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((Hey guys! I'm in the process of writing the Arathi campaign into a story to post on the Argent Archives. It'll be split into chapters to prevent the whole "Wall o' text" thing. I'll post every chapter here first so that all characters involved can make sure they're satisfied with how their characters are portrayed. While this is told from Leo's point of view, some things may be completely wrong. Perhaps your character would say something else? Perhaps they'd have a different way of walking or expression? If you spot -anything- you think is wrong with the story, please comment before it goes up on the AA. After all, it's the Kirin Dal's story, not Leo's story. ))

Chapter 1: An unjust demotion

The storm that had been hanging over the Arathi Highlands through the day was at last showing signs of fatigue. The rain that had been falling from the heavens at such a speed that it almost hurt was now little more than an annoying drizzle. The monstrous black clouds had gradually moved east, taking with them the harsh winds and pounding thunder. The sky was now visible through the remaining clouds, though it was as dark as the clouds that had obscured it merely hours earlier, and the bright flashes of lightning had been replaced by the steady glow of the moon which battled its way into sight. However, where one storm had dwindled and faded, another was rushing in to take its place. This one came not with lightning and rain, but fire and ice.
A fireball the size of a dwarf flew over the hill and crashed into a puddle with a splash and a hiss. The muddy water within had found a new home on the robe of a nearby mage. A streak of brown crossed his rich purple robe from his right shoulder to left knee, still hissing and steaming from the heat of the fire that had displaced it, and the golden eye of the Kirin Tor across his chest was now blind. Of more concern to the mage, however, was the startling accuracy with which his foe could launch a spell from behind a hill. He was completely certain that they could not see each other, and yet he was forced to move constantly under the hail of fire that almost seemed to be following him. With a crack, a long shard of ice appeared in one of his hands, and he threw it over the hill as quickly as he had summoned it. They had been exchanging spells with such speed for the best part of ten minutes, lances of ice and fireballs soaring past each other in what must have, to an onlooker, been a truly spectacular sight.
The purple clad mage was starting to grow tired, and he knew he would have to end this quickly. He stopped in his tracks as fireballs crashed into the ground around him and conjured up his mightiest shield. A thick frosty mist hovered about him as the mage began to draw patterns with his fingers, pointed up at the sky just over the hill. As he mumbled his spell, a fireball came roaring towards him. His shield responded instantly and the mist shifted into a solid block of ice. The fireball crashed against it and vanished, and the ice fell to the floor and shattered. The mist around the man had thinned, but he had enough for a few more attacks. With one quick flick of his wrist, a bright blue circle appeared in the sky, various glowing runes and markings hovering just inside the edge. Suddenly, a cascade of icy bolts appeared and flew from the circle, pelting the area he knew his foe was hidden. The fireballs stopped, and the mage dispelled his ward with a sigh as he readied himself to charge up the hill. But before he could act, he felt a searing heat below him and the ground began to crack.

The icy cold air of Dun Morogh stung Leofwine's face as he stood before the magnificent gates of Ironforge. Just moments before he had been inside, enjoying the warmth locked within the mountain. Now he found himself out in the snow, perched uncomfortably on a large chestnut horse and throwing envious glances at the nearby mountaineers who were huddled around a fire exchanging jokes and drinking ale. The life of a mage was not an easy or comfortable one, a fact he mulled over as he rubbed his freezing ears. Leofwine’s jet black hair was not even close to being long enough to shelter his ears from the cold. It was short and, despite the terrible weather, neatly combed. His face at least was managing, as his cheeks were covered by long sideburns and a ring of hair wrapped around his mouth and under his chin, both black and neatly kept in the same manner as his hair. His thick eyebrows were furrowed in what was best described as a look of annoyance, and the faintest of frowns hung on his lips. Among other things, Leofwine didn’t like to be kept waiting, especially not when cold, surrounded by foul smelling animals and on the verge of what could only be an exciting adventure.
He brushed a few flakes of snow from his shoulder pads, large and ornate looking things which seemed to be padded leather wrapped in a thick purple cloth, lined with black and gold. They were a perfect match of his robes, which had the same thick purple material and fancy gold and black lining. Across his chest was a large golden eye, half closed, which was a variant of the typical Kirin Tor emblem. He had long since given up on pulling his purple cloak and hood around him, as the spiteful wind refused to allow him even the slightest comfort.
His companions had, at this point, kept him waiting for seven minutes. As that was eight minutes longer than Leofwine cared to be kept waiting, he was sorely temped to turn his horse around and head down the mountain alone. Indeed, it was merely a forcefully instilled sense of manners that convinced him to stay put, along with a few muttered reassurances from a green crystal attached to his collar that allowed his fellow magi to communicate with him. His patience was rewarded with the sight of the first of his team emerging from the crowd bustling around the gate.
Gnorbert Manacog had made his way out of the crowd, although Leofwine had almost mistaken him for a stray bag. His winged purple mantle was almost as tall as the mage himself, and were it not for the disproportionately large head on his neck, topped with a few tufts of snowy white hair and a chubby, smiling face, he might have looked like a child who had dressed up in his parents clothes and wandered off. He walked towards Leofwine with his typically pleasant demeanour, and he felt a smile cross his face at the sight. As much as he liked the Gnome, it wasn’t a smile of pleasure, but the kind of smile that holds back a laugh, for he couldn’t help but note that the Gnome seemed to waddle more than walk.
He’d never tell Gnorbert these things of course. Despite his typically comical Gnomish appearance, Gnorbert was an exceptionally powerful mage. He was one of the three councillors of the Kirin Dal that Leofwine had met, and you don’t fall into that rank by accident. In all likelihood, Gnorbert housed the power to swiftly turn Leofwine into a smoking corpse in the blink of an eye, despite his small stature. Alongside respect for his abilities however, Leofwine was quite fond of his personality, and though Gnorbert was quite a rare sight, he imagined they would get along quite well over the coming days.
“Good evening, councillor Manacog. Wonderful of you to join me.” Leofwine made an effort to sound as happy and pleasant as ever, despite the annoyance of waiting. This was a skill he had learned well over his lifetime, along with mastering the arts of forced smiles and feigning interest.
“Good evening Leofwine,” Gnorbert answered. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”
“Oh, it’s not a problem at all, sir.” Leofwine was lying of course. “I suppose I already know the answer, but will you be needing one of these horses?”
Leofwine nudged his head in the direction of the group of horses just behind him, and Gnorbert laughed his answer.
“No thank you, I have my own way of getting around.”
Leofwine had seen this before, which was why he had the foresight not to bring a horse for Gnorbert anyway. The gnome reached into his robe and pulled out a small box. He pushed a large button on it and dropped it to the floor, where it opened with a small pop and a crack. A series of metal parts erupted from within and came together with a few loud clanks of metal upon metal. Gradually, the pieces took the shape of a metal bird, with two flimsy looking legs, a seat, and a long neck complete with a beaked head which had lamps for eyes. Gnorbert hopped aboard this strange miracle as if it was something terribly boring, and began to fiddle about with various buttons and switches.
“Truly remarkable. How I’d love to be able to mount one of those instead of these clumsy, foul beasts.”
He didn’t hear a response, as he was too preoccupied with glaring at his horse which simply wouldn’t stop shaking its head and trying to pull him over. Though he was quite good at horse riding, he had learned out of necessity. After all, not everyone could conjure mounts from a box. For the normal man, a horse was one of the only ways to get from one place to the other quickly. Besides, skill at riding was one of the many talents Leofwine was able to boast about, and he was not one to turn down a good boast.
“How long are we waiting for the others then?” he heard Gnorbert ask as he continued flicking switches.
“Oh, let’s say until… half past the hour? That sounds reasonable.” Leofwine almost laughed at Gnorbert wandering along late and then asking how long he would have to wait to continue.
