Garbage Day

In spite of everything, he was still cold. No amount of layers of cloaks would stave off the chill more than the enchanted band around his finger, so he didn't bother. The wind would dice through whatever layers he tried to cover his arms with, so he decided to keep them bare. In case of emergency, it would make the casting of spells easier.

Not that he had needed to do so as of yet.

He glanced back up to Alleria's shadowed form, silhouetted against the snowblinding light they strode upon. His magic–the incantation created by his companion's niece, no less–was the only thing keeping her, and himself, from bursting into flames in the bright sun. A curtain of shadow clung to their bodies, keeping the brightest of the light away from their skin and eyes. The sky was clear and the sun in an eternal, slow setting. With the solstice fast approaching, the endless night was coming to Northrend, and with it, even colder winds. 

He missed summer. Real summer. But alas. 

At least his travelling companion was amicable. He had had little opportunity to know Alleria Windrunner outside of her fearsome reputation, but he appreciated her efficiency and demeanor in equal measure. She was no stranger to silence, but nor did she shy away from conversation when the rare interesting event would occur.

He couldn't help but draw parallels between she and Velameestra.

Alleria had just recently informed him that Velameestra was going to be free for the next several weeks, and sought to speak with him.  A suspect notion; the Velameestra he had bore witness to in Astalor's study in Northrend was not a woman who understood the meaning of the word 'free time.' Undoubtedly, she was waiting for something–something big.

He glanced around, endless ice as far as the his eyes could see. It is not like there is excessive stimulation to be found here, at any rate.

He traced a small sigil in the air. Picturing the keen mind of the magus in his mind, he reached out his own, probing for a connection. Of course, he struck a wall–the evidence of the mental protection she benefited from. Not an uncommon occurrence for magi, especially those who keep to themselves.

It was, of course, not even a moment before the connection was established upon Velameestra's permission.

"Miss Windrunner," Rommath thought, his voice coming through clear in her mind. "The Ranger-Captain informed me you sought to speak with me, as you would 'not be busy' for a few days. Disbelieving such a ludicrous notion, I saw fit to check in myself."

The Grand Magister couldn't help but smirk beneath his collar.

"I trust you are well."

One.
Two.
Three.

With each mental count, a new scar was left in the cut wood that the draenei had fashioned into various training dummies. Many of them held deep wounds in the thick wood--remnants of the blunt force of the hammers so many of the Vindicators favored--that paled her delicate and precise strikes.

Not that her own were any less deadly.

Velameestra twisted the elven blade in her hand, her slender fingers reversing the grip as naturally as they wove a spell, and a familiar magenta glow stained its edge upon the utterance of a snappy incantation that roughly meant "bleed." With a pirouette that brought the blade slicing effortlessly into the vaguely humanoid shape, she felt the wood crack beneath the magic-infused strike.

The new scar glimmered--sap oozing from it like amber-hued blood--and the magic faded.

The elf twisted her blade again, falling back on her heel to start the rhythm anew as a prod of magic against her mind drew her focus, and was allowed to pass.

"'Temporarily stationary' would have been a better descriptor, I suppose," Velameestra replied, her mental voice as cool and languid as her physical one despite the dance she had resumed. "I'm well, and I trust you are the same. I appreciate the contact, Grand Magister. I'll endeavor not to draw your focus from the scenery of the Dragonblight overlong."

She ducked, having moved on to the next dummy in the line--its wide, wooden arms spinning wildly as her strike moved it.

"I thought it wise to finish informing you of some of the intel at my disposal. It may serve you more readily than it does me at the moment--depending on what you find. Not to mention some more recent developments that may be proximally relevant."

Rommath scanned the horizon; an endless tundra of ice. The horizon held little besides the occasional crack and horizon-set cliffs of snow and detritus. Since they had left behind the mountains and sparse forests where they Grizzly Hills and the Fjord shifted to the Dragonblight a few days ago, there had been little to report on save blinding ice floes.

The Grand Magister shared his own vision with Velameestra: An endless icefield glacier, with little of note save her aunt a dozen paces in front of him.



"As you can see, there is little in the ways of scenery in this particular neck of the woods, or lack thereof. After crossing through the forests south of the barrier mountain chains, there has been little beyond ice and snow. No dragon corpses yet, either. Regrettably or thankfully, depending on how you look at it. The Ranger-Captain believes we are on the right track, however, and I trust her judgement in matters of cardinal direction."

He thought to the information she had hinted at in their previous conversations. Of her exceptional knowledge of matters draconic and otherwise.

"That said, I would be glad to hear of what intelligence you can share–and perhaps where you came about such exceptional information in the first place."

