort of... diseased creatures.  Did they not hear the priests?  They said it wasn't a disease.  They said..."  His broad shoulders sank as he looked down at the deck below them.  "I... I just want to help.  Everyone.  Not just ourselves."


She opened her eyes and smiled, reaching a wiry hand to his shoulder.  "Thank you for telling me, Rohan.  I will speak with the others.  This is... something I wish to nip in the bud sooner, rather than later."  Her smile waxed as her brow furrowed in seriousness.  "But I want to make something clear to you, as I will to the others.  You are not wretched, nor grotesque, nor a diseased, withered fragment.  You are an elf.  A quel'dorei, like any other.  This is merely a setback.  A change.  Something that we must try to embrace... as hard as that might be."

She glanced at her own hand on his shoulder, then up at the moon above.  "Our beauty, our bodies, our powers may have waned... but like the moon above, we will wax once again, as all the elves will.  Do you understand?"

Rohan nodded, looking back up to Kilnar.  "I... think I understand.  We aren't broken.  We're just... waned.  But that doesn't change who we are."

"Good," she thought.  Waned, she thought to herself, looking down at her own shriveled hands But not broken.  "Keep those words close to your heart.  We will all need them in the trials to come.  For now, return to the others, and to your wife.  They could use your confidence, I wager."

"As you wish, Seeker," he said.  As he turned to head below decks, the two heard a loud thump, followed by a whispered commotion from beneath them.  They shared a look before both of them hurried down the stairs towards the hold they had heard the noise coming from.

"Well, you'd better get some sea legs quickly." a Guardian of the Eternal Spring hissed at a young magistrix with dusky hair, perhaps not much older than Esara.  She was on the ground, a small tear in her robes upon her knees.  "We're trying to be quiet here, you know?  We can't have people tripping over their own feet and hurting people, breaking things," he said, gesturing to the water and broken pottery now strewn across the ground.



"I heard ya the first time," she said, standing back up and brushing herself off and blowing a strand of wild hair from her face.  "But I didn't trip on 'nothin.'  Something, or someone, knocked me over."

"What is this commotion about?" Kilnar asked, her voice low yet projected.

"I was about to ask the same thing," another voice called from the crowd of people that were crammed into the lower decks.  As she stepped forward, she recognized Magister Anice Erona, one of the prodigious teachers at the defunct Falthrien Acadademy, and Linore's elder sister besides.  She was one of the few other magisters aboard this vessel.



"Nothing," the Guardian said.  "Just an accident."

"It wasn't a damn accident!  I was tripped," the young magister said.

As the two began to bicker, Kilnar raised a hand.  "Please.  Calm down.  We don't have time for this.  Just... sweep this up, quiet down, and return to your duties, yes?"

Rohan scratched his chin.  "Wait a moment..." he said, moving forward.  One benefit of his condition is that, at present, people gave him a wide berth, allowing him to easily crawl over the crowd and examine the scene of the 'tripping.'  "I think she's right," he said, pointing at the ground.  "It's an old smuggling compartment.  A lot of ships have these, and it looks like this one is... bent a little bit?"  He reached down and wiggled his fingers in, trying to pull at the compartment, but it wouldn't budge.

"Is it budged?  Broken?  What's up?" the young magister said, now looking curiously over the merchantman, practically hanging on him - a stark contrast to the wide berth the rest were giving him.

"No, that's not it... it feels like there's... something on it?  Let me just- Ahh!" he shouted in surprise as the hatch flew open suddenly, the elf staggering as his footing was sabotaged by the young magister climbing on him.  "I... guess that worked?" he said, scratching the back of his head.

"Must have been jammed, then," Anice added.

The younger magister squinted.  "I don't think so," she said, suspicious eyes glaring at the edge of the cabin.  "Hiyah!" she shouted, a hand extended outward with one finger forward and her thumb pointing upwards.  A blue-violet beam of energy shot forward as the dispel magic found its mark.

Suddenly, only a few feet from the edge of the smuggling compartment, a reddish-brown hulk laid in a curled ball.  As it became visible, it made a low, guttural sound of shock.

The skarvyn creatures that had assisted the Resistance? Kilnar thought.