Just as he finished speaking, he saw another familiar figure emerge from the crowd. His brother, with his shoulder length back hair and ridiculous beard stood out quite prominently against the crowd. He was quite a bit taller than Leofwine, at least by a head, and was visibly the eldest, his face bearing more than a few premature wrinkles. His purple robe, trimmed with gold seemed as mismatched with the rest of the crowd behind him as a palm tree might against the snow. He marched towards Leofwine with his hands in his pockets and his typical, casual grin across his face. Leofwine responded by straightening up in his saddle, adopting his own smile as he shifted about slightly. The Blackwood brothers had always been known for smiling like this, no doubt due to some prank they had pulled.
“You’re late as usual brother. Were it not for councillor Manacog here, I might have left you behind in the snow.” Leofwine remarked as he extended a pair of reins towards his brother, which were attached to a grumpy looking black horse. Gnorbert was Roderick’s tutor, and he doubted the former would be impressed if his apprentice was left behind.
“Usually I’d wonder if your new rank had gone straight to your head,” Roderick said as he mounted his horse clumsily, “but you’ve always been impatient haven’t you?”
“I had wondered actually. Congratulations on your promotion, Leofwine.” Gnorbert smiled at Leofwine, still messing around with the controls of his mechano-strider.
“Thank you councillor, but I seem to have lost my rank as quickly as I gained it. “ Leofwine replied, a smile masking the bitterness he felt at his quick change in fortune.
Roderick raised an eyebrow and his grin changed into a frown. “You were demoted? What for?”
“Oh, it’s only for a week. I’ll tell you both more about that when we start moving. It’s quite a long story.”
He saw Gnorbert nod as he hit one more button, which unleashed a torrent of warm air against his round face, pushing his white fluffy sideburns into his ears. He maintained his smile even as his gaze met Roderick’s, who was still giving Leofwine a very stern look. Before more needed to be said, another familiar figure emerged from the crowd.
Kreyja Severn was the second of the three council members that Leofwine had ever met, and she was perhaps the most interesting. Unlike Gnorbert, who seemed as pleasant and open as he was short, Kreyja seemed to be the silent type, though not in the shy sense. That’s not to say she was unpleasant. From what little interaction Leofwine had with her, she seemed to be a very kind person, not unlike everyone else in the Kirin Dal was. She didn’t seem to care much for small talk however, and that, coupled with the way she carried herself and took in her surroundings, gave the impression of either a lifetime that was less than pleasant, or a privileged upbringing.
As with Gnorbert however, one thing was certain. She was powerful enough to have earned her rank, and Leofwine couldn’t help wonder how he had managed to convince two such magi to accompany him on a very simple sounding journey. Unlike Gnorbert's comically gnomish appearance however, Kreyja looked every part a councillor, tall and graceful with dark skin and red hair. And if the Archmage was to be believed, she was concealing a great figure beneath the winged mantle and purple robe she wore. Leofwine rolled his eyes as the thought crossed his mind, and remembered that the Archmage was probably so old that he’d consider an ogre an attractive prospect if it graced him with a favourable look.
“Good evening councillor Severn. Wonderful of you to join us. I have a horse for you right here.” Leofwine extended the reins of another chestnut horse to Kreyja.
“Good evening,” she responded to the three mages gathered before her, “this will make things easier.” She mounted the horse with a lot more ease than his brother had displayed.
“Well, I think it’s about time we set out then. We’re to take these horses as far as… erm… a grove of sorts in the Wetlands. I’m sure the name will hit me as we travel.”
Leofwine smiled at the mages around him. He was quite content with this turnout, although he was quite annoyed that his own apprentice hadn’t even made contact all day, despite her assurances that she would join him. He tugged on the horses reins and dug his boots slightly into the beast’s sides, urging it forward to a walk.
“We’ll have to walk until we’re out of Dun Morogh I think. This ground isn’t exactly safe.”
“Indeed,” he heard Kreyja respond. “This path was made for tanks and groups of people, not horses.”
“Well, I’ll manage fine. This mechano-strider is made for all conditions.”
Before he had time to register his jealousy and annoyance at Gnorbert, he heard his brother at the back call out “So how did you get demoted brother?”
“Now that, brother, is an exciting and long tale. Were you aware that we’ve been working out of Fenris Keep for the best part of a week or so?”
“I was, though I’ve not been there myself.”
“Well, we’re there because the Archmage insists on us joining this… gathering of northerners against the forsaken. That alone baffles me, as it was Kirin Tor policy to remain neutral last time I checked. I suppose that’s up for debate after the Ambermill incident, but I digress. Fenris Keep has quite the wonderful view of the nearby forsaken, and as you can guess, they’re not particularly happy that a ramshackle group of living people have set up shop so close to their home. On my first night there I was caught in the middle of a skirmish and was beaten almost to death. Last night, I arrived to take Miss Lockheart to Dalaran for a lesson. At the same time, a forsaken force had arrived to kill everyone in the keep.”
“Naturally, were I alone, I’d have stayed there to fight the forsaken. Unfortunately though, I had a very frightened apprentice to take care of at the same time. I told her to keep out of sight and make her way to the roof while I readied a portal to get her out of there. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I find conjuring a portal to be quite a strain, and I’ve not opened enough to be completely certain of it landing within Dalaran. It was at this point that I weighed up my options. The first was to remain in the keep with Miss Lockheart. This would have certainly ended with both of our deaths, as she wasn’t particularly impressive in combat when she was calm, let alone frightened as she was when I met her on the roof, and I would have died trying to keep her and myself alive. My other option was to open the portal, which would also leave me drained and might not even reach the correct destination. Naturally, I chose the second option, and took Miss Lockheart through the portal and into Dalaran.”
“I would have done exactly the same thing,” Gnorbert said from a few feet behind. “We can’t afford to lose two magi in a fight like that can we?”
“Indeed. That was my reasoning at least. The Archmage however seems to have a very different opinion. When we returned to Fenris Keep later that evening, he asked why he hadn’t seen us during the fight. I explained my decision to protect Miss Lockheart rather than throw our lives away, to which he responded by stripping me of my rank for a week. It’s absurd, and I can’t for the life of me understand why he did it.”
Leofwine let out a short laugh, one of frustration rather than happiness. He could almost feel his brother shaking his head in disbelief, and suspected that Gnorbert was doing the same.
“He even asked me if I was sure I should be in the Kirin Dal, and not working individually instead.”
This particular comment had caused such a flood of rage in Leofwine when he heard it, that he had to close his eyes in case he saw red. To think that a centuries old wizard who was always preaching about patience was so hasty and narrow minded that he thought Leofwine’s effort to save his apprentice, the apprentice Valven himself had charged Leofwine with caring for, was out of cowardice and selfishness. Were it not for his dedication to the others in the group, particularly miss Lockheart whom he then felt he had severely let down, he would have thrown his tabard in the fire and set about attempting to claw the archmage's spiteful throat out. Thinking about it a day later still made his blood boil, and he wondered if the snow would melt upon contact with his skin.
“I just can’t understand the demotion. Perhaps he misunderstood the situation?” Leofwine had shared Gnorbert’s confusion for a while, but he now felt he knew the exact reason the Archmage had chosen to cruelly strip him of his duties along with a portion of his pride and respect for the old wizard.
“Oh, perhaps he heard that we’d left from some simple minded grunt and began to worry that our reputation was on the line? Of course, that makes our two lives seem awfully worthless.”
“No, it must have been something else. Though I do plan to talk to him next time I get the chance. While I would have done the same, you understand that I’ll have to hear his account of it.”
Leofwine forced a smile onto his face, silently wondering how the Gnome could say that with such sincerity. His demotion defied all logic, and Leofwine genuinely wondered how his decision would sit in the rest of Dalaran, a city of magi who seemed to operate entirely on the rule of not throwing away mages in needless conflicts. Dalaran wasn’t exactly the largest place in the world, nor was it bursting at the seams with capable and expendable people. All of their military operations spent huge amounts of time in the planning stages. They made sure to commit as few people as they could to ensure that a task was accomplished well. They couldn’t so much as sit under a tree without warding the entire area a mile wide against everything from demons to ill-willed squirrels. And more importantly, they were neutral. Valven's decision to actively take part in a battle against the Forsaken struck Leofwine as being quite a large breach in policy.
