She Hath No Life but the One He for Her Wrought

The last bit of sun chased itself over the arching heights of Silvermoon, glinting in and out of window panes and across pale stone walls, before finally catching in the golden top of Sunfury Spire to ebb softly down at the courtyard below. An elven girl – or rather, a young woman – made her way primly up the plush carpeted ramp and into the foyer of the tower. The light dimmed abruptly as she stepped further inside, and she paused a moment for her eyes to adjust to the lamps on the walls. Voices met her ears – a group of magisters stood conversing with the Lor’themar Theron, the Regent Lord of Silvermoon. Far across the foyer, she could see the empty high-backed chair that had once been sat by Prince Kael’thas Sunstrider, and his father King Anasterian before him. A soft sigh escaped her as she glanced at the group of men crowded around the Regent, and she suddenly thought it strange that he had never thought to sit the throne of Silvermoon himself. Such ideas are treasonous, she thought, shaking her head slightly. I need to focus on the task at hand.

“Cassondra!”

A voice startled her from her reverie, and she turned to see her mother, Seina, resplendent as ever in the robes of the priesthood, walking towards her with a contented smile on her face. Cassondra brought a smile less easily to her own lips. “Yes, mother.”

“We nearly thought that you would not come. Are you prepared for your debut, my daughter?” Her mother placed a hand gently on Cassondra’s shoulder, her voice soft. “I am sure that the Grand Magister will be pleased – you have worked hard, and you should be proud to have come this far.”

Cassondra smiled again, thinly. She was a bundle of nerves, to be sure; it was not often that a mage-in-training was called to demonstrate their skills to the leader of the Blood Magi. But her parents had felt that her grasp of the arcane arts was strong enough that she might take her place among those who had, amid other things, helped to rebuild Silvermoon. To be considered as such was a great honor, and would bring further respect to her family. Cassondra knew all of these things, and somehow her hands were still clammy, and a bead of sweat followed a tortuous path down her spine. She nodded to her mother.

“I am as ready as I shall be, I suppose.”

Her mother beamed approvingly. “Your father and I have every faith that you will do well.” Seina stepped forward and reached out to pull the gauzy curtain aside for her daughter. “The Grand Magister waits.”

Cassondra moved carefully into the room, her steps quiet on the carpeted floor. She resisted the urge to tug at the sleeve of her scarlet robe, which had begun to stick to her skin in the heat of her anticipation. Standing off to one side of the room, she waited, watching the group of men before her who were still engaged in quiet conversation. Cassondra was not surprised to see her father among them. Fioran Dawnstar had served as a magister under King Anasterian before the Third War, and his name was well-known and respected in Silvermoon. As his daughter, Cassondra was expected to uphold the family’s status and reputation. If Aurelian wasn’t missing, she thought, this duty would fall to him.

She suddenly felt the gaze of Grand Magister Rommath on her, and behind it she could sense a great, nearly crushing power. She looked up, fleetingly, to find that she had become the focus of attention for the entire room. A flush crept its way up her chest and onto her face as she bowed before the Grand Magister, the Regent Lord, her own father, and several others.

“Ah, Fioran, this is your eldest daughter, is it not?” Cassondra thought the Grand Magister’s voice remarkably clear for being muffled by the cloth he wore over his nose and mouth.

“Indeed it is; Cassondra, are you ready to display what you have learned to the Grand Magister?” Her father stepped forward to take her hands. She nodded wordlessly, her stomach turning somersaults.

The Grand Magister turned to take a seat in one of the chairs a few steps behind him, followed by the Regent Lord, who settled himself into a chair beside Rommath. Fioran stood quietly to one side as the Grand Magister motioned Cassondra to the center of the circular room. The heels of her shoes clicked on the tile, and she took a deep breath as she stopped and turned to face them once again. Rommath nodded to her, waiting.