"Uh oh," it muttered (or, rather, a guttural equivalent bastardization of the draconic word for alarm) as it clumsily stood, revealing a much smaller, lankier creature from beneath it.  As the smaller skarvyn hissed at the sudden movement and shock, the sound of weapons unsheathed filled the chamber as panic spread across the crowd.

"Stop!" Anice said, stepping forward, her hands raised in the air.  "Stop.  They're... with me."

All eyes turned to the magister, who's face read equal parts embarassment, exasperation, and conviction.

"They're 'with you,' Magistrix Erona?" Kilnar asked, folding her arms in front of her.  "I was under the impression that these creatures had no desire to leave the city.  Some elaboration, then, may be necessary?"

Anice sighed, pinching her brow as she spoke, half into her hand.  "I was... I met the Dabu and Zug when I was investigating the specter of Lady Solanian.  They were a great help, and they... asked to come with.  So I obliged."

"They... asked.  So you brought them with.  Without telling anyone?"  The captain of the Guardians asked, tapping his foot irritatedly.  

"Not my wisest plan," Anice admitted with a shrug and a consigned smile.

"You named them?" the young magister asked.

"They named themselves, actually.  They're... smarter than they look, actually."

Kilnar raised a hand.  "Enough," she said.  "What's done is done.  We can discuss this later.  For now, it is more important we keep quiet and stay the course.  I would remind everyone we are in enemy territory?  So, perhaps some more discretion henceforth."

Everyone grew silent for a moment, until a gasp and another loud thunk interrupted them.

Kilnar turned to the source.  "Rohan, what did I just-"  His discovery stole the words from her mouth as her eyes widened.

He had pulled a small, translucent cask of swirling, malevolent Red Mist from beneath the smuggling compartment.



"Get back!" Kilnar shouted, waving a hand to the crowd.  She strode forward to the canister just in time to note the crimson rune that flickered on top of its casing.

"I got it!" the young, wild-haired young magister shouted as she dove at the case.  Her eyes and hand glowed as she touched the rune, interfacing with it magically.  Kilnar's reach was interrupted as red lightning coursed from the rune as the young woman screamed in pain.  After a moment, the lightning subsided, and all held their breath as they watched smoke rippling from the girl.

Slowly, she raised her hand in the air and gave a thumbs up.

Pop Fshhhh.  Pop Fshhhh.  Pop Fshhhh.

The loud sound emanated from all around them.  Kilnar's heart stopped as she glanced around, fearing to see the device leaking mist.  

But it wasn't. Somehow, the girl had succeeded.

But what, then, was that-

Oh no.

Kilnar spun on her heel.  "Everyone, stay below decks.  Magisters, with me.  Get that girl to safety," she said, gesturing to the wild young woman, already on her feet, despite the soot marks and the pain.

"No," she said, "I'm going with you."

She didn't have time to fight.  "Fine," she said, rushing up the stairs.

It was as she feared.  The vessels around her had begun to issue a thick, red mist, illuminated in the moonlight.  Those that were nearby - those that were lucky enough not to have fallen prey to the orc's trap - were coasting right into the fog as it spread across the channel.  She heard screams and coughs and agonizing terror as the vessel in front of them disappeared into the mist.

Kilnar and the other mages moved towards the front of the boat.  "Follow my lead," she shouted into the wind.  I'm going to regret this, she thought as she reached her hand out and uncorked the broken flask of her magic.

Teal winds flicked at the bow of the boat as she harnessed the winds displaced by the vessel carving through the water.  A wall of wind formed, creating a spearhead of protective air that covered the very front.

"Now!" she shouted, feeling the flow of magic eke out from her very person.

The other magi flanked her and reached their hands out, adding their own magic to hers.  She felt the plugged holes of her mana surge forth as the wall of wind stretched out further and further until it wrapped around the front and sides of the boat.

And not a moment too soon, as the night sky turned blood red.  None of the mages breathed in a single breath as the deathly, corrupting fog washed around the wind wall like water from a duck's back.

The moment lasted an eternity to Kilnar, each moment seeming to sap more and more of her strength from her.  She grit her teeth together in pain.  A hand touched her shoulder.  It was the young mage girl again.  "You can do this, Seeker!" she shouted into the howling winds.