Policy however dictated few of Leofwine’s actions, and he suspected the Archmage had the same attitude. Indeed, if Leofwine had known before that it was policy to throw his and Nayreu's lives away to the forsaken, he would have taken her to safety anyway, and spat on whatever rulebook was brandished at him in response. Instead, he was simply angry at the idea that the man in charge of their order had demoted him for giving them a bad image in front of a few scruffy, dim-witted grunts who wouldn’t know of self preservation and logic if it slapped them in the face with a kodo's horn.
He mulled over his anger through Dun Morogh, mostly ignoring the chatter behind him between Roderick and Gnorbert. He mulled over it as they chose to head south into Loch Modan, and he was prepared to mull over it through the large series of tunnels that the Dwarves had skilfully carved into the mountains when a sudden rumble brought him back to the world around him. Dust was falling from the roof of the tunnel, and the ground shook. An earthquake no doubt, and much weaker than those he had experienced during the fall of Gilneas. His eyes darted about the cave, but he put a great effort into maintaining his calm posture.
“What was that?” Roderick asked. As with Leofwine, he was quite good at hiding emotions like nervousness.
“An earthquake brother. What else would it be?”
“I didn’t hear anything,” Gnorbert responded. Leofwine couldn’t help but wonder if that was because Gnorbert’s huge ears were full of the same white fluff that grew out of his scalp and chin.

It's fine.

(Hey guys! Finished another chapter today. If anyone spots anything they'd like me to tweak, be it spelling errors, descriptions or dialogue, just say and I'll get right on it. I'll post chapter 1 as soon as chapter 3 is finished, so make sure you're satisfied with your representation in the story by then!)

Chapter 2: Seeing Red

It was much more pleasant in Loch Modan than it had been just a few moments earlier in Dun Morogh. The sky was cloudless and full of bright stars which, coupled with the glow of the moon, made it almost feel like daytime. Indeed, Leofwine had no trouble leading his companions along the cobbled path that ran straight up the western side of the lake. Where the tall and leafy tree’s made an attempt to block out the light, a lantern or a fire was in place to intervene. Leofwine made a mental note to come back to Loch Modan some day, as it seemed to be one of the few genuinely pleasant places left on Azeroth.
He had no time for that today however. His anger had faded with the cold it seems, and as the four mages galloped and clanked through the trees and hills, he could only feel excitement at the days to come. If there was one thing that a mage enjoyed, it was a good artefact hunt and very few would willingly pass up the chance to find something very old and full of magic. He hadn’t even been told what they were searching for specifically, but it only took the words ‘magical’ and ‘artefact’ to convince his brother and the two councillors to follow him all the way north to Arathi. While it would surely be a fascinating search though, Leofwine would have come all the way north to search for a teapot if Eric had asked him to.
Eric Hunt was Leofwine’s mentor from Gilneas. Officially, he had a tutor who had proven his ability to teach magic to others, but Eric was the man Leofwine had learned much of his trade from. The smartly dressed, smoothe talking mage had left such an impression on Leofwine that he had taken to dressing the same, keeping his hair in the same style, speaking the same, and even forced himself to like brandy so he could drink the same. Eric taught Leofwine everything from offensive spell casting to chatting up ladies in bars. The greatest lesson he had learned though was that of confidence. Leofwine had always been brazen and rebellious, but living in the shadow of his more talented brother did his self esteem no favours. Eric had taught him pride.
“It is your strengths that make you strong after all Leofwine. What does it matter if you can’t conjure to save your life? You have your strengths to do that. Nobody ever became great and famous because their weaknesses weren’t so weak. They have statues because they used their strengths to do great deeds.” If ever a lesson had stuck with the young mage, it was this one. It became his outlook on life, and now that he had his own apprentice, it was his lesson to teach. Nayreu reminded Leofwine of himself slightly, if Leofwine was a female, born in the country instead of the city and was almost unbearably shy. She, like himself, focused too much on the negative, no matter what she had succeeded in doing. Once more, Leofwine found himself emulating his mentor, and once more he was proud to do so.
The four mages swiftly passed through Loch Modan, through another series of tunnels and down into the Wetlands. The Wetlands, unlike Loch Modan, was not a very nice place. It was dark and swampy, and the only mental note Leofwine made here was to zealously burn any filthy swamp animal that he saw within a mile. Fortunately, he’d be rid of three beasts at the Greenwarden’s Grove, which was where they were to leave the rented horses. As they followed the cobblestone path north, a collection of night elven structures loomed into view, curved, wooden and mostly without walls. While he, along with most Gilneans, felt they owed the Kaldorei a great debt, he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable during his brief stay in Darnassus. It all felt so exposed and unorganised. Thanks to the extreme gathering of insects that made their home in the Howling Oak along with the other refugees, it felt quite filthy too, and Leofwine threw himself on the first boat out with as many polite thanks as he could without stopping.
The elves themselves were a polite group of people. They were constantly friendly and helpful, to eachother and to the Gilnean refugees, and remarkably genuine too. Many people Leofwine knew, including himself, were prone to making kind gestures that they didn’t fully mean, but the elves truly meant it when they wished you a good day, or offered to help you with things. They cared and shared so much that they may aswell have been a huge family, of which the Gilneans were new found distant cousins. Leofwine supposed they would be very beautiful too, but as he wasn’t particularly tall by human standards, he found them to be more intimidating than attractive. As his horse walked past an emerald haired sentinel, Leofwine suddenly found himself quite comfortable in the saddle, and was reluctant to dismount and look short once more.
“So where to now brother?” Roderick called out. The three magi gathered around Leofwine as he thought for a moment.
“We’ll be taking the road north here. We’ll follow it all the way up to Thandol Span, where we’ll begin our amazing adventure.”
Leofwine smiled at the three and turned to leave, a lot faster than the rest of the group did. He was quite alone when he reached the exit onto the road, and turned around with an impatient sigh to wait for the others to catch up. He watched Gnorbert in particular and wondered if it would be faster to just tie a rope around him and drag him there, or maybe carry him under his arm like a sack of potatoes. Kreyja too walked slowly and gracefully, with his brother just in front shuffling along next to Gnorbert with his hands in his pockets. Leofwine wondered if he was being too eager, or if slowness came with age.
“Hurry up now brother. I’d like to be in Arathi before winter if you’d be so kind.”
“Hush. We’re not all as excited as you to meet Eric and drink brandy instead of find artefacts.” Roderick did not share Leofwine’s admiration of Eric. Leofwine attributed this to jealousy. After all, Leofwine tended to end up with the girls, and Roderick had the books.
“I’ll have you know that Eric is not a drunkard, nor a time waster like yourself. He’s an exceptionally powerful magus. He could probably beat the Archmage in a fight too.”
“Oh I highly doubt that.”
“You do? Do you not remember that time he escaped Gilneas in a boat?”
“I thought all of you escaped by a boat?” Gnorbert couldn’t be blamed for misunderstanding. That cursed wall kept more things in than it did out.
“This was before the forsaken, councillor. The king was focused on keeping intruders out, but he wasn’t so keen to let people leave either. The gate was closed due to “dangers” and the port was closed off for good measure. Eric wanted out. He always did love Dalaran more than Gilneas, and he only stayed inside as long as he did to teach myself, and to earn a bit of extra money by bringing in goods from outside by portal.”
Leofwine had always been amazed at how calmly his mentor had broken the law. Try as he might, King Greymane couldn’t keep everything out of his land. There are few things indeed that you can tell a mage not to do without them doing so anyway. Eric made quite a fortune from imported goods, particularly wine, and told Leofwine that he was only breaking this particular law because “it was ridiculous beyond belief”.