"Hmph."

Velameestra chuffed to herself, the rhythmic nature of her movements halting long enough to truly acknowledge the telepathic image that had been sent. A small smile touched her lips as she noted the silhouette of her aunt.

"You and I have different preferences for scenery," she replied. "Granted I believe I'd enjoy my current whereabouts more if it was less crowded."

She straightened, turning her sights to towards the center of the gorge--transmitting the bustling center of furbolgs, night elves, draenei and the other forces that had since started to gather in anticipation for the come siege. The pile of night sabers had continued to grow, the massive felines lounging in the sunlight that was streaming between the roots and tree coverage. Her eyes shifted upward to the naaru drifting overhead, and she squinted instinctively against the radiant light that glimmered around their geometric forms.

"The naaru are interesting, but their presence is... unrelenting. At least for us. They don't seem bothered by my existence, though I can't say I've talked to one."

The telepathic visual faded as she returned to her drills, dancing beneath another recoil from the dummy.

"But yes. The dragons. Their... political center, you might say, is located within the Dragonblight. I don't know the exact location, of course, nor is it a place I believe wise to search for--I would not be surprised if intrusion was met with defensive hostility--but you are in their domain. The five flights are solitary in their operation, but it appears they coordinate on larger matters given their charges encompass the protection of Azeroth as a whole."

She was being overly transparent, perhaps--more so than the guarded inklings she normally sprinkled--but she had been unable to shake the presence of pragmatic dread that accompanied the possibility that her carefully built webs could easily be undone should their weaver perish.

"I... don't have comprehensive or detailed information on all the flights, of course. I've only dealt as an ally of the red and the blue, and an enemy of the black. Bronze is an enigma, and green... they deal in dreams and the natural world, it would seem--portfolios that no longer concern us much. Not really. But the blues are arcane, as I mentioned prior, and the reds are life."

She paused for the briefest moment--long enough to twirl back to the first dummy and begin her next assault.

"The... events that supposedly led to the 'demise' of myself and my comrades were as much in aid to the red flight as it was to find Arthas. Thus, the source of much of this is... straight from the dragon's mouth, you might say."

Would that we could trade places, he thought.

"So it is," Rommath projected. Since she had stumbled into his periphery, it seemed Velameestra was at the center of every event that had rocked their world. Until recently, such continued intercession would have raised further red flags.

Now, he knew she had inherited the Windrunner family trait of diving on top of pyres to extinguish them.

Looking around at the scene she had sent him was proof enough. He could smell the smoke already starting to burn in the obvious war preparations that were taking place in the grotto where she was.

So that is why she has this free time, he thought to himself, and undoubtedly why she wished to reach out to me, in case whatever conflict she is preparing for goes south.

Rommath frowned.

"Any information you can give me will prove invaluable. And I can most definitely assure you that you have my undivided attention, Miss Windrunner. Please, tell me what you know."

"My brother recovered an artifact during the conflict and escaped with it. One the red flight was protecting, and one Daval Prestor--and the black flight--were trying to claim. It's known as the Demon Soul. The kidnapping of Arthas was just a piece in a greater plan."

As the vampyr twisted her body around to strike the dummy again, she let her thoughts flow back to the encounter in the Cavern of Soul. Her mental vision became flooded with the red warmth of the lava floes, the massive girth of the feebleminded Orastrasz lifting into the air with a roar. Daval Prestor stood before them, the crackling, raw energy of a disintegrate aimed and readied at the red-scaled behemoth that had risen to defend the people it had recognized as allies. The shape of a much smaller dragon was scampering towards the lava pool as a hurried gesture sliced the spell from Daval's grasp. Scarcely a moment later, her sword was brought up in her field of vision--deflecting the massive blade the Alteraci Kathal Lynch sought to bring down upon her, only for the second strike of the much larger woman to send her spinning to the ground.

It was a battle for survival--another of the Alteraci transforming into a great black drake that the red behemoth immediately leapt upon as Daval barked demands for death. Vel's vision honed in on Gil as she was shoved aside, and the brilliantly glowing disc at his breast that the Alteraci woman reached for--and was then burned by.  Then the other elf started to run, holding on to the golden disc as he fled from the battle--his sprint spurned forth by the magic at his fingertips. Daval turned to pursue, leaving the now-corrupted Victor and the newly transformed dragonspawn to fight in his wake.

The transmission was nearly instantaneous, running through the remainder of the desperate battle: Orastrasz slaying the black drake, Victor's fight for control, the slaying of the remaining dragonspawn, and the promise made.

The image faded before her second strike landed.