This she knew.  She had to.  These people, her people, depended on it.

And suddenly, the sky returned, the mist behind them.  Though it was still night, Kilnar knew not if ten minutes or ten days had passed, for it felt to her like ten years.

She glanced around at some of the other vessels in sight.  Some had erected their own protections, walls of force, wind, and otherwise... but others had no such luck.  Her breath hitched in her throat.  

There are many more than seven of us, now.

The sound of split wood and erupting fire interrupted them as the vessel to their left shuddered.  The sky was ablaze with siege projectiles, magic and mundane, from the edge of Sunstrider Isle.  They were not through yet.

"Full... speed ahead," she said, panting as she faltered, the magical wall falling.  One of the mages caught her as she faltered.

It would be a long night.

---



Long it was, but they had survived.  More than they could have said for some of the vessels that had accompanied them.

Only a handful of vessels did not make the journey, thankfully, and her visitation to the other ships to speak with those affected would, hopefully, minimize the lives lost to despair before they reunited with the rest of their people.  More than half the ships had avoided the Red Mist, but that meant thousands of elves were now dealing with the mutations that she had.  Regretably, not all would be able to cope.

But that could not stop them.  They were waned, but not broken.

They were waned, but not broken.

They were the Waned.  They were Quel'dorei.  They would not be broken.

After a few days of repeating these words to every elf aboard the other ships they could, she returned to her own vessel.  In a few days, she would speak to even more, as they rejoined the main host that had left from Sunsail Anchorage.

But for now, there was one other she would speak to.

"Miss Tae'shara Sunwatcher, was it?" she said, approaching the curious, wild-haired mage that had perhaps saved their entire boat mere days before.  "May we speak?"

"Me?  Well, yeah.  Who am I to say no to the Seeker of Wisdom?" she responded, leaning against the side of the ship.  "It's good to have you back, ma'am.  How... how is everyone?  And... how are you?"

"They will adapt.  We always do, even if our people seem diametrically opposed to such at times... we always do.  As for me... I will be fine," she said.  I have to be.  "But," she segued, "I did not come to speak of myself.  I came to speak of you.  You handled yourself well the other day.  Indeed, you may have saved everyone on this vessel.  Your techniques are bit... unorthodox, but that has, in my experience, rarely proven to be a bad thing."

"Thanks," she said.  "I think my dad would probably say the same thing."

"Your father..." Kilnar said.  "He would not happen to be Tae'thalan, would he?"

"He is.  One of 'em, at least.  What gave it away?" she said with a smirk.

"Several things - I'm sorry, did you say 'one of them?'  Don't tell me he finally got remarried," Kilnar said with a bemused laugh.

"He did. Like... a hundred years ago now?  I was pretty young."

The Seeker of Wisdom's mouth flapped open.  "Heavens, has it been that long?" she said.  "I suppose I have been... negligent.  He and I are old friends... evidently significantly older than I had quite realized.  Tell me, is he...?"

Tae'shara nodded.  "Tae'thelan and Arlethal were both away from Silvermoon when it happened.  They're with the fleet now."  An eyebrow raised.  "I suppose you're probably wantin' to speak with him now, right?  I'd be happy to help break the ice and... explain a few things once we meet up," she said, dancing around the obvious shock that the rest of the quel'dorei would have upon seeing the waned, like Kilnar.

Kilnar smiled.  "I appreciate your enthusiasm, Tae'shara.  There are some things I would love to speak to your father - both your fathers - about.  But we have plenty of time, and plenty more I would ask of you, too," she added.  "'Tis crowded down below, but perhaps we could find something alcoholic to drink and get to know eachother better?  Our people will have need of heroes - especially ones as insightful and talented as yourself - in the coming times, and I make it a habit of mine to get to know every last one," she said with a smile.

"Your flattery isn't needed, Magistrix," she said matter-of-factly.  "I know you're just tryin' to make sure I don't think you're usin' me to get to my father.  It's okay.  I know how this works, and I promise I don't take offense.  I'm just glad it all worked out, glad I could help, and I'm glad I got to meet you."

Kilnar hummed.  "And glad I got to see you in action, yes?"