“So when he had enough of his teaching and money making, he decided to leave. Leaving by portal was, of course, too easy for Eric. He decided to leave in a small boat, completely visible and mostly drunk. Remember watching him hop into that flimsy little boat with a few sandwiches and a bottle of brandy?”
“Yes, alright, that was quite funny.”
“Quite funny? He was shooting flares as he left because he wanted a challenge. He was both mighty and inspirational, so watch your tone.”
Once again, Leofwine sunk into his thoughts and memories, while the others chatted away behind him. He hadn’t seen Eric for years, and couldn’t have cared less about the artefacts they were there to search for. He just had so many things to talk about. He wanted to know everything that occurred during and after his grand escape. He wanted to know what spells he had learned, what things he had seen, what people he had befriended and fought with over the many years of freedom. He wanted to tell Eric about the girls he had met and left. He wanted to explain how he had lost his parents, become cursed and fought his way out of Gilneas with all the spells he’d been taught. How should he be teaching Nayreu? How should he put up with an Archmage who just couldn’t seem to trust his intentions? It had been a long time since Leofwine had anyone to ask these questions to. All he had left was his brother, and while they were close, they never really talked to eachother about their problems.
“One day, when your parents are gone, that boring old brother of yours will be the only rock you have to lean against boy. You should be grateful. I’d give anything to have a sibling, let alone someone as reliable as Rodders.” Leofwine could see the wisdom in Eric’s words, but he’d never felt them true. In the absence of Eric, he would talk to his parents. When his parents were killed, he just kept everything to himself and painted a smile on his face. It had served him well thus far, and would continue to do so in future. It hadn’t been easy of course. Leofwine only found out his parents had been killed by a worgen a week after it happened, when he was injected with serum to restore his mind. He’d been bitten, scratched, shot at, chased and finally trapped, but nothing had hurt quite so much as losing both parents. He had been assured that it wasn’t him of course, but that did little to calm his mind. The many moments spent with his brother outside of combat were awkward, to say the least. His brother tried of course. He’d ask how Leofwine was doing, but he bottled in as much as his younger brother. The two asked eachother how they were coping. They’d sit near eachother and say just about anything to keep the silence away. But Roderick was not a replacement. The two were the same, and the last rock he had to lean on seemed more like a mirror.
A sudden apprehension rushed over Leofwine. Now that he thought about it, Eric had not been cursed. He hunted worgen just like everyone else, and had no idea that Leofwine and his brother hadn’t been so lucky as to escape unscathed. Leofwine was certain that Eric wouldn’t care. He had always been more open minded than that. However, he couldn’t help but feel nervous all the same.
The group crossed the Thandol Span, with Leofwine in the lead. The mighty, but ugly stone bridge was a stark contrast to the rest of Arathi beyond it. Loch Modan had a certain tame beauty to it, but Arathi was a vast expanse of mossy green hills that was infinitely more stunning to behold. Was there a more fitting place to serve as the cradle of modern mankind? It was through these very hills and trees that humans had first proven their ability to crawl from the mud and achieve something great. They were so instrumental in fighting the trolls that the proud High Elves had seen fit to teach them the magical arts. It was from these huge green basins that the first human kingdoms had formed and spread, and it was beneath these same stars that mankind began to shape history. It was just beyond one large hill that Leofwine would meet his mentor too, and it was on one smaller stone bridge that the group would have a most unusual surprise.
“Hold on. Who’s that there?” Gnorbert asked.
“It’s the Archmage isn’t it? What’s he doing out here?”
An old wizard stood halfway across the bridge, staring blankly into a lake just below. A tall, pointed hat sat on his head, fully covering a pair of pointed, half-elven ears. A ponytail of silver hair hung down onto his upper back, and he held his hands behind his back as if enjoying a peaceful summers day. While this could be any old, half-elven wizard, he was wearing the robes typically worn by Valven and the other councillors of the Kirin Dal. Of course, he had a lot of robes. Leofwine rarely saw him wearing the same thing twice in a row, and couldn’t help but wonder who he was trying to impress. The Archmage was, after all, a living fossil. Leofwine often joked that he invented the titans and kept Nozdormu as a pet, but he was only exaggerating slightly. There were many wars in the past few hundred years that Valven claimed to have fought in, and Leofwine wondered if archaeologists spent many hours digging up pieces of pottery that Valven had thrown about for fun.
The group walked closer, with Kreyja and Gnorbert both calling out the archmage’s name.
“Are you sure it’s him?” asked Roderick. He clearly didn’t pay enough attention to the old farts mannerisms.
“Of course it is brother. Archmage?”
Leofwine leaned over to stare into Valven’s face. Had he died standing up? He often fell into these annoying trances, and Leofwine was almost tempted to place him somewhere else for fun before he woke up. Suddenly though, life sprung back into the old mans eyes and he fixed them on Leofwine before looking around at the rest of the group.
“Ah, a fair evenin' to ye, my friends. Fancy meetin’ ye here.” The Archmage grew a smile. Leofwine of course didn’t believe the Archmage so dim as to forget that Leofwine had planned this expedition for some time now.
“We could say the same to you Archmage. Have you come to join us after all?”
“Nay, I'm afraid I haven't got t'time to proper give this project t'time it deserves - There are others matters on fair Azeroth that require my attention. I can't exactly be lookin' out for youn' magelin's who've uncanny abilities to get themself headfirst into trouble, eh?” The Archmage offered a brief, apologetic smile before returning his gaze to the water, his eyes sharper than before.
“I see. And what might those be?”
“'Tis nothin' ye ought to get yeselves too concern'd with - what matters is that 'tis done, 'n rather fast, rightly so. I'm sure ye can manage on ye own, 'n I'll do my best to check with ye whenever t'chance offers itself. I do not want to hold ye hand 'n guide ye through personal endeavours, but that doesn't mean I won't lift a finger over it before 'tis done. I can promise ye, however - thin’s are about to turn interestin’ - if for or against ye likin'. 'Tis for for me to say."
“Well Archmage, enjoy your work. If you’ll excuse us, we’ve kept Eric waiting long enough.” Leofwine wasn’t particularly keen on Valven’s company right now. It was bad enough that he’d been demoted, but now he seemed to be withholding something important. His vague way of answering any questions always irritated Leofwine, regardless of his opinion of Valven at the time. The Archmage simply folded his hands behind his back and licked his lips as he stared into the water, and the rest of the group said their farewells and bowed. Perhaps he saw something in the lake and was formulating a plan to get it out? Or perhaps he was going senile and was pretending that he was doing something important so as not to look stupid. Either way, Leofwine was glad to be gone.
It wasn’t that he hated the old Archmage. He was quite lively for someone so old, and while at times he was irritatingly vague, he was a nice enough man to be around. The way he spoke to women made Leofwine wonder about his own old age, and whether he’d be so charmingly repulsive too. The Archmage was usually right about everything too. He had to be, considering his position. Power, knowledge and cryptic speech was something Valven seemed to have in abundance, and Leofwine quite respected him for the former two qualities. The third was his only consistent gripe, and a temporary demotion wasn’t enough to demolish all of his respect and fondness for the greying old fossil either. He simply felt bitter now.
His demotion didn’t even feel like a punishment to Leofwine, so much as a punishment to Nayreu. However careless he seemed, Leofwine was a man who took his jobs seriously, and he’d grown quite fond of Nayreu over the brief time he’d been her tutor. For all her weaknesses, she was a charming person with a keen mind, and Leofwine longed to bring out that spark of confidence that he himself had found. He wanted to help her reach her full potential, but thanks to one decision, he had been robbed of that duty. He had let his apprentice down, and now she had to pay for it as much as he did. Guilt and bitterness had replaced the sheer rage he had felt quite swiftly, and while he could heap blame on the Archmage, he had to take some of it himself too.
