by Quellisto (wowstead) on Mon Mar 25, 2013 4:57 pm
Prince Keleseth was about to send me off to see the Hand of Suffering at the Scarlet Tavern in New Avalon when the situation changed. I wasn't privy to their deliberations but apparently word had come of a different courier, this one bound for Quel'Thalas. The rider, and that which she carried, were to be eliminated. I stood there, unflinching as glances of doubt, of reservations, were cast in my direction. Is she ready? Is she able?Can we take the chance? Finally it was decided: this I was to do the for my King.
While I would admit it to no one a small part of me didn't feel I was ready to leave the Plaguelands. After all, I hadn't finished learning my new skills. The rest of me gripped the hilt of my greatsword and drew confidence from its strength. And my own. Give me the chance and I will show you what I can do. In the end though, I was given no choice. So I went. I went to Northrend where I picked up her trail.
I pursued her across the frozen wastes.
I pursued her across the sea.
Whoever she was she rode like the wind. The longer I chased her, the farther away she seemed, and the fewer people I knew she could be.
I didn't think I would catch her but then she stopped and doubled back. Her detour took her away from Silvermoon and allowed me to catch up.
I found her in the square of another city, a human city, crouching behind some rubble, frantically healing someone as fire and battle raged around her. She turned ever so slightly. Not enough to see me creeping up behind her, but enough for me tell...yes. The hair. The ears. The face. I'd seen them before. I'd seen the growing up.
I'd know my sister anywhere.
As I drew my blade to kill her, before someone teleported her away, I smiled to myself. I smiled because I realized it didn't matter. It wasn't personal, or that I had a grudge, or an old family score to settle. She just wasn't my sister anymore. She was one of them. The Living.
All those years aspiring to be a paladin, all those years of protecting, of mercy, of sparing the lives of those who deep down I knew deserved a painful death, all those wasted years were about to be redeemed.
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