Reply from Cendari

Little one,

I wrote to you as soon as possible, dear Soleille. The erratic tone present in your last few letters concerns me. I have poured over my scrolls and the few books I have on the subject, and would like to remind you that Arcanists fall into one of two categories: those who respect the magic's they wield, and those who take pleasure in wielding it for power.

Not to worry, little one. The arcane arts are addicting, yes, but not so dark or forboding as the fel energies your new warlock friend contends with. It is also fel magic that crippled the Orcs, but Thrall has been valiant in returning his clan to shamanistic practices. You will be safe from the dangers of magic as long as you take to heart the four laws of Arcane Magics:

Magic is powerful; Magic is addicting; Magic is corrupting; and Magic attracts the twisting nether.

Our magic is to be used for defense, and to be controled as highly as possible. I have given you these warnings and creeds, and have taught you how to control your power. It is up to you to maintain your stance on how you choose to harness the arcane arts, my dear. It would break mine, and your parent's hearts to find you a soulless wretch, begging for shards.

I will send you some writings on the history of the Arcane, including its origin at a later date. I fear I am rather busy these days with tutorings.

Do not lose heart little one. Just recall the lessons you have learned, and try not to let the teachings or experiences of others interfere too much. You may feel very new, but rest assured, the book your life is written within is not entirely blank. Write to me if you need any more help. I will do what I can.

Sincerely,
Cendari

Scribblings

Maniae and Soleille met for the first time at the bottom of the ramp leading to the spyre, in Silvermoon.

Despite her rotting flesh, and plague scarred face, Soleille found an odd familiarity in the forsaken girl who stood before her. She felt as if they were kindered spirits of some kind.

The warlock took out a small crystal, with the image of a tiny face suspended inside. "This one used to visit my parents bookstore, before he decided to join up with the crusade." She gave a gleeful cackle. "He's rather one of my favorites."

Soleille leaned in close to examine the shard. She caught her breath at the back of her throat as she heard the cries and screams of agony coming from within the shard.

"He acts up a lot," Maniae sighed, putting the shard back into her pocket with a tender pat.

The color drained from Soleille's already pale face. She began trembling with the thought of crossing a warlocks path.

"Can you...bring the soul back?" She asked, timidly, tears forming in her eyes.

"I don't think I can bring his particular soul back, no. But I can use them to bring other people back from the dead. It's called a soul stone."

Soleille nodded, and carefully took out one of her books, jotting the facts down in the margin.

If one uses souls to ressurrect the dead, then does that mean a little bit of that soul is left behind within the resurrected? At some point, do our resurrected healers lose a little bit of themselves to the agony of those souls preserved to make shards?

"What's that you're writing?" Maniae asked. Looking up from her book, Soleille gave a nervous giggle.

"It's just some thoughts I have regarding your crystal. I just wondered about their psychological effect on healers."

Maniae scratched her head with a boney finger. "That's an interesting question. Seems like it would be worth some research."

Soleille nodded, closing the book and shoving it back into her pack. "I don't suppose most people actually stop to think that soul shards are part of another's soul..." She mused aloud.

"I've got a ton of them in my bag," Maniae motioned to the pouch at her side. "Do you want one?"

Soleille pondered for a moment, torn between her curiousity to learn more about what she had just discovered, and her moral feelings towards carrying around encaptured souls.

She came to a common ground, replying, "Have you one from someone who was evil?" In her mind, the evilness of the person made up for the tortorous way he was preserved.

"Ah," Maniae reached into her pocket, the tinkling of jewels reaching Soleille's ears. She pulled out a shard, handing it to Soleille. "This is the soul of a rather pretty member of the syndicate. He did some awful things to me with a knife before I drained him of his soul." Maniae sneered at it. "I kept it as a reminder of his artful ways. And also because I found him to be quite lovely, physically."

She kissed the stone then, and handed it over to Soleille. "You should have him now."

"It sounds rather sentimental to you, Mani. Are you sure?" She asked, taking the crystal gently from the torn fingers of her friend.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure. He's yours now."

Soleille peered into the crystal, hearing the terrifying and ghostly calls of the assassin inside. She shuddered, pulling away from it.

"What kind of evil..." A tear rolled down her face.