"Provided for context," she said. "I understand no one is in a position to publicly decry Daval Prestor, of course. But I believe that connects the pieces far better than a verbal explanation would. Needless to say, my brother did not turn on us like the stories claim. He fled to ensure they didn't get what they wanted, and further contacts have assured me he is now under the red flight's protection... though quite oblivious to our survival, as it needs to be."

Two more strikes found their mark, amber blood oozing from the strike of another magic-infused blow.

"It's quite possible he's in Northrend now--given he's the bearer of that artifact. However, all flights have a presence in their council--even the black. I was... incredibly frustrated when I was informed of such. While she supposedly claims she has no association with her mad brethren, I'm not fool enough to believe it, thus any word that gets to her I have been operating on the assumption it will get back to Daval's ilk. And arcane knows what he'd find useful enough to abuse. There are twisted politics at work--and also a friend whose safety is dependent on our perceived demise."

The vampyr slowed her assault, taking a moment to let her burning muscles untense before she started the routine anew.

"The reason I told you to use my name if you encountered a dragon red of scale is because they will know Gilveradin, and if they know Gil, they will know me. I thought it would give you an opening, if one was needed, as a potential friend of someone who aided them. Why else would you have known to call my name specifically, after all?"

The vampyr closed her eyes, silently sighing to herself. "In hindsight, I recognize that was... incredibly enigmatic and rash without the added context. But furthermore, the red dragons have a creed. 'Compassion for all living things. A drive to protect and nurture them. And the ability to heal that which others cannot, birth what others may not, and love even the unlovable--who surely need such grace more than any other souls.' That is what they've been charged to uphold.  Every single one of them. And part of my decision to join my aunt in undeath was with the intention of using my role in their aid to give us a chance to appeal to that grace instead of face destruction once they found us."

There was a soft chuff that carried across the telepathic communication.

"As well as acquire further proof as one of the living dead that such a transition did not invalidate what I helped to do before."

Rommath focused fully upon the new memories Velameestra had sent.

So, he thought, his mind's eye focusing on the Demon Soul. This is what Prestor is after. It focused then upon his molten, half-draconic form. And this is your true nature. So Modera and Krasus were right–the upjumped human was more than he seemed after all. He could only imagine their faces of vindication when they find out.

"So if I do encounter these dragons, I can inform them of our correspondence, but only those red of scale, as the others might inform those under Prestor's control, placing your friend the prince in danger. But, as your brother, too, may be within the custody of the Red Dragonflight, I should use caution with them, too, as him finding this out could, too, place your friend the prince in danger." he thought to her as he chuffed, a small exhalation of heat from his otherwise breathless mouth. "Seems simple enough."

Alleria's ear twitched; clearly she had heard him, but had grown accustomed enough to his irritation that she did not pry further.

"But that is quite the gamble, Miss Windrunner. As per their apparent creed, they have sworn 'Compassion for all living things'–a category our people can no longer claim to be save deception. How can you be certain they will not decry us as abominations and simply incinerate us and be done with it? While I trust you believe what you have told me as truth, the dragons of storied legend are not known for their compassion and understanding."

"Nor are undead."

The response came with her characteristic matter-of-factness, the tone of her mental voice carrying the steady resoluteness that would have been visible in the dim glow behind her eyes had their discussion happened in person. Her feet moved once more, the hilt of her blade rotating into a reverse grip as she started to dance around her inanimate target.

"We still have souls, Grand Magister. That much was proven by the fact you had to save mine. Our perceptions have shifted, and our needs altered--but we still have a right to exist after how we've suffered. If they choose to blind themselves to that solely because of the vessels those souls inhabit then I have gravely underestimated those I've spoken with."

Her foot connected with the root of a nearby tree, carrying her body vertically before she flipped over the dummy and brought her blade crashing down on its head.

"Exceptions to the old stories arise every day. My particular 'side hobby' made that clear well before any of this, and I continue to find more."

Another mental image materialized--this one a trio of ethereal, night elven faces zooming through twilit woods, leading her vision to the form of a lost, crying child. The wisps whirled around in the vision, echoing voices cheering in an unknown language before they disappeared one-by-one.

"There will be struggles. It's not going to go smoothly. It's natural to gravitate towards the magics of one's nature, and death is a natural force just as much as arcane and life. But, there is a great deal of ambiguity about what truly fuels the undead harnessed by necromancers, and the line between what is enslavement of the soul versus the recycling of an empty vessel is... unclear.  I pursue an ethical approach, and that desire has inspired a great deal of my personal research. I also understand that not everyone has the same outlook, but it does not take many logical leaps to get to why I was focused on the Dragonblight. The allure of deathless leviathans to be unleashed upon our enemies is something that appeals even to me--and I saw our new allies in Vengeance Landing, though I know not the full context of their presence.