Tae'shara smirked.  "I said I knew how this works, right?"

Kilnar chuckled.  "Oh, I like you." and gestured towards the stairwell to the deck below.  "Shall we, Miss Sunwatcher?"

"Shara's fine, Seeker," she said, following Kilnar.

"As you wish, Shara."

Kilnar strode across the gangplank her ship had raised to the deck of her vessel to the orcish longship that had joined their fleet, flying a flag of peace.  Thanks to her communications with Velameestra, the ship had not been blasted to smithereens as it had approached the others, and she had a general idea as to what to expect when she reached the shoreline.  She held her head high, her hands folded gently behind her back.  Tae'shara followed behind, nervously looking down at the water below them, her arms held out to either side for balance.

What she was perhaps not expecting was the trails of bright eyes piercing through the cloudy evening's chill.  Over a dozen of the 'draenei' creatures that her dear Velameestra had told her and shown her eyed her cautiously from across the vessel.  Many had weapons, though none were drawn.  They could easily slay her if they had wished to, but she sensed as much fear and uncertainty from them as she did from Tae'shara behind her.

"Seeker..." a voice called her attention to the far side of the desk, where she spied two female  elves from among the blues, purples, and greens of the cautious draenei.  "Magistrix Goldensword... is that you?"




"It is," she replied, shocked.  "Though I must admit, you have me at a disadvantage.  I did not expect to find elves aboard this vessel."

"Neither did we expect to be here.  Silansalia Winterwind, your prescience," she said with a slight bow as she approached.  "This is my niece, Sadine Summerflow.  We were-"

"-Apprentices of Magister Sylvos Windrunner, if I'm not mistaken?  I have heard many things about the two of you over the years.  It is a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is ours, Lady Goldensword," she said.

"Linore's okay, then?" Sadine interjected, putting a hand on her companion's shoulder.  "She's alive?"

"And well," Kilnar confirmed warmly.  "Her vessel is among the fleets that met ours when we escaped the city.  She will be gladdened to see you."

"And what about Tylana?  Have we heard from her, or from Syvia or Eretasia?" Silansalia asked, her lips a thin line.

Kilnar's ears flinched ever slightly.  "She... has not heard from them since the attack.  They may be out there but... we are assuming the worst at present."

"I see," was all that Silansalia said, her expression a guarded sadness as her ears drooped ever slightly.

"Magistrix... if I might be so bold... what happened to... uh..." Sadine tread upon the mammoth in the room, but what Kilnar had heard, this was not hard to believe.

"I will explain later.  For now, know only that I am still me, and I still represent the interests of Silvermoon, even in exile.  Please; come aboard our vessel for now.  We will bring you to Linore as soon as we can.  I must speak with the leader of these people, however.  A woman named Samaara.  Do you-"

"MY LADY! CAN IT BE?" a voice shouted in thalassian from behind the two women as a third elf plowed his way through the two.  "Lady G-goldensword!  Y-you're alive!  You're truly alive!"  The young man moved as a blur as he sped towards Kilnar and threw himself at her feet, prostrating himself before her like a sinner on the holiest of days.  He clutched at the bottom of her dress and sobbed uncontrollably.  "I-I had thought you slain when they struck you d-down!  I saw you transfigured into a... a statue of ice!  I thought that I had failed you, but it was all a bad dream!  You are here, and hale, and..."  He paused as he looked up at her, words failing him as he saw her misshapen face.

"Hey!" Tae'shara said, moving closer to the man and pulling him off his feet.  "Watch the goods, Mister.  You're gonna knock her over if you keep pullin' like that.  Not to mention that dress is probably worth more than this rickety piece of junk!"

"... Nallorath...?" she said, a brow raising, glossing over Shara's hyperbole.  "You... are alive?"

"My... lady...?  What did those green-skinned monsters do to you?"

Kilnar smiled and laughed quietly.  "Nothing of consequence, my dear.  I am ever so gladdened to see you are safe as well.  Please, dry your tears.  The others are fine, and are aboard my vessel as well.  Would you be so kind as to escort these two magisters to my vessel for the time being?  See to it that they are given anything they need until I return."