"It's just the balance," Maniae laughed. "Take care of it, Soleille. I must be going."

Soleille pulled a piece of silk cloth out of her bag, wrapping the shard up carefully within it.

"Peace be with you, Mani. Thank you for the gift!" She offered her friend a sharp curtsey, pushing the wad of silk into her own pocket.

She walked up to the spyre, settling in among her mage trainers. She pulled out her notebook and scribbled passionately.

To think of how many warlocks carry these around. How truly disturbing such a thing would be.

There is something sinister in this magic, absolutely grotesque, and yet I touch a form of it every day... I think of those poor souls, I think of the poor warlocks who are bound to this.It begs more research. I must steel myself in order to study this poor shard closer. Such evil that exists in this world...I feel ill with it.

Excerpts from a Letter to Cendari

Sometimes I fear that I may have fallen for the orc who takes care of me. But we do not exchange tenderness, and he has shown very little in the way of affection for me.

Except for the times he steps in to protect me from stray monsters and spell casters. It is easy to remain in denial, to forget that I am killing beings when he is around. His shouts and stomps keep them in his direction, and create static which interrupts my moral thoughts. I feel pressure then to protect him, to destroy them all before they destroy him.

Although we fight together silently most of the time, we are bound to one another by intuition, and the desire to protect the other.

I find it silly that we are now in our 30th season, and I know very little of the orc's past, his dreams, or even his name. I simply call him "Mr. Orc," and he refers to me as"elf".

We are close, but wrapped up in silence. He is, thus far, my only friend, Cendari.

The other day we met in Grom'gol, I skipped out of the inn to find him standing there, patiently waiting on me. As usual I hugged him. He smiled at me and hugged me back. The moment was short, but comforting all the same.

Do not worry for me, Cendari. I am learning multitudes of those life lessons you emphasised on Sunstrider Isle. This orc is helping me, one step at a time, loving me in his own gruff way.

For The Horde

She was very unsure what had brought her to the Barrens. She had heard a group of people talking about it in Brill. And she was mostly just curious about the Orc clans. On the zeppelin ride over she realized she knew more of Sylvanas's story than that of Thrall's. She knew that he was a very strong and valliant warrior, and that his people would defend him to their last breath. She also knew he was an extremely considerate ally: choosing to unite with her people even though he had little reason to trust them.

The dust settled on her skin, the grass nearly piercing the exposed flesh of her middriff. She felt insecure in this new armor she had mostly been given as reward for completing various missions around Eversong. But she was grateful to be free of wool in this hot climate. Beads of sweat had already formed on the back of her neck.

The Barrens were dusty, empty, filled with strange aggressive creatures. She talked to a few of the citizens at Crossroads, recieving her first duties. There were several more people there than she had seen around Eversong. She realize just how lonely she had been on her travels now.

A gruff orc stood beside her, recieving a similar task to kill centaurs. He looked at her, his features hard, his skin tough. She had never seen such a war-torn creature in her life.

"What are you staring out, elf?" He bit out.
"Um," she trembled with nerves then. "Would you help me kill these centaurs...I'm not sure where they are."

He huffed, walking away then. She stood there, unsure, holding the folded up parchment with the instructions scrawled out on it.

He stopped in the middle of the road, and shouted back at her: "Are you coming, elf?!"

She skipped along to catch up.

For several days they accompanied each other. It made things much easier having such a strong battle ready friend along. He could take quite a beating, which contrasted nicely with her frailties. She could stand back and focus on calling forth her spells in precise orders. The two of them hardly spoke words, unless something dire was about to happen.

One evening she awoke, sore and in pain from her journeys, in the inn at Ratchet. She ventured out onto the balcony, to find him there smoking from a hookah. He nodded at her, acknowledging her presence.

She started to babble something about it being a nice night, or some other such pleasantry, but was distracted by a book she noticed on the table. She quietly picked it up, reading its contents. She looked up at the orc in disbelief.

"Your kind is also addicted to magic? To fel magics?" She asked, bright eyed, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

He only huffed a quiet reply, nodding.

"But it is not our fault," He claimed. "It was fed to us, this demon blood."

She felt the arcane in her pulsating suddenly as her body recalled the feeling of a blissful mana tap. She closed her eyes, keeping it at bay. She suddenly felt very connected to this orc, as if the two of them shared the deep secrets of power between them. How strange, that she should feel this tenderness toward a battle hardened orc, covered in scars.

She sat down before the orc then, touching his hand. "I am sorry." She said.

"Don't be sorry, little one," His blood red eyes softened. She smiled up at him.

She now felt an even deeper connection to the people of Thrall, the tough race quietly trying to keep the legion at bay. Her sympathies for their kind felt as rooted into her blood as the sympathies she felt for the wretched.

They sat on the balcony, talking until early morning. And before she retired to bed, she had decided that this Orc had as much, if not more, to teach her of the world than Cendari. She took out her small journal before she drifted off to sleep, writing down her second life lesson - Survival takes more than spells.

Eternal Sunshine

Eversong proved to be most beautiful, even more grand than the pictures she had seen in various books. It had been magnificently rebuilt. Of course there were still remnants of the pain the city, and her predeccessors, the Quel'dorei, had once endured. The burning scar smelled of tar and soot, and she always ran on and off of it quickly, to avoid both burned feet and rattling skeletons. And the ruins of Silvermoon City, the wretched having taken over, like back alley animals, feeding and fighting one another. My, how magic could make such ruin.

But for the most part she found her travels pleasant, returning to Falconwing Square at the end of every day, to rest in the quiet halls of the inn.

Every night she would dream of Silvermoon, using her imagination to conjure up what it must look like. She could smell it in the breeze on certain mornings, and heard the din of travelers through the walls of her room in the inn.

But she had put off traveling there until she was certain she had helped all she could within the woods. She felt dutiful, throwing fire at the wretched, assassinating a Darnasian spy, and using the arcane art of frost to freeze the scourge. When she reached her seventh season, she felt strong enough to make it across the scar without fear of being overtaken by the ghastly that marched up and down its endless burn.

She heard the sound of voices, saw, with much delight, as a teacher gave lessons on a crescent shaped stage, overlooking a small pool. She shyly approached the looming gate, giggling to herself as she heard a man below babbling. She held her breath entering for the first time.

It was as magnificent as any painting, any story, or any description could ever relay. She toured the city on her own for a while. She stopped in the inn, which was very crowded. She saw for the first time in her young life a tauren, and a troll! And then an undead warlock crossed her path.

She held her breath, unsure of him. He complained, riled up, to a Sin'dorei wearing a mask who stood nearby. She noticed no one treating him ill, and decided he must be one of the race Sylvanas had helped to lead.

She had heard all the stories of the banshee queen, once a beautiful and talented Quel'dorei who had been made into a member of the scourge, but through will and determination had overcome the lich's power. It was one of her favorite stories as a child, frighteningly beautiful. She continued on her tour, remembering the details of the event. She saw an arcane guard who comforted her by explaining Kael'thas would lead her people to glory.

Her parents had been friends with Kael'thas, as had Cendari. She had been told he was a great man, a wonderful Prince, who would bring them all to greatness. Cendari explained that he had sent back Magister Rommath to deliver the news that he had found a greater power than the Sunwell. She wished he had sent back her mother or her father instead.

She looked at her map. Cendari had marked where to go for training within the city. She calmly walked in that direction, savouring the sweet scent of fresh water, trees in blossom, and sunshine. She climbed the ramp to the Spire, and in a room veiled with blue curtains she saw them.

Lor'themar Theron, Halduron Brightwing, and Grand Magister Rommath himself. She quietly hid within the folds of the curtains, listening closely for a tidbit of news about the prince, or about Outland. She wanted to run to the Grand Mage, beg him to tell her of her parents, if he had seen them, if they were safe.

But she was much too shy, and had no trouble restraining herself. He was a very important man, and had little or no time to spend absolving her fears.

She turned then, going into the room. She laughed with glee as a student practiced polymorphing on another student. She smiled at the trainer who bestowed to her the knowledge of newer spells. She settled down then, among the piles of books, taking out her own spell book and quest log to study.

The warmth of the city, the glow of the faint magical energy she felt imminating around her, the laughter coming from the magi beside her, they all gave her a great sense of comfort, and before long she had settled into a deep slumber. No longer did she have to exert the energy to dream of Silvermoon, for now she had seen it, and it felt like home.

Endings and Beginnings

She sat patiently by the window waiting to be called into the room. Her nerves were shaking deep inside of her, and she swore she could feel her heart trying to burst out of her small rib cage. She stared at the Falthrien Academy in the distance, its beautiful towers illuminated by the morning sun. She watched the lush hills, wondered what she would face once she stepped across the threshhold. The water was tranquil, and she could taste the eternal spring.

She looked at the closed doors, their eminence overwhelming her.

Today was the day. Everything she had worked so hard for. What would come of it? What would her first steps outside be like?

A heavy voice called from within, and the doors swung open. She cleared her throat, tentatively walking toward them, her head racing, her body faint with anxiety.

Cendari Bloodwatcher stood behind his desk, his Dalaran robes glimmering. He smiled at her, which almost instantly calmed her.

"Soleille Aurorella," He said, in a foreign serious voice she had never heard before. "You have studied hard, and proven your worth. In these past years I have seen you grow from an unsure elf into the passionate and noble sin'dorei you have become. You have been my best student, quick to learn, and even quicker to question." He laughed.

He looked at her then, this small girl standing before him. He had known her since she was a tiny baby, held her in his arms when her mother and father had called on his aid during her birth. He knew she was something special.

He relaxed, seeing his demeanor had made her unsure of herself. He approached her.

"You should be very proud, Miss Aurorella," he handed her the novice robes.

She could feel the tears hot in her throat as she gently touched the luminous blue robe he handed forth to her. She smiled up at him, reflecting her youth. "Oh, thank you Cendari!" she exclaimed, her voice still quiet and small despite the excitement.

He chuckled. "Try them on."

She pulled the robe on over her shirt and trousers. The fabric was soft, and lush. She had worn many robes before, but none had felt as complete and well tailored as this one. She touched the fabric.

He noticed this, and added, "You will find that in the field your robes will be light, yet hardy. You will undergo much damage, and usually they must last."

Her chin wobbled as her nerves returned. "What if I can't do it, Cendari?" The question made her heart race, and her head light.

He knelt down to look into her face, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Soleille, you are capable. You know your mission, your abilities. You study hard and well. You will be fine, I promise."

She gulped back the tears. "What if I can't decipher the training? What if I am bested by a monster?"

He chuckled. "Then you will overcome them. I have one last lesson to teach you, though I am certain you already know it..."

"I might," She bit her lip. "I have been reading ahead." She looked around nervously.

"That's my girl," he laughed, then cleared his throat, getting serious again. "No, this lesson cannot be found in any book. It is a lesson of life. You must never give up. Never."

She swallowed hard again, nodding.

"Now," he continued. "You know what to do."

"Right," She said quietly. "I am to go into the interior of the isle. There will be a woman there, waiting for me. She will send me on a small mission. I am to continue these missions, using every opportunity to learn something new, and to aid the Sin'dorei."

He smiled. "Yes. And you should be able to find trainers who can help you in every horde city along the way."

She nodded.

"Do you have any more questions for me, Soleille?" He asked.

She looked around the room, the official chamber of her dearest teacher. So many years spent in this house, pouring over the books, rising to the top, reading ahead, beating her pupils at every task, every history lesson, every spell. She concentrated on the portrait then, which hung above the fireplace. Cendari, standing with Magister Rommath, and her mother and father.

"One question," Her voice began to crack with the tears. "Will mother and father be proud of me?"

He hugged her tightly. "Of course. And you'll be able to tell them all about your journeys once you reach Outland."

She cried for a little while. She looked down at her robes, and sighed a huge sigh, filled with fear and excitement. She wiggled from Cendari's grasp.

"I am ready, Cendari."

He handed her the pack, filled with a map, a quest log, and a spell book. "Never give up, Soleille. Never give up."

She stood up straight, before him, and gave a formal curtsey. He stood up straight, and presented her with a bow.

"I proclaim you graduate."

He watched her walk out, her figure disappearing as it descended the large stairs. The guards closed the doors to his office then, and once he heard their click, he turned to the large portrait.

"She will make you proud."