Cassondra stood motionless, beginning to gather power about her like a cloak. In some corner of her mind, she could feel the others in the room – the Grand Magister’s power flooded her senses in a great swell and she pushed it back; he was testing her. Her father’s power, too, touched her, although tentatively and with less force. Taking another breath, she closed her eyes and began to hum softly, tracing a pattern over in her head. What to show the Grand Magister? He was, Cassondra was sure, not an easy man to impress. Bringing her hands together, she sparked warmth between her palms which grew to a fiery intensity before she arched her body upward, calling down a pillar of fire which scorched the tile floor only steps from where her father stood. Glancing at him apologetically, she turned to toss a handful of arcane energy into the air which leapt skyward to loop into the high reaches of the tower before coming back down into her hand and dissipating in a flash of light. She drew on more power with which to use another spell, but before she could blink, the Grand Magister was suddenly looming before her, gathering power between his hands with a wicked smile around his eyes.

Such spells are child’s play, Cassondra.

His voice echoed inside her head. Let us see where your power truly lies.

Rommath took several steps back and, with a careless twist of his hand, let off a volley of arcane missiles which flew straight for Cassondra. She turned and countered the spell just in time; the energy dropped away as she quickly traced a glyph in the air to ward herself. The Grand Magister brought heat into his hands and proceeded to hurl a fiery ball of energy in her direction, hitting her from the side. Her ward absorbed much of the damage, but the heat stung and the hem of her robe was scorched. Stepping away from him, Cassondra lifted her hands again and began to draw as much power from the room as she could. Rommath had his own power well-hidden from her inquisitive mind, but energy lay about the room like a blanket, thick and inviting. Suddenly, something else was there. A power, dark and cold, and far beneath lay something vile, tainted. Cassondra shuddered as a chill passed through her, as she tried to ignore the strange new force pressing in on her mind.

Dazed and hoping that her ward might continue to hold, Cassondra began to chant beneath her breath, the beginnings of an amplification spell. The energy around her grew stronger until it was as though a physical wind blew through the room. Words that she did not remember learning escaped her lips, and she found that she could not stop herself as a symbol began to form on the floor, glowing faintly against the tile.

Rommath had stopped cold and merely stood, staring at her.

“…where, indeed, does your power lie…?” he muttered, drawing a shield of protection about himself and the others in the room.

A dancing thread of pure ecstasy had found its way down Cassondra’s spine. She could barely stand as a great power washed over her, the fine hair on the back of her neck coming to stand on tremulous end. She looked over at her father, terrified. What is this? This power is too much, she thought. Fear began to accompany the thrill traveling through her body.

The patterns beneath her feet began to grow brighter, followed by a deafening roar which nearly knocked Cassondra off of her feet. The power spike faded, leaving her feeling drained, and she could only stare in horror as a massive demon materialized in the center of the room, its ethereal form so dark that one could get lost in it. The voidwalker spoke in an echo, its voice reverberating around the tower in waves.

“Kiel mannor lek maladath me alar?” The demon’s eyes glowed with white heat.

Rommath cursed. “Back to the nether with you, foul thing!”

Cassondra whirled to see the Grand Magister, her father, and the ranger general Halduron Brightwing all suddenly there with weapons and spells trained on the demon, and it turned to face them with a glare. A flurry of movement followed; Halduron cast a net over the creature and began firing round after round of arrows into its shadowy mass. A few words from Rommath had the voidwalker roaring as it was torn apart by arcane energy. It faded with a hiss, the ornamental bracers that had been shackled to its arms falling to the tile floor with a heavy metallic sound. Cassondra could do nothing but stare where the demon had once been. A silence coated the room as the Grand Magister turned his attention to her. His eyes were hard.

“Ms. Dawnstar,” he addressed her, and she met his gaze, swallowing hard. “I think it best that you pursue other areas of study in the future.”

Cassondra could say nothing, only nod at him dumbly.

“You may go.” And with that he turned from her, the anger in him evident only by the tightness across his shoulders. From behind him, the Regent Lord watched her with an unreadable expression.

She let out a slow breath and began to walk slowly from the room, passing through the filmy curtain into the foyer and stepping past her mother without a word. She blended into the freshly-fallen dusk as she made her way through the Court of the Sun and along the streets of Silvermoon towards House Dawnstar, hearing the demon’s rasping, echoic voice again in her mind. She had understood every word.