The group moved around the hill, and Leofwine grinned widely as he scanned the area for Eric. He wondered if he looked different after all these years.
“Where is he?” asked Roderick. Leofwine would have been irritated by the impatience in his brother’s voice, if he hadn’t already caught sight of his mentor.
The grin hung on Leofwine’s face even as the happiness fled his body. Eric Hunt, Leofwine’s mentor and best friend, was lying face down in the ground, near a bush at the foot of the hill.
“Oh, there he is. Passed out from all the drinking has he?”
“Who is that?” Gnorbert asked.
“Eric.”
The grin from Leofwine’s face faded as the world crashed around him. He shut his eyes and placed a hand over his mouth, as if to keep the anguish from spilling out. Leofwine stood still as Kreyja and Gnorbert moved forward, talking to eachother and looking about. The ground around Eric was scorched by magical fire, and the mage himself was muddied and burnt almost beyond recognition. It felt as if his heart had frozen, gained new weight and fallen to the pit of his stomach. His senses dulled, and his mind couldn’t focus, rushing rapidly from thought to thought, as if his memory had erupted to show him just how much he had lost. A pat on his shoulder, the hand of his brother, brought him back sharply. He heard a brief, sympathetic apology muttered to his left, and he shrugged the hand off. He had no need of his brothers false sympathy.
“Did-“ Leofwine coughed to steady his voice. He would keep his composure as he always did. “Did he have anything on him?”
Gnorbert and Kreyja searched the man’s pockets and shook their heads. Eric had been murdered and robbed, and impulses took command of Leofwine’s body in place of rational thought.
“Miss Severn, could you open a portal to Dalaran please?”
Perhaps Kreyja felt his grief, or perhaps she heard the urgency in Leofwine’s voice. She pulled a rune from her robe and began to conjure up a portal. As she did, Leofwine tore his cloak from his back and threw it over the corpse of his hopes and dreams, of everything he aspired to be, and the best friend he had ever known. He could stop to grieve later. He dragged Eric and placed him on the other side of the portal, before reaching into his right sleeve to pull out his scrying orb, his prized possession, and the new instrument of his justice. The portal closed behind him and the three stared at him, bewildered. He heard Gnorbert whistle and a bird answered. He heard him muttering that he would have to send a note to explain. He felt the confusion amongst his comrades and it almost angered him that they couldn’t see how clear it was.
“Are there any clues about who did this? It was someone capable of magic, and that narrows it down to the local trolls or ogres.”
His scrying orb was a marvellous tool. As images of Ogres and Trolls flickered within, his rage grew. Kreyja, somewhere off to his right, bent down to pick up an item. She threw it aside upon realising it was a spent arrowhead, and bent down once more to pick up something else.
“Ah, now this is interesting.”
Leofwine snapped his head around and almost ran to Kreyja, staring at the trinket. It was a small band of string, with small bones and a tiny carved skull hanging from it. Kreyja confirmed his suspicions.
“Trollish. They’ve definitely been here.”
“So it was Trolls who robbed and murdered Eric was it? Well, I’m going to retrieve his belongings and avenge his death. Will any of you be joining me?”
Leofwine tucked his orb away. His entire body was shaking. It wasn’t fear, or sorrow, but an anger that he had never felt in his life. The others nodded their answers, Gnorbert sighing reluctantly, Roderick staring worriedly and Kreyja standing firmly. With a few swift motions, Leofwine loosened the series of straps that tightened his robe to suit his human form. He would not even attempt to contain this anger. His blood boiled and his skin erupted with thick, grey fur. His black hair turned into a large mane, and his face stretched. His hands grew large and clawed, and his teeth became fangs.
He ran ahead of the others. He could hear himself growl with anger. He was almost blind with it. His fists clenched so tightly that the nails almost tore his own skin. But he didn’t care how bestial he looked. He would burn each and every troll he saw to cinders. He would torch their homes and purge their foul idols from the world. If he ran out of magical energy, he would bite and claw at their throats, and he would not stop until they felt as angry and empty as he did. The troll village, nestled in the trees, became visible, and Leofwine saw red.

(Hey guys! Chapter 3 is done, and it concludes day 1 of the event we did in Arathi. As usual, let me know if you find anything wrong with it. I'm more than happy to change things you don't agree with. After all, my memory isn't the best. Hope you're all enjoying it so far. I'll be posting chapter 1 on the Argent Archives very soon, so really make sure you're alright with everything.)

Chapter 3: Deep regret

Leofwine halted just out of sight of a troll lookout. The hunched, green creature was dressed completely in leathers, holding a collection of throwing spears. A necklace of small animal skulls hung around his neck, and the sight of him repulsed every inch of Leofwine. He wanted to grasp the troll’s neck in his claws and throttle him, and he didn’t care how many spears he had to suffer to get there. But he wasn’t about to throw his life away just yet. Even enraged as he was, he still had priorities to follow, and his first priority was to retrieve Eric’s belongings.
His brother was the first of the group to catch up. He too had loosened his robe in order to shift form, though he likely did so with more restraint. The worgen transformation was hard to predict at times. While it could be done at will, adrenaline or rage tended to bring about urges to change that were often hard to ignore. Leofwine had given in to his, but his brother simply had business to attend to. Where Leofwine had completely gray fur, Roderick had patches of white, and his ears were more torn. But they both kept a natural snarl on their faces, exposing their huge fangs. Leofwine was itching to sink his into someone.
Kreyja followed shortly behind. She seemed to have no issue with wiping out a group of trolls. Gnorbert eventually arrived too, his short legs nowhere near capable of keeping up with the two worgen and the seemingly agile Kreyja, who had set about readying her wand for a fight. The two councillors would prove rather useful here, or so Leofwine thought.
“Right everyone. We’re going to go in there and torch every building to the ground. We’re going to find his belongings if we have to burn down every tree and destroy every troll.” Leofwine snarled and growled as he spoke. Kreyja nodded her agreement, but his brother looked uneasy.
“Would it not be better to simply search hut to hut and kill as few as possible? I’m sure with an invisibility spell, we’d be able to search with little interference.” Councillor Manacog had finally voiced the doubts Leofwine suspected he harboured. But this was not the time for mercy. Eric had certainly been shown none.
“We should just kill them. A few less savages about will do this world some good. They’ll probably attack someone else anyway. We’re doing the locals a favour,” replied Kreyja. Leofwine looked at her. She knew what had to be done. She knew that life wasn’t a garden party. She knew of justice and she was ready to hand some out. Leofwine would keep her near. He had no need of mercy.
“We’ll split up in each direction. Brother, you stay with councillor Manacog and head that way.” Leofwine gestured swiftly to his right. He made no attempt to remove the venom or anger from his voice. They were unwanted moral baggage.
“Miss Severn, we’ll go this way and torch it all. Don’t stop until you’ve found something.” He directed this last comment at his brother and Gnorbert, and dashed off into the woods, with Kreyja following quickly behind.
Leofwine had never been one for blood sports like hunting. His father and Eric had tried to take him along to some Worgen hunts, but Leofwine couldn’t really see the merit. He had always steered clear of any kind of fight, and would only ever retaliate. To make the decision to pick up a weapon and venture off to end the life of another was one he only had to think about when rats were involved. But these trolls had not hurt Leofwine in body. The vast majority of them would have been completely unaware of the death of Eric, and the pain it had caused. He was here because he felt angry. He felt hateful and sad. His parents had been stolen from him by some mindless beast, and now Eric had been taken by some sadistic, filthy trolls. He charged through the woods with a roar and met his first troll.
A flame lit up in each of Leofwine’s hands as he burst out from behind a tree. The troll in his path had no time to pick up his weapon or call for help. Leofwine plunged his sharp claws into the savages exposed torso, before a fiery blast erupted from his palms and sent the troll hurtling lifelessly into a bush. Kreyja appeared through the trees to the left, and with a graceful flick of her wand, send a large blazing orb through the air towards a small hut on the shore of the lake. Another troll within, armed this time, emerged from his tent. Before he could even pick a target, the ball of flame crashed into him and exploded, igniting the hut and occupant in a flash. Leofwine shoved the dying beast out of his path as he rushed into the tent. A quick scan yielded no results, and he dashed back outside.
“Next!” he roared at Kreyja, and the two charged at another hut further along the shore. Five trolls awaited them, brandishing axes and spears, covered in rags of leather and mud. Behind them stood another, this one with a tall bone mask and a staff covered with strands of beads and bones. Undeterred, Leofwine rushed headlong into the group. It was as if a red haze was engulfing him slowly, and the more he tried to flush it from his system with rage and violence, the greater a hold it took on him. A fireball exploded into existence in his right hand and he hurled it towards the waiting trolls. A skilful ward from the troll at the back rendered it useless, and her five companions charged forward.
A cascade of flame erupted from Kreyja’s wand, engulfing the two trolls closest to her completely. Their yells were barely audible over the roar of the flames, and the roaring of Leofwine as he swung his hand in slicing motions towards the trolls. His own spells paled in comparison to Kreyja’s, but they were no less effective against unarmed and filthy savages such as these trolls. Which each swing of his hand, a tiny burst of flame erupted across his targets. Alone, these were simply painful, but he threw every ounce of his anger into roaring and casting, and the trolls crumpled under the hail of fire. Still roaring, he began to charge at the female troll at the back, who raised her staff, pointing the tip at Leofwine.
A ball of shadow erupted from it, and collided with Leofwine’s chest. It was as if someone had thrown a storm of needles directly into his lungs, or poured boiling water down his throat. It seared every inch of his torso for a brief moment before the sensation ended. Leo had rolled forward with the impact, and rose to his feet, clutching his chest with a claw as he kept running. The troll began to cast a similar spell, but a fireball collided with the side of her head. With a loud scream, she was thrown off her feet and onto the ground. Kreyja cast a second spell, this one of the arcane, and tiny bolts of purple lightning engulfed the troll for a moment, before she fell still.
Leofwine didn’t stop to thank Kreyja before he rushed into the hut. He kicked over the furniture and tore open the boxes, but he couldn’t find anything again. He emerged once more, setting the hut ablaze behind him. Kreyja looked around, with a curious expression.
“These aren’t the kind of spell caster’s who would use fire like that which killed your friend. What’s going on here?”
“They’re probably hidden them away deeper in the village. These idiots can’t grasp the arcane easily, so they’d shelter all those who could. We’ll burn our way in and demolish them all the same!”
Leofwine was about to burst into a run again, when a voice began to echo from a green crystal around his neck.
“We’ve found something here. South side of the pond.” How ironic that Gnorbert, who Leofwine had been eager to dismiss, had found what they were looking for. He looked at Kreyja who nodded back, and they broke into a run, heading for the area that the gnome and Roderick had been tasked with searching.
Their side of the forest was much cleaner. A couple of trolls lay dead, but they seem to have been slain out of necessity, and there were no blazing structures. Behind the running pair, two pillars of smoke rose from the woods, and several loud voices cried out in anger. Was that what Leofwine sounded like? Had they lost their own mother, father or mentor today? Had their lives been ruined by some savage beast, roaring and burning in search of something they didn’t have? Leofwine shook the thoughts out of his head. Whether they were innocent of this one crime didn’t excuse them from their others. As Kreyja said, they were a notorious menace in Arathi.
They found the others sitting calmly in front of a hut. A small black cat wandered about, which Leofwine knew was the handiwork of his brother. Gnorbert stood up, holding a small bundle of things in his tiny arms. Leofwine strode forward and snatched the items from Gnorbert’s hands. He wasn’t sure what look the gnome gave him, whether it was sympathetic or annoyed. Either way, he said nothing and took a step back as Leofwine slowly turned the items over in his hand. The first item was a small golden ring. It was a fine ring, with the eye of the Kirin Tor emblazoned on it. This was definitely the signet ring of a Dalaran mage. The second item was a plain looking journal. It was magically sealed however, and Leofwine had neither the ability nor inclination to attempt to open it in the middle of these woods. The final item was a pouch full of silver and gold coins. Leofwine recognised this instantly as Eric’s. He’d seen it so many times when they’d buy eachother drinks or place wagers on just about anything with a chance element to it.
He barely heard the others telling him that they should leave. The forest was likely swarming with trolls out for revenge by now, and they’d have to make a quick getaway to remain unscathed. Leofwine ran, without thinking or caring where. The frenzy of combat had died down. His rage had used him, and left him behind with only the misery and emptiness he felt before. Once more, his head felt numb and his heart felt unbearably heavy. All at once, time seemed to slow down and speed up. So many thoughts poured through Leofwine’s mind, and yet when they finally came to a halt underneath three giant stones which rested against eachother, it felt like they had only been running for a few seconds. The fur from his face vanished and his claws became regular hands once more as he returned to his human form, and lowered himself to the ground.
“So where do we go from here?” Gnorbert asked.
Leofwine’s response came out faint and croaky, as if even his voice had given up on feeling. “We were supposed to stay at a place called Refuge Pointe… I have no idea where it is.”
Leofwine didn’t care either. They could go anywhere in the world, and he’d still feel empty. He’d still feel alone, guilty and worthless. He’d become the monster that killed his parents, and the savage that killed Eric. He’d personally taken so many lives for a pouch of coins and a book. Nobody deserved to feel like Leofwine did, but in one foolish act of vengeance he’d forced it upon that village. In one cruel and savage moment, he’d been the villain that ended lives, and dragged his comrades down with him. Gnorbert was right. They could have handled that infinitely better. His own weakness could have cost them their lives on top of Eric’s.
“There, I think I see it to the north. There are a few humans guarding some kind of hole in the ground.”
With a great effort, Leofwine pushed himself to his feet, still clutching Eric’s belongings. It seems they weren’t going to give him a moment to deal with the events, and rightly so. He was the dead weight here, stupidly risking lives and attempting to drown himself in self pity.
“I’m sorry about Eric, Leofwine.”
Leofwine was halfway up the hill, behind Gnorbert and Kreyja, when he heard his brother call to him. He didn’t turn around to respond.
“Enough. There’s a time and a place for that.”
How ironic. Leofwine believed that his week couldn’t possibly be any worse after his demotion, and now he was alone and a murderer to add to that.

Leofwine threw the journal to the ground in frustration. In between the tears and memories, he’d been sat behind a tree on his own attempting to open the lock. His attempts had earned him nothing but annoyance now, and he went to stand beside the bonfire once more. His brother was sitting on the floor reading, and didn’t seem to notice Leofwine approach. He was grateful for this, as he didn’t think he’d be able to deal with another awkward attempt at sympathy and conversation tonight. Instead, he simply stood there, staring at Eric’s signet ring which he held in front of him in his right hands.
They had reached Refuge Pointe quite easily. Refuge Ditch would have been a more appropriate name in Leofwine’s opinion. It was simply a collection of tents gathered around a large fire in the middle of a hole in the ground, accessible by two paths heading north and south. Gnorbert and Kreyja had left to find a tent some time ago, leaving the two brothers alone with their thoughts. It was a solitude he was grateful for, but one that would be fairly short lived.
“S-sir? Can you hear me?”
The faint voice echoed out from a green crystal around Leofwine’s neck. Nayreu had at last decided to make contact, although she was a good few hours late to do so. He still wasn’t sure whether he felt let down by her, and a part of him wanted to command her to be quiet and stop bothering him. Then again, she was bad enough at taking joke annoyance, let alone the real thing, and he worried that any sincere frustration he directed at her would scare her off forever.
“I can.”
“Ah, er, where in relation to Refuge Pointe are you?”
“I’m in Refuge Pointe, miss Lockheart.”
“O-oh. I’ll be there in a few minutes then sir.”
Leofwine had spent a long time wondering how he wound up with such a talented apprentice, but even longer wondering how anyone could be so shy. She stammered shyly so often that he often felt that she had only recently learned to talk and was nervous about using her new skill. It sometimes even irritated Leofwine to begin teaching her, complimenting her progress, only to find that she’d avert her gaze to stare at her boots to mumble a response. It was terribly bad mannered, and he could only hope that she would learn from his example, as he hadn’t the heart to tell her to try acting her age.
She likely wasn’t any younger than Leofwine after all. He was only twenty four, and he guessed that she was three years younger at the most. He could see her now, walking slowly down the path to the south, turning her head nervously to take in her surroundings. She was as attractive as she was talented, Leofwine often thought, with her brown hair tied back in a ponytail and her pretty, slightly brown face. He hadn’t needed to ask her to be able to tell she was a country girl, and wondered if being born outside of a city was a suitable reason for being in a permanent state of nervousness.
“Nice to see you again, Miss Lockheart.” Leofwine hadn’t turned to speak to her as she drew nearer.
“I-I’m sorry for being so late, s-sir. I’ve been a bit busy…”
“Well, you’re here now, and that’s all that matters eh?” Leofwine turned to offer Nayreu a very false smile. It certainly did matter that she hadn’t made an appearance on what was supposed to be their grand adventure. He saw her eyes widen slightly when she caught sight of his own, and remembered he hadn’t yet attempted to hide his sorrow.
“H-has something happened sir?” He could almost feel her pulse quicken with apprehension. She was probably wondering if someone had died.
“Eric is dead.”
“Y-your mentor?” He saw her raise a hand over her mouth. Even if she was pretending, she was quite convincing with her shocked and sorrowful expression.
“Yes. He was murdered by trolls. We fought them and retrieved his belongings.” He returned his gaze to the ring in his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Nayreu’s expression. It was as if she wanted to both be there for him, and run as far away as she could.
She said nothing, so Leofwine turned to head back to the tree, where he sat down once more to pick up the journal. Nayreu followed silently and cautiously, as if expecting Leofwine to burst into tears or fly into a fit of rage. In truth, he’d done both today, and was quite done with them.
“I’ve been attempting to open this journal we found. All he had on him was this journal, this signet ring, and a pouch of coins.” He held up each item as he named them. “I’m staying in Arathi to find these artefacts, but I won’t be able to do anything until I can open this journal. You don’t know anything about magical locks do you, miss Lockheart?”
She shook her head slowly. He hadn’t expected her to have an answer for him. He was simply trying to make noise to ward away the awkward silence that was threatening to fall across them. He placed the journal on his lap, and felt a small and very nervous hand on top of his own.
“I’m sure you’ll work it out, sir.” He glanced down at Nayreu’s hand with a raised eyebrow, and wondered how long she had been choosing between this and fleeing. While it was certainly heart warming to have her there, he was rather puzzled at the gesture.
“Erm, thank you. I’m sure I will too.” Frankly, he had no doubt that he’d be able to open this lock eventually. In the worst case scenario, he’d have to contact the Archmage for advice. That wasn’t even a bad scenario, and he was simply being stubborn by trying to solve it alone. That said, he instantly regretted his choice of words when Nayreu withdrew her hand and looked away, coughing nervously, as if it wasn’t awkward enough already. He feared he’d made her feel quite foolish.
The timely arrival of Valven at Refuge Pointe saved Leofwine the trouble of attempting to salvage the conversation. He had come to take Nayreu on some tour of the nearby circles of binding or whatever he had called them. As he had demoted Leofwine, Valven had taken it upon himself to tutor Nayreu for the week. He didn’t rise to greet him as his brother and apprentice did however, for a very hopeful thought had entered his mind.
The signet rings of Dalaran were not simply for decoration. As with anything else the Kirin Tor made, they had magical properties which were manipulated in many different ways. Eric’s ring, which had been clutched in Leofwine’s hand since he found it, was one such ring. They were used by their owners to do anything from emit shielding spells to unlocking wards and seals. How this basic piece of knowledge had slipped from Leofwine’s mind was a mystery, and it only occurred to him when he had begun absentmindedly tapping the ring against the surface of the journal. He slipped the ring onto a finger, and tapped it against the lock. With a faint crack, it unlocked.
Inside the journal was the most horrendous handwriting ever seen, and Leofwine smiled sadly as he remembered all the times he had shouted at Eric for his disgraceful writing. It would take some work, but he’d find out what he was searching for, and where to begin. He’d work all night if he had to, but he wouldn’t feel anymore regrets like he had today, and he certainly wouldn’t run away. He took his leave from the group that he had paid no attention to and prepared for the rest of his grand adventure.

Chapter 4: The search begins

Leofwine spent most of the night and the following day searching the journal for information. Eric’s handwriting was so bad, it actually felt like he was translating a lost language, and had to frequently ask his brother for second opinions on each sentence. Gradually though, Leofwine had found out all he needed to know regarding this particular quest, and gathered up his comrades after the sun had set. He had always preferred working in the evenings, and while the bright and cheerful day was refreshing, the light usually forced him to squint.
His brother was absent this evening. Before lunchtime, his brother had taken a walk and found some tasty looking berries to eat. Of course, his stomach hadn’t agreed with his eyes, and he was now recovering in a tent nearby. Gnorbert, with his fluffy, almost white hair was standing opposite Leofwine, with a smile that made his cheeks appear as if they were full of food. Kreyja was stood next to Gnorbert, her own graceful appearance giving the impression that she was a wealthy, powerful genius, and Gnorbert her comical sidekick. The shy Nayreu stood to Leofwine’s right, still trying to catch her breath. Mere moments before, she had been learning to conjure a frost elemental with the Archmage, something she grasped with her usual ease.
Between Kreyja and Nayreu was a new figure. Valadir Vargoth was perhaps the rarest and most elusive councillor, which was saying something indeed, as being rare and elusive seemed to be part of the role. Leofwine could probably count the times he had met him on one hand. He seemed as old as the Archmage, and judging by the way they spoke to each other, they had probably met at the dawn of time and been friends ever since. He had darker skin and a face that was beginning to show his age, unlike Valven’s. But what he lost in looks, he made up for in personality. He talked with a warm smile, as though he was everyone’s kind and loving grandfather, and Leofwine wondered if he spent his spare time building orphanages in between being a powerful mage. And powerful he was, just like the rest of the councillors had proven to be. Leofwine felt quite lucky to have lured the three of them to Arathi, as he was sure to need them to deal with what he had discovered.
“Good evening everyone. I’m glad you all could make it,” Leofwine said, smiling at everyone gathered. They all nodded and smiled back. “I think it would be best to begin by filling councillor Vargoth and miss Lockheart in about yesterday.”
Leofwine swiftly repeated the events of the previous evening to the two newcomers. Valadir nodded frequently, while Nayreu watched with a mixture of shock and sorrow in her eyes. Leofwine still found it hard to think about, and had to cough a few times to remove an awful lump from his throat with each mention of Eric.
“Now, I managed to open the journal, and I’ve been busy all day deciphering this horrifying handwriting. I have two or three things to share with you all, and I’ll give you the choice of which you’d like to hear first. One is about the… objective we’re after, and the other is about the prime suspect in Eric’s murder.”
The others raised their eyebrows at this last comment. “You mean he wasn’t killed by trolls?” Gnorbert asked, voicing the question that was on all five of the minds gathered.
“It seems not. I don’t know how we didn’t spot it sooner. First of all, neither councillor Severn nor I spotted or sensed a single troll capable of using the kind of fire magic that killed Eric. Remember, he was badly burnt and the ground was scorched around him.”
“That’s right. I thought it was a bit odd. But if it wasn’t the trolls, then why did we find that trinket near the corpse, and his belongings in their village?” Kreyja asked.
“Well councillor Severn, I suspect that the trolls simply happened to pass by and searched his pockets before moving on. The real clue is so obvious, I’m embarrassed I didn’t spot it sooner. There were no corpses of trolls nearby, and Eric wasn’t the type to go down so easily. It didn’t even appear as if their wounded or dead had been dragged away. But yes, would you like to hear more about the killer, or the objective?”
The gathered magi looked at each other. It didn’t take much more than eye contact and a few raised hands for them to agree on the former choice. This suited Leofwine fine, as he wasn’t particularly keen to discuss the artefacts in the middle of Refuge Pointe.
“Well then, prime suspect it is.” Leofwine flicked a few pages in the journal, which was now covered in his own notes and translations. “Here we are. According the Eric’s journal, there was a Kirin Tor defector in the area. An alteracian man by the name of Aleron. Are any of you familiar with him?” Nobody made a sound or motion, so Leofwine continued. “Well, aparrantly, he was dissatisfied with the Kirin Tor’s neutrality towards the Horde, and believed we should all be actively destroying them where we see them. He left, probably to fight his own war. Eric had caught wind of him, and wrote here that they’d probably cross paths soon. Aleron, in all likelihood, is after the same thing we are.”
“Is that why he attacked your mentor then?” Valadir asked.
“It could have been sir. Perhaps he thought that Eric was after them, or perhaps he thought that Eric had been sent to track him down. Either way, I expect we’ll run into him, and he won’t be too pleased to see us.”
“Surely we should search for him then?” Valadir responded. “We can’t have a dangerous, rogue magus about can we?”
“Of course not. But frankly, I have no idea where to begin searching. He could literally be anywhere.”
“Could he be with this ‘Syndicate’ the locals are talking about?” Kreyja asked. Leofwine glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. He’d not heard of any syndicates himself.
“And who are they?”
“A group of Alteracian’s, turned to criminals. They tend to haunt this region from some manor… the name eludes me.”
“Um, was it Northfold Manor?” Nayreu asked shyly. Leofwine turned to her with a smile as Kreyja nodded.
“Northfold Manor eh? You’ve heard of it, miss Lockheart?”
“I have. I’ve heard a few people talking about bandits attacking people from there on the roads nearby… I’m fairly certain that’s it.”
“Wonderful! And where is this manor?”
“I-… I don’t really remember.”
Regardless, Leofwine was proud of his apprentice, as usual. She was already proving quite useful, and they hadn’t even left Refuge Pointe yet.
“It’s far in the north east. Near the wall into Hillsbrad. But what would he want with a group of thugs and pickpockets?” Kreyja answered.
“Well, we don’t even know if he has been there,” Leofwine said, staring into the journal as if to find the answer, “but it’s as good a place as any to start looking. It makes sense really, doesn’t it? An outcast would mix with others. Now, as for the… second order of business, I’ll talk to you all about that later, for it seems we have an eavesdropper.”
Leofwine turned his head to smile at a figure to his left who had been listening in on the conversation for some time. The female gnome, with brown hair arranged in some kind of tall spiral responded with a grin. She was perched upon a large horse, with dark brown fur, with flaming hooves and eyes. The others in his group did not hide their distaste as they noticed the warlock, and he could almost feel the hatred from Kreyja in particular.
“Can we help you?” Leofwine asked politely, doing his best to maintain a smile.
“Oh, it’s nothing particularly important. I was just, as you say, eavesdropping. I couldn’t help but hear that you were planning to head to Northfold Manor. Correct?”
“Somewhat. We’re currently in the planning phase. We could end up anywhere.” Leofwine replied. He had a good idea of where this conversation was about to head.
“Well, it just so happens that I was planning to head out there myself. You see, there’s a unique kind of insect that is infesting the houses around there, and I was looking to get some samples for… various reasons. Perhaps it would be mutually beneficial to travel together?” She narrowed her eyes as she finished her sentence, and her grin seemed all the more sinister for it.
“Hah. Join you? You’re lucky we’ve not killed you on sight, warlock.” The venom pouring from Kreyja’s mouth even made Leofwine feel slightly uncomfortable. He couldn’t help agree with the sentiment though.
“Oh, I’m sure it won’t come to that, miss Severn. However, I’m not in charge here,” Leofwine said, as he turned to the Gnome, “so I’ll have to leave the decision to the three councillors here.”
“Well hurry up with it. I’m already losing patience. It’s quite insulting of you all to throw my kind offer back in my face like this.” The grin had faded from her face, and was replaced by a scowl. Were she not sitting on a horse so large that it made her look like a doll, Leofwine might have felt uneasy. He raised a finger to the green crystal around his collar and began to communicate with the others in private.
“Well, what do we think? I personally don’t like her, but she could be useful. We could always just finish her off later, should she prove the opposite. Frankly, I’d rather keep her in check than wander into a spiteful trap further along.”
“Oh, let’s just kill her now and get on with it. We shouldn’t even be permitting the corrupt scum to be living this long in our sight.” Kreyja was certainly decisive, Leofwine thought.
“I-I think w-we should let her tag along? I-I mean we might be able to help each other,” Nayreu stammered. Leofwine noted that he would have to teach her just how vile a warlock could be. Her trusting nature, while endearing, was a bit dangerous.
“Well,” began Valadir, “on the one hand, we don’t know if we can trust her. She might be planning to lead us away from prying eyes and attack us. Of course, she’d be able to do this anyway, whether we follow along with it or not. Perhaps-“
Valadir was not allowed to finish his reasoning, for the Warlock had made the decision for them. “Fine! I tried to make this easier for everyone by suggesting co-operation, but you throw it back in my face. I suppose the mighty Kirin Tor has no need for help eh? You’ll be lucky if there’s anything left by the time you get there!” With her yells of annoyance and impatience, she urged her horse forward into a run and went south, following the road out of Refuge Pointe.
“Oh well. At least we know she’s out there. We’ll just have to watch our steps from now.” Leofwine drew his eyes to another figure who had been watching the exchange. “And who might you be?”
The newcomer was another gnome, covered in dull plate armour and a large helmet that had green visor. Had Leofwine chosen to gather his allies in the middle of a strange gnome festival? Much like the warlock, this new gnome had a generally unpleasant aura about him, and the echoing voice that responded confirmed his suspicions.
“Knight Gearsock, of the Ebon Blade.”
This was the first of the so-called Death Knights that Leofwine had met, and he wasn’t particularly happy about it. Reanimated corpses had, thus far, proven to be unpleasant at best, and savage at worst. Alongside the disgust was a hint of curiosity and amusement however. The fact that the Lich King would have chosen to raise a Gnome of all things to be one of his champions was quite ridiculous. He could probably pick him up and drop him in a large bucket to defeat him. Once more, manners took precedence.
“Ah, a death knight eh? And how can we help you?”
“I was just hanging around to see if you needed any help with the warlock,” the knight responded. “They don’t have friends amongst the dead either. I’m surprised you all let her live. I would have killed her fine if you’d asked.”
“Well, I’m certain miss Severn here would have been very able to destroy her alone, but we’re really not out to draw attention to ourselves. Besides, if she’s gone where we’re heading, it might make our own work easier.”
“Northfold Manor? That’s in the direction I’m heading. I’m passing through to Hillsbrad, and I can accompany you if you’d like. I wouldn’t say no to fighting that Warlock.”
Leofwine looked at his comrades. He could guess that the Kirin Dal wasn’t keen on Warlocks, but he wasn’t sure what the stance was on a death knight. They had proven themselves as capable allies during the Northrend Campaigns, from what he could gather, but they also made his skin crawl.
“Well councillors?” He wasn’t keen to make the decision himself at any rate. He was only an apprentice, technically.
“I’ve no issue with a Death Knight,” Kreyja responded. Gnorbert and Valadir nodded their agreement, but Leofwine couldn’t help but think they were lying for the sake of policy.
“Very well! We’ve quite the party now, so let’s head out before it starts to grow darker. To Northfold Manor, in the north east.”