"O-of course, my lady," Nallorath said, bowing before his employer, falling lock-step into the office of house guard, even without a house.  "Right this way, my ladies," he said, turning back to Sadine and Silansalia.  Sadine rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, but Silansalia followed him as he escorted them away.

"Lady Seeker," Silansalia added as she passed Kilnar.  "Please, be kind to these people.  The story is... rather long, but these people helped save our lives."

"Fear not, child," Kilnar said, "I am most certainly coming to these people as friends, not as enemies.  I wish to protect them - to work with them - as much as you.  We will talk later, yes?"

"As you say, Seeker," Silansalia said with a bow before following Nallorath onto her ship, leaving Kilnar and Tae'shara alone on the orcish vessel once more surrounded by the draenei - the Ati-Kaso, if she had remembered correctly.

"'Tis a shame we did not have the materials available to copy its more useful cousin in this circumstance... but you have finished your spell, yes?"

"Ready when you are, Lady Seeker," Shara responded.

Kilnar looked around to the gathered draenei.  Though they came in many shapes and sizes, even the seemingly youngest from among them dwarfed her.  She cleared her throat.

"Ati-Kaso," she began.  She knew that the gathered folk would not be able to understand her completely, but she hoped she could get the picture across to them, and their own collective group-name seemed to catch all of them off guard as they began to speak among themselves in their native tongues.  She touched a hand to her chest.  "Friend.  Remnii."  Upon speaking the name of dear Velameestra's companion, their eyes snapped back to her.  One, a male from the looks of it, stood abruptly, his large hand clasped around a loose strip of boiled leather - a sling, from the looks of it, large enough to fling bullets twice the size of her eye.  That certainly got their attention.

She turned back to Tae'shara.  "What are they saying, dear?"

"They're confused.  They want to know how you know Remnii, and how you know the... uhhh, the 'Something Good'?  What is that?"

"The Ati-Kaso," Kilnar repeated.  "That must be what it means in their mother tongue."  She turned back to the others.  "Me, speak to Samaara." she said again.  "Me, Samaara.  Friends."  Light, what she would have done for a tongues spell right now, but the casting of it would be too dangerous right now.

A tall female stepped forward, out of the darkness of the ship's shadows. Her skin deep like a violet night, her hair midnight blue beside it.  She was clad in dark leathers and had a bow strung over her shoulder.  She closed distance between herself and Kilnar and looked down to the elf.  She said a few words to her people as she stepped closer.

"That's our girl.  She seems to be their leader," Shara whispered to Kilnar.  

"Good," she said.  Kilnar turned and looked up to the draenic leader.  "Samaara?" she inqured.

Samaara nodded.  "Me, Samaara," she said.  Clearly, she had learned some small bits of the common tongue, albeit only servicably.

Kilnar smiled.  "Good.  Me, Kilnar.  You and me, become friends," she said, slowly speaking in the hopes that she might understand more of it.  "I do not know how much you can understand, but I come to offer a hand of friendship, and of help.  Please, respond in your mother tongue - she will understand."

Samaara's eyes squinted as she tried to process what was being said.  "Kilnar Goldensword," she repeated, her surname indicating recognition.  She smiled, and then began to speak in her native tongue.  Tae'shara began to translate.

"Uh... She says she's heard all about you.  The orcs that, uh, she had escaped from were the ones that attacked your manor, ma'am.  She also had linked up with the Resistance, and helped them escape."

"Then I owe you thanks," Kilnar said, bowing to Samaara.  "We might be dead without you."

Tae'shara translated for Samaara again.  "She said she has information that might be useful to you, and that she was... going to look for you soon.  And she's asking how you knew about her and her people, and where to find her."

"Remnii... She is a friend of yours," she said, gesturing to them all.  "My dear friend, Velameestra, is with her.  Is her friend as well."

Shara grinned.  "She said, 'I suppose that makes you and I friends by proxy.'"

Kilnar smirked.  "Precisely what I was thinking.  And friends help one another, yes?" she said, offering a hand to the draenei.  She knew not if she would understand the gesture common to the peoples of the Eastern Kingdoms, but it was worth a shot.

Samaara looked at Kilnar, and looked to her hand.  Her eyes narrowed, but her expression softened as she reached out and took the waned magister's hand.