Several weeks passed, and news of Cassondra’s little mishap in the Spire spread through the city like a plague. A trail of whispers and suspicious glances followed her throughout Silvermoon, with the exception of her own home, and even there her family said little to her about the matter. She had tried to avoid going anywhere near Sunfury Spire for fear of angering the Grand Magister – or worse, the Regent Lord – but in the end she had been forced to return there on an errand for her mother.

Even making a simple purchase at the bazaar had been ostracizing. The merchant had refused to meet her eyes once during the entire transaction, and she’d had to practically throw her coin at him to persuade him to take it. I don’t see what the problem is, Cassondra thought as she made her way toward the Court of the Sun with a paper-wrapped bundle. The sin’dorei have been calling down demons just as long as any other race, why should my doing so be any different?

Because I’m in training as a mage, she thought, answering her own question. And magi never learn to summon demons. And if that’s true…then where did I learn?

The origin of her mistake no longer mattered. Shortly after the incident, her mentor Quithas had refused to continue training her, no matter how her father pleaded with him. Anyone who could summon a demon so easily without proper training, he had told Fioran, was not someone that he wanted to risk the lives of his other students with. Quithas’ reply had both depressed and infuriated her. Seasons of study and a more than adequate monthly sum from the family coffers were now worthless. More than one shouting match had erupted between her parents as to what was to become of Cassondra, now that she could no longer train in the art of arcane magic.

Walking up the ramp and past the rows of guardians (whom she was sure would recognize and attack her), Cassondra clutched the package tightly in one hand and stepped cautiously into the foyer of the Spire. Beyond the curtain she could see the Regent Lord and the Grand Magister, and her eyes quickly darted away to rest on the small room to her left, where her mother sat among the others of the priesthood. Their voices were soft and she could not make out what they were saying, but Cassondra noticed that several turned to whisper to one another when they noticed her approach. Seina stood to greet her at the doorway.

“Did you bring the candles?”

“Yes,” Cassondra said, holding out the package for her. Seina took it and smiled over her shoulder at the others in the room.

“Just what I needed. Thank you, daughter.”

Cassondra ventured a half-smile as her mother turned to the altar on one side of the room and began to unwrap the candles and place them in an elaborate holder. The whispers had ceased and now only shifting, uneasy glances were thrown her way. She was suddenly uncomfortable and turned to go.

“Wait,” Seina nearly cried, then lowered her voice only a fraction. Her cheerful mask had dropped away. “There is something you should know.”

Cassondra raised an eyebrow as she looked at her mother, who now stood wringing her hands anxiously. Peering more closely at Seina’s face, Cassondra could see that she had been crying and was doing her best to hide it from her peers. She reached out impulsively to take her mother’s hand, but Seina drew back as if she had been burned. Her eyes were very dark.

“What is it?” Cassondra asked, her voice low. Her mother sighed, looking as though she was about to start sobbing all over again.

“They’ve found Aurelian.”

Cassondra was stunned, dropping her gaze to the floor. Her older brother Aurelian was a ranger, one of the Farstriders; he had been stationed in the Ruins of Silvermoon with Aeldon Sunbrand, Captain of the Blood Hawks. His was not a dangerous post, by any means, and yet he had been missing without a trace for months. She looked back up at her mother, whose expression was pained.

“…is he…” Cassondra began.

“Dead?” Seina nearly spat the word from her mouth. “No, but it would be better for all of us if he were.”

Cassondra held her tongue, waiting pensively for her mother to say something, anything.

“He has fallen to the Wretched.”

Her mother turned away with a sob, one hand over her face as she whispered, “The gods seem determined to ruin our family.”

Cassondra stood for a moment, awkward, before she stepped out of the room and back down the ramp the way she had come.

The sky darkened as she entered the narrow, covered street known as Murder Row. Cassondra had always wondered why such a tiny part of the city carried such an ominous name, but she had also never wanted to stay there long enough to find out. Around her the air was heavy, seeming to dim the steady blue glow of the lamps that lined the walkway. As she descended the short flight of steps that led onto the street, she felt someone’s eyes upon her. She could sense a power behind them, and for a moment she was frozen with fear, thinking that the Grand Magister had finally caught her with her guard down. But she could see no one. Just as she was about to reach the bottom of the steps, a low whisper reached her ears.