"I'm... rambling. I've known the pitfalls for years, and I was tempted by them. It would have been a lot simpler. I'm just..." her mental voice trailed off into silence, her eyes lingering on the oozing wounds on her faux enemy as she returned her thoughts to their cool order. The magic waned and the sap hardened. "Trying to give our people their best chance. The last thing we need is another unexpected guillotine--and the things I've found don't matter if I'm the only one that knows additional layers even exist. I hope some amount of explanation at least helps on that front, even if nothing can be realistically done."

"Grand Magister," Alleria's voice called out, snapping his focus back from the discussion occurring within his head.

"What is it?" he asked. The Ranger-General had stopped, her hand out towards the Grand Magister to halt his progress.

"Look," she said, gesturing down towards the ice. He squinted for a moment before his eyes widened. 

Bone.

Beneath their very feet, frozen beneath the glacier they walked on, was the skeleton of a dragon. No deeper than ten feet below the surface, the sun refracting off of the ice would have made it almost impossible to see at a glance.

Deathless leviathans indeed, he thought to himself. 

"It does," he said to Vel before projecting their most recent discovery to her. "And more can be done than you realize. I would remind you that I am the Grand Magister. All elven matters of magic are supposed to go through me first. That is why I insisted upon attending this venture with Ranger-Captain Windrunner, in spite of the inclement weather. If the information you have given me is indeed true–a truth difficult to deny in the face of such physical evidence–then I would see to it that I be a part of what comes next.

"Our people are experiencing an... unprecedented upheval of our culture–Perhaps the greatest since our ancestors founded Silvermoon. But upheaval invites chaos, and chaos begets panic and foolishness. I would impose order upon that chaos, lest it take even more from us than it already has. But order requires control, and control requires I be the one on site for such discoveries, not... others, who might damn our people more than the orcs already have."

He didn't need to use names.

"However, we are fortunate to have discovered an ally who just so happened to have gotten a head start in matters necrotic," he said before frowning. "I would also note it would not do for us to lose said ally. It hasn't evaded my notice that preparations for battle appear to be occurring in the grotto in which you reside." Rommath sighed and shook his head. "While I can appreciate the practicality of sharing information as a safeguard against unexpected tragedy, I can only take that to mean you are wading into no small amount of danger. To avoid preaching to the choir, I would simply remind you that you gave your life for the Sin'dorei once already. Giving it to another cause so freely would reflect rather poorly upon the integrity of your word, and you have an image to uphold, Miss Windrunner."

The sight of the discovery caused the vampyr's movements to stop mid-swing, her mind focusing on the image being projected directly into her mind. The beast was large--far larger than Telagos's draconic form. An adult, at the very least, though one likely much smaller than the massive behemoth that was Tyranastrasz. There had been no reason to doubt what Telagos had said about the Dragonblight's nature as a draconic graveyard, but seeing it plainly--the ancient bones preserved in a tomb of ice--invoked a feeling of wonder and fascination.

She couldn't help but allow a small smirk to touch her dark lips.

"You and I are in agreement on everything you said, Grand Magister," she replied. "And do not mistake pragmatic preparation for intent--I just wasn't much of an optimist even before I died."

She turned around, her blade dropping to her side as she turned her eyes back to the bustling center of the hold. "What I've been told of dreadlords has simply compelled caution. The... fate of the kaldorei leader was not as fortunate as His Majesty's own encounter. But, we are taking the fight to the demon directly--once we clear a path through those he's hiding behind. My presence, at the very least, has allowed me to set groundwork for us to have potential allies in unexpected places given I was one of those who uncovered the deception. Undead arcanist or not. The kaldorei are not very fond of the arcane.

"Though... that leads me to another fragment--in regards to the vrykul that have recently arrived. We met a woman named Thrud here on Kalimdor. She is one of the Hyldnir, and both a friend and ally. She has since arrived back in Northrend and is en route to rejoin with her clan. I... did warn her of the new status of some of her fellows. It did not sit right with me to allow her to... walk in blind given the risk of a panic. She seemed to take it well enough, seeing the living are mixing freely with the dead."

Velameestra tore her eyes away from the crowd and refocused them on the wooden dummy.

"She's an honorable warrior, and the daughter of their... 'god' of sorts. Thorim. She's returning with the intention of winning their Hyldsmeet competition so that she may speak with her father directly."

She sent a brief image of the giantess to the other vampyr's mind, the massive thunder wolves flanking her either side and the blade of the Windseeker grasped firmly in one hand while her hammer was held in the other.

"She may be a good ally for you in the future."