Truth, Justice and the Night Elf way. [Complete]

[flammos200]

Three months ago at a forge in Booty Bay a Human Paladin was having his armor repaired by a Kaldorei Sentinel. She glanced over her shoulder from time to time as she worked the metal beneath her hands.

“So, what are Wardens, Shal’serra?” he asked, looking up to the working elf. The heat of the forge accentuated the naturally high temperature of the jungle-like climate. It was not a place anyone would want to be in with the possible exception of fire elementals. Luckily for the two of them the Sun was setting.

“Wardens are...” she started, hammering out dents in a breastplate using a stick and a wooden hammer. “...Elite Kaldorei agents, tasked usually with eliminating threats to the Night Elves, both within our borders and outside them. They either work alone, or alongside diverse Alliance organizations, Avints.”

Avints shook his head for a moment, pondering her words. “But isn’t that what you’re already doing, Syl? What with running the Thieves’ Guild into the ground in Elwynn, fighting off drug dealers in Stormwind and that one time you and Fran went into Winterspring to fight who-knows-what alongside the other Night Elves?”

Sylvandre chuckled. She shook her own head as she patched up a pair of gauntlets. “What I do, or better yet, what we do, is nothing compared to what Wardens do. I mean, what with the equipment, and the training, and...” she trailed off. “Though, you can apply for said training, they’re usually hand-picked. Knowing how they work, they probably keep a keen eye on any potential candidates.” She grinned. “I’d like to become one someday. I think I’ll send in an application when next we’re in Ashenvale.”

Avints looked concerned, effectively contrasting the Night Elf’s enthusiasm. “Would that mean that you’ll be leaving the Pride? If so, who’ll lead us?...” he winced to a particularly loud bang of the hammer on a greave.

“I don’t know... I don’t think so. I mean, for now, it’s all theoretical. I’m not actually expecting a response anytime soon. But remember, I did mention that they sometimes work alongside Alliance groups for the pursuit of Justice.” She said, not looking to him as she curled several small shards of metal into the shapes of phalanx guards for a gauntlet where they had been shredded off.

“If you say so, Shal’serra.” Avints nodded with a sigh. “So, in a sense, it would just be further training, no?”

“I don’t know. I’m not there yet. When-No, IF I get there, I’ll tell you. I just probably won’t be around as much. Consider well the fact that the Kaldorei are not amoral, nor unsympathetic to the causes and plights of the world. We are its keepers by tradition, and while dedicated, we are not obsessed. Temperance is a virtue we often practice.” She smiled over her shoulder, then picked up the pair of repaired gauntlets, offering them to the Paladin.

He took them and slid them onto his hands, nodding once. “Thank you again, Shal’serra. I hope I won’t need these fixed anytime soon.”

The Night Elf shrugged. “If you do, I will simply repair them again. Armor is essential in what we do. Justice can hardly be wrought by the dead.”

The two conversed for a little while longer before departing the port-town, and sailing West, for Kalimdor. As planned, the Sentinel sent her letter, not entirely expecting a reply. The call, however, came. An answer which was as unexpected as autumn’s fall over Ashenvale.

. . . . .

Sylvandre's house; Present Day.

A letter lay open on a wooden table, the mild candlelight illuminating its rigid Darnassian script:

Sylvandre Cloudtear,

I am writing to let you know that your application as far as joining the ranks of the Wardens has been looked through. I've considered endorsing this request in lieu of recent events, especially as far as your time since your discharging is concerned. Past deeds alone do not make a Warden however... This status is reserved for ability.

You will come to The Shady Nook, directly South of Raynewood Retreat where you will be tested. Should you prove worthy of the investment of time and trust, further training will be provided. Should you prove unworthy, it shall be denied. I suggest wearing running boots.

You have three days. We are watching,
Avelind Serpentstrike; Warden

Nearby, Sylvandre herself was strapping on a set of surprisingly light plates, which while not very protective of the joints of the body, offered a certain degree of mobility that most rigid armors did not bestow. She looked down at herself hurriedly and nodded, picking up a pair of slightly mismatching swords, one going snugly across her back, and the other at her left hip, and mounted her large, black Nightsaber, riding off for the Shady Nook.

Upon reaching the path towards the Nook, the Night Elf dismounted the large cat and walked quietly towards the meadow. The quietness, however, was only outwardly so. Sylvandre's heart was pumping frantically, and through her mind wade anxious thought after anxious thought, anticipation gripping at her like a vice. She felt her muscles tense further with each passing step, and her breathing becoming somewhat shallow and rapid.

The Kaldorei reached the center of the meeting place and looked around, blinking. She could spot no one.

"You did not actually expect to see me coming, did you, miss Cloudtear?” a very calm, even voice asked from somewhere behind her and Sylvandre turned rapidly to face it, her eyes widening in surprise.

A single Kaldorei woman stood silently in front of her, a velvet green cloak edged with many knives draping her shoulders, on her head an owl-like mask, and in whose talon-like gauntleted hand was held a circular, serrated sword that glinted savagely in the dim forest light of the meadow. The Warden’s silver eyes seemed to stare unblinkingly at Sylvandre.