“It is you, isn’t it.”

It was a statement, not a question.

Cassondra said nothing, unable to trust her own voice.

“Your power is wasted on the arcane, Cassondra.” Another whisper, and with it a figure stepped from behind a curtain in the building to her left. A tall, blonde elf in a burgundy robe stood framed in the doorway, watching her carefully and spinning a sprig of bloodthistle between his thumb and forefinger. “I know someone who can help you discover how to put all of that power to a more fitting use.”

He took a few steps toward her, slowly. Cassondra stood transfixed for a moment before her voice found her again. She did not recognize this man.

“…who are you? What do you want?”

Her question prompted a raucous grin.

“My name is Alamma. I am a member of the Sanctum here in Silvermoon, and from what I have heard,” – he paused with another grin as Cassondra’s face grew red – “your talents would fit in well here.”

She was suddenly angry. How dare he patronize her so, after such an utter humiliation - in front of the leaders of the city, no less!

“What are you talking about?” she demanded, her voice harsh as she lashed out at being so confronted. Alamma remained quite calm.

“My dear, it is not nearly so often that one finds an individual with such a…natural…talent for fel energies.”

“You speak of the demon,” Cassondra said, matter-of-factly.

“That I do.” Alamma replied, inclining his head to her. “Surely you were wondering how it was that a student of the arcane could have brought forth such a creature from the nether, were you not?”

Her anger died. “…yes. Yes, I was.”

Alamma bowed to her, a sort of half twist at his waist. “Perhaps you were meant to walk another path.” He gestured behind him at the arched doorway, through which Cassondra could see a circular stairway leading down.

But no respectable magister’s daughter was ever seen speaking with those who consorted with demons. They were an untrustworthy lot, followed by suspicion and secrets. Her mother’s anguished face crossed her mind’s eye; after that stunt in the Spire and her brother’s addiction, how could their family ever be respectable again?

There would be no harm in looking, she decided, and with a nod of her head proceeded to follow the blonde warlock into the darkened building.

Cassondra’s heartbeat thudded in her ears as she descended the narrow curved stairway into the lower level of the building. A mere inch ahead of her was Alamma, who strode down into the room below with no hesitations or qualms. At the edge of the landing was another gauzy curtain, and beyond it Cassondra could see a massive green crystal that seemed to float directly in the center of the room. Three or four figures were moving about, but behind the seclusion of the curtain Cassondra was unable to tell whether they were male or female. She swept a portion of the filmy cloth aside with a slender hand and stepped into the dimly-lit space. Alamma had taken a position at the back of the room, where he stood smirking at her and looking almost haughty in the strange shadows cast by the sickly green light. A woman stood to her left near a curtained recess in the wall, watching her with some amusement. Cassondra responded by frowning at her, and to her surprise, the woman laughed and turned to grin wolfishly at Alamma in much the same way he had grinned at her on the street outside; an almost predatory smile.

“Are you sure about this one?” The woman asked, stepping fluidly over to Cassondra and looking her up and down. “I’m not sure I like her.”

Cassondra’s frown deepened and she glared at the woman.

“Favor from your sort is next to worthless,” Cassondra said with derision. The woman chuckled low in her throat.

“Favor from the scorned is perhaps better than ill will from the highborne, is it not, my dear?”

Cassondra opened her mouth to reply, but she could find no words. This woman grated on her last nerve, but she was right. She crossed her arms and stood quietly with heat in her eyes, grateful for the dim lighting so they could not see the flush on her face. The woman smirked at her.

“Enough, Talionia. I think you will find Cassondra Dawnstar to soon have quite an affinity for our art.” Alamma’s voice was clear, even across the quarter of the room that separated them. “I am placing her, for now, in your charge.”

Cassondra ripped her seething gaze from Talionia and settled it firmly onto Alamma. “And what makes you think that I will agree to this training?”

Alamma merely watched her, his smile almost genuine. “You will agree, once you realize that you have no other choice.”

Cassondra hated Alamma. She hated him for being proud and overbearing, for making such a detestable woman her mentor. Most of all, she hated him for being right.

She felt like a child again, becoming impatient with herself as her new training battled internally with everything that she had learned over the last nearly five seasons. But as the weeks went by, it became easier to locate and harness that thread of shadow magic in the air around her, easier to reach into the depths of the nether. Talionia led her through a minor summoning ritual, trying to help focus the power that Cassondra seemed to grasp instinctively. After much arguing and wasted energy, Cassondra had a new companion – a feisty little imp named Chokin whose skin rippled with felfire. He was irascible and a source of constant frustration on her part, particularly when he got into her things like a filthy rat; he was a minor demon nonetheless, and powerful in his own right.

So far, her family knew nothing of her studies; as far as they were concerned, she was in training with the city tailor in an attempt to save herself knowledge of at least one useful profession. She had spoken little with them since beginning her association with the warlocks of Silvermoon, and the loss of her brother hadn’t made things any easier. These thoughts plagued her as she walked quietly along Murder Row past the inn, back to the Sanctum with the comfort of its darkness and shadows. Chokin trotted along at her heels; Cassondra could hear him mumbling to himself and paid him no mind. She could feel the heated stares from those that passed her, the muffled whispers. She focused intently on the flagstones in front of her feet. Almost there, she thought. Once I’m there, they can’t see me. A dark shape loomed into her line of sight and Cassondra suddenly found herself sitting down hard on the walkway, Chokin laughing to himself a few feet away. She looked up into the hard green eyes of her father, quickly flicking her gaze back to the ground.

“…daughter?”

She bit her lip and nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Fioran offered her a hand and she accepted it, pulling herself to her feet. Chokin hopped closer to stand beside her, tugging at her skirts in his impatience. Her father caught sight of the imp and stared, his face blank and impassive. He squared his shoulders, gesturing to Chokin with a carefully restrained motion.

“Is this yours, Cassondra? This creature, this demon?” His voice was level, nearly pleasant.

She could not meet his eyes. “Yes, father.”

“I see.” The same hand came up to brush across his carefully-trimmed swath of beard. “Did you learn nothing from the incident at your debut?”

Her eyes snapped upward to lock with his, anger flaring in her middle.

“On the contrary; I have learned much since then. Enough that I no longer th-”

“Hold your tongue!” Her father’s voice, along with his body language, had lost the restraint that it had held moments earlier. His voice was rough. “Those who practice the dark arts are not afforded a grand status in Silvermoon, that you know as well as I do. You bring shame to this family by your association with them, a shame that House Dawnstar does not need at this moment.”

Cassondra frowned, but her father continued.

“If you would break your pact with these eaters of souls, I may yet be able to find another to mentor you in the ways of the arcane.” She could nearly taste the veiled threat in his words.

“And if I do not?” she asked quietly.

“Then I will have no choice but to rescind the privileges bestowed upon you by our house and family.” He watched her face. “What is your choice, daughter?”

Cassondra glanced down at the imp beside her; he was grinning up at her with a mouth full of pointed teeth, felfire tracing over his floppy ears in green waves. She hated him, she hated Alamma – and yet, she was at peace with her power, in a way that she had never been under Quithas’ tutelage. She was suddenly angry at her father for making her choose, and in her anger she opened her mouth.

“This is the path that has chosen me, father.”

A heavy silence followed, and Fioran’s face seemed to fold in on itself until it was simply a mask. His eyes were downcast. Cassondra instantly regretted her words.

“You leave me with no choice, daughter. I will not stand to have a member of my family be involved in such blasphemy against the Light. Cassondra, as fourth magister of the Court of Silvermoon and the head of House Dawnstar, I do hereby revoke your claim to my heritage and my name. You are no longer a member of my House, nor may you retain any of the privileges that you once had as such.”

Cassondra could only gape at him in disbelief. He looked back at her sadly, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

“I am truly sorry.” He glanced down at the imp once again before stepping past her to continue on his way to the home where she was no longer welcome. She stood motionless in the street, able to think only of her brother Aurelian. Perhaps his fate had been the more merciful, she thought. Her eyes were dry, although her insides roiled in fear. She would not be able to remain in Silvermoon much longer.

Alamma, arrogant bastard that he was, had inimitable timing. He met her on the stairway to the Sanctum the next morning, ignoring the dark circles beneath her eyes that she knew were visible even in the dim light.

“Cassondra, it’s time for you to leave,” he said, leaning on the railing and looking up at her with a guarded smile. She could not read the rest of his expression.

“So you all have decided I’m not worth your precious time?” she snapped, as Chokin let out a tittering laugh from behind her. She swept her foot backward to kick at him, but the imp dodged and cackled at her again.

Alamma arched an eyebrow but kept his gaze trained on her face. “Not at all – Talionia has informed me that you are more than ready to move on to the next stage in your training.”

Cassondra said nothing, watching him. Alamma smirked at her.

“As you may have suspected, that training cannot continue here. You will need to make your way to the Undercity, to learn what the Forsaken can teach you. First, however, we have one final task that we would like you to perform. Talionia will tell you more.” And with that, he swept past her up the stairwell and out of sight.

Cassondra rolled her eyes – who knew what it was he did out in the city, with so much of the populous avoiding him the way they did. She parted the curtain at the foot of the stairs and found Talionia in her usual corner, reading from a heavy tome. The lithe, redheaded woman looked up at Cassondra’s approach and flipped the book closed.

“How nice of you to join me,” she said, standing and turning to face her charge. “Pay attention closely, Cassondra, this is not a lesson you’ll get twice.”

Cassondra looked at her coolly.

“While I’m certain your imp has proven a useful and sometimes entertaining servant,” Talionia said, glancing down at Chokin, “it is time you mastered a more powerful demon – the voidwalker. And by mastering it, I don’t mean summoning it haphazardly into the Regent’s chamber.”

Cassondra flushed angrily, opening her mouth to speak, but Talionia held up a hand to silence her. She swallowed her words, barely.

“You will need to travel down the Dead Scar until it is crossed by the Elrendar River. Just south of the river, you should find a number of blue, glowing stones. Take one, and your path will be revealed there.” Talionia waved a hand at her dismissively. “Let Alamma know if you need anything.”

Cassondra stood a moment longer, seething. Finally she stalked away from the woman and across the room to the niche where her few belongings were kept. It should have come as no surprise to her that they wanted her gone; she would be better off on her own.

With the pouch at her waist filled with what little she owned – including several handfuls of the rosy, delicate soul shards which provided much of her power – Cassondra pinned her cloak around her and drew the hood up and over her head. She hoped to escape the city walls and draw as little attention as possible, but did not want to wait until nightfall. Chokin prattled to himself beside her, half-hidden in the deep folds of her cloak. With a parting glance at Talionia, she made her way up the stairs and into the darkened corridors of Murder Row.

Mid-afternoon found Cassondra outside the walls of Silvermoon, moving cautiously west toward the swath of lifeless ground that was known as the Dead Scar. Chokin hopped along beside her, seemingly pleased that he was no longer confined beneath her cloak. In the distance, she could see the entrance to Falconwing Square and the Ruins of Silvermoon, the decaying part of the city that was inhabited by the Wretched. Aurelian’s face suddenly filled her mind, laughing and real. She stopped short, frowning. It would break her heart to see him now, to see what he had become. But she had to know.

Falconwing Square was remarkably quiet, save for the constant interrogation and subsequent pleading of a Wretched which had been taken captive by the Blood Hawks. Cassondra studied his pale, incongruous face from beneath the hood of her cloak, and thankfully saw no trace of her brother. Cutting through the courtyard, she made her way down Dawning Lane, being careful to stay on the road. On either side of her, beings that were once blood elves wandered aimlessly about, searching for the only thing that mattered to them now. Her ears caught their fervent whispers, stirring the hunger for mana that lay deep within her. She squelched the sudden urge that grasped her and quickened her pace, but one of them had seen her and was approaching much faster than she would have liked. Her peripheral vision caught the movement and Cassondra whirled, coming face to face with Aurelian.

Her countenance fell at the sight of how changed he was. His body was pale and wasted, hunched in all of the wrong places. His eyes - once green as hers were - had faded to a cold and eerie blue, and the cries escaping his throat were those of a pained animal, needy and pitiful. He clutched at her robes, his eyes staring right through her.

“…please…” he managed, “…I need it. I need it so badly…”

Cassondra stood staring at him, unable to move.

“Aurelian,” she whispered. “Why?”

Something changed in his eyes, then; recognition. His focus became sharper, his gaze finding her face and locking onto it as though his life depended on it. Maybe it did, maybe hers did, too.

“…Cassi…” he hissed through his teeth. “Run. Before it takes you, too…”

She opened her mouth to speak, but could not find the words. Beside her, Chokin crouched pensively, waiting to attack at her command. The being that was once her brother tightened his grip on her arm. Cassondra stepped backward away from him, as another one of the Wretched trudged towards her from the side. With a last glance at Aurelian, she turned and ran, Chokin at her heels.

The little courtyard in the Square could not have been a more welcome sight; Cassondra practically fell into one of the benches and caught her breath, all the while making wary glances back down the lane. The pale shapes that were the Wretched were still darting furtively back and forth; for now she was safe behind the guards. Aurelian would never be safe again.

“You ought to be more careful. You could have been one of them by now.”

A male voice startled her, and she turned to see that someone was standing behind the bench – a paladin, from the looks of his armor; he was entirely unfamiliar to her. Her eyes narrowed.

“…yes, I know,” she replied absently, still a bit shaken. She looked him up and down; he wore full mail, a finely crafted set in bronze and steel. His russet hair was long and thick, pulled into a tail at the back of his head, and a carefully-trimmed bit of beard rested on his chin. Cassondra was surprised to find him slightly handsome. He frowned a bit, suddenly.

“I did not mean to disturb you, only to inquire if you were well.”

“Who are you?” she asked, bluntly.

The young man smiled at her, an action that seemed to brighten his entire face. He tilted himself towards her in a sort of half bow. “My name is Solerian. Pleased to meet you, Miss –”

Cassondra started to reply with ‘Dawnstar’ and abruptly stopped, remembering that she no longer had any claim to the name of her birthright. A name escaped her lips. “Darksong. Cassondra Darksong.”

Where had that come from?

“Miss Darksong, then.” Solerian grinned, righting himself. “I’m relieved that nothing happened to you.”

Cassondra was not sure how to react in the face of such chivalry. Surely this man could see the imp beside her on the bench; perhaps he had not been in Silvermoon very long. She shifted uncomfortably.

“I appreciate the concern,” she said.

Solerian nodded, turning to go. “I’m afraid I have business I must attend to. Best of luck to you, Miss Darksong. Perhaps we will meet again.”

She nodded, watching his back as he disappeared into the inn. He was charming, she would give him that. Although, it was in his best interest if their paths never crossed again. Treating her with kindness would not earn him any kindness of his own, she knew. Standing from the bench, she made her way back out into Eversong Woods. It was time that she continued with the task she had been given.

Nestled against a gently sloping hill was Fairbreeze Village, little more than two or three buildings whose sole purpose was to shelter the rangers stationed there. Cassondra noticed as she traveled south that the road had begun to veer closer and closer to the Dead Scar, although the pangs of fear that she should have felt were strangely diminished. She would have to face them soon enough – the only road south to the river crossed the Scar in several places.

She stepped briskly through the center of the village, with every intention of passing right through it and making her way to the river as quickly as possible – the fewer that saw her, the better. A sudden whistle made her pause, and she turned her head slightly to see none other than Solerian standing to one side of the road, eyeing her up and down.

“It’s good to see you again, Miss Darksong. Very good…” he said, grinning at her with a slight heat in his eyes.

Cassondra stopped walking, turning to raise an eyebrow at him in recognition. “Ah, it’s you again. You look a bit different from when I last saw you.”

“Different? How so?”

“Like more of a man and less of a weakling.”

Solerian reddened, and Cassondra shrugged. He nodded in her direction. “I’ve been training hard…I have acquired much more power than when we last met.”

“I should hope so. The powerless are picked off fairly quickly around here.” she said, the words sour in her mouth.

“I should hope that doesn’t happen, then…I would be remiss to forsake any future meetings with you.” He met her eyes and she looked away quickly.

“Yes, I could say the same. At the very least you have been more than courteous to me,” she said, frowning. “The breeding of some others from Silvermoon is…shall we say, less than tasteful.”

Solerian smirked at her. “I know what you mean…”

Cassondra smiled at him despite herself, and they fell into an awkward silence. Her slender eyebrows arched together as she considered her next words carefully.

“This may be too generous,” she said, “and I may come to regret it later, but are you in need of anything? I have a few things in my bag which may be of use to you.”

“In need of anything? No, no, I couldn’t ask anything of you.”

Her frown deepened, and he seemed to relent.

“…what did you have in mind?”

“I’m rarely in a giving mood, as most often it is taken advantage of to a certain degree. But since your presence seems to be one that I can tolerate for any length of time without an aversion, I thought you as good a person as any to bestow the small bit of my kindness on.”

“I appreciate the gesture, but the pleasure of your company is as good a kindness as any.”

Cassondra blushed becomingly, and Chokin snickered from beneath the hem of her robe.

“Again you flatter me, sir. Were you simply well-taught, or have you other motives for such words?”

“Perhaps both. I do not wish to appear forward, but you are as mysterious as you are beautiful, and I wish to know you better.”

Cassondra stood very still, shocked into silence.

“But,” Solerian said, looking up at the sky, “I am afraid it is getting late, and I have much work to be done.”

She watched him, saying nothing.

“Hopefully our paths will cross again soon.”

He took hold of her hand and kissed it gently. “Until then, Miss Darksong.”

She found her voice again, hesitantly. “Fare you well, then.”

Solerian bowed before her, and she nodded in return, unable to do anything but watch as he retreated back down the road toward Sunsail Anchorage. Chokin looked up at her from the ground, his angular face carefully blank as he hopped anxiously from foot to foot. She shook her head and started south on the road again, squelching images of that charming smile that rose unbidden into her thoughts. The fact that his presence changed her so disturbed Cassondra. I knew that no good would come of him, she thought. It would be best if I forget all about him.

And with that she pushed him firmly from her mind.

Another day of walking brought the Elrendar River right to Cassondra’s feet. The current was slow and bubbling, broken by a sturdy wooden bridge which continued the road’s path onward into the Ghostlands. It took all of her courage not to look down at the water as she crossed the river, and she very nearly ran across the bridge once she’d reached the arching middle. She ignored Chokin’s constant laughter and stepped off of the road and into the rushes, careful to keep a respectable distance between herself and the river. A chill wind peppered her forearms with goosebumps even beneath the long sleeves she wore, and she drew her cloak a bit tighter around her shoulders. The Dead Scar lay just ahead, becoming muddy where it crossed the river. She stepped down into the swath of torn and rippled ground, all the while looking at the ground for any sign of the stones that she needed.

There’s nothing here but dirt, she thought. If Talionia has lied to me, I will find a way to make her swallow her tongue.

Chokin suddenly leapt onto Cassondra’s shoulder with a shriek, and she whirled to find a rotting zombie bearing down on them from the river’s edge. Shrugging Chokin off, she spoke a word and brought fire to her hands, setting the beast aflame before muttering a spell of corruption. The creature began to rapidly decay, its skin sloughing off in great ropes and its bones growing soft before it crumpled into a heap, finally still.

Wiping her hands on her robe, Cassondra knelt to inspect the corpse. Beneath it, among a few dirty scraps of linen and half buried in the dirt, was a glowing blue stone. Grasping it with slender fingers, she held it up to the light and winced as it reflected into her eyes. Her head began to spin, and her mind suddenly filled with a vision of a multi-story building haunted by ghostly figures. The scene drifted in and out of focus, but Cassondra was sure that the place was familiar somehow. Rooftops and canopies suddenly flashed by, revealing the road to Goldenmist Village to the west. Just as quickly as it had come, the vision faded, leaving Cassondra standing dazed on the edge of the Dead Scar with one white-knuckled hand gripping the stone.

((In progress, bear with me! ^_^))