The younger of the two bowed her head, murmuring a greeting. “Ishnu’dal’dieb.”

The Warden nodded her head. “Sael’ah.” She said in return. “Are you ready?” she asked, her tone brisk, her words swift, and her timbre carrying a ruthless efficiency.

“Yes.” Sylvandre nodded quickly. “Though, ready for what?”

“We will race for Raynewood Retreat. If you manage to touch me or my equipment, you will be worthy.” Avelind said, not waiting for an answer from the other, and bursting into a rapid sprint Northwards.

Sylvandre dashed after her to the best of her ability, and for a time, she thought she could keep up with the Warden, but just as she neared her and reached out, the woman sped up, growing just out of reach. Sylvandre grew frustrated the further they neared the Retreat, the ground flying away beneath their feet, and the physical toll of the exercise becoming quite apparent to her.

They reached a path uphill towards the building of the retreat itself and she saw the Warden slow a bit. She noticed they were nearing the building and she kicked off the ground, leaping forwards and outstretching a hand towards her fleeting challenge’s cloak, whom only seemed to blink further ahead, and into the building. Sylvandre was on her belly on the ground by now, heaving her proverbial lungs out. She managed to push herself upright and move for the tree which served as the retreat itself and peered over at Avelind silently.

The Warden was smiling. “Good.” was all she said.

“But I didn’t-You blinked...” Sylvandre said, confused, imbetween bouts of further heaving, trying to catch her breath.

Avelind gestured for Sylvandre’s right hand. The younger elf raised it and peered at it. It was bleeding across its palm. She looked back to the Warden. “I fell...”

Avelind shook her head, her left hand gripping at the inside of her cloak and shifting it, raising one particular knife on its edge into the light of the room. It had the irrefutable proof spread upon it – namely Sylvandre’s blood. The Warden then walked past the former Sentinel and patted her shoulder as she went. “We will meet again in a few days. Give your hand the chance to heal. Your training begins.”

Across Sylvandre’s face broke out a happy little grin and she turned to thank the Warden, but she found her no longer there. She huffed a quiet sigh and nodded to herself. It had begun.

[flammos200]

Sylvandre's House; Three days ago.

The silver-haired Night Elf stood on her front porch, in her left hand an apple, her right bandaged snugly. She bit of the apple and blinked once as a Draenei came into view. She tipped her head to the side, smiling. Her house was fairly deep into Ashenvale, and it would have taken quite the stroke of luck to stumble upon it. Nonetheless, she nodded her greeting.

“Ishnu’dal’dieb.” She said to the approaching Draenei. She seemed quite tall and muscular. Sylvandre assumed her a warrior of some sort. She took another bite of her apple.

“Hello.” The Draenei said, glancing to the Kaldorei’s right hand. “Is something wrong with that?... May I heal it for you? I ask because I’ve met other Night Elves who protested to the use of the Light.”

“They must’ve been Death Knights or something... And yes, it’s fine. I just didn’t get the chance to dip it into a Moonwell yet, but any help is appreciated.” She said, taking a final bite of her apple and setting aside the core. She made a mental note to plant it at a later date. Sylvandre then unclipped the metallic bracer holding the bandage together and outstretched the hand towards the Draenei, smiling rather happily.

“Is it Kaldorei custom for you to be happy when you are injured? Why would anyone be happy when they are hurt?” the Draenei asked, cupping both palms over the Night Elf’s hand, and pouring a golden, warm Light into it, the holy energy rippling up her arm soothingly.

Sylvandre blinked a couple of times. “No, it isn’t a custom. I’m just happy because the place where I got it makes me grin rather childishly when I think about it. Or rather, the circumstance in which I was cut.” She shrugged.

“I see. What would that be?” the Draenei asked, ending the channeling of Light.

“I’m not really sure I’m at liberty to say...” she retracted her hand and undid the bandages, revealing a wire-thin and hardly visible whitish line going across the center of her palm. She smiled over at it, then looked back to the Draenei. “Thank you.”

“It is no problem... I think I have met you, or at least heard of you before.” She tugged at the trailing fabric of her tabard, pulling the wrinkles out of it. “Do you recognize this?”

Sylvandre stared at the Draenei’s tabard for a while. “...A leaf of Autumn. Yes, I do. You’re one of Annabelle’s, no?” she looked up to her. “I am Sylvandre Cloudtear; Founder of the Pride. Allies to the Autumn.”

The Draenei bowed her head in turn to the Night Elf. “I am Vindicator Seija. It is nice to finally meet you in person.”

Sylvandre smiled up at Seija. “To be honest, I’m glad to see you too, Seija. Thank you for healing my hand.” She sighed slightly. “And for the company. I feel like I’m walking into a legend sometimes... And all I’ve been told is to rest my hand for further training.”

Seija raised a thin eyebrow, eying the Night Elf over a couple of times. “You are already of age to be a Sentinel. More physical development can’t be the focus of your future, can it?... Regardless, it is challenging, is it not?”

“I... Yes, it is.” Sylvandre nodded her head, remembering the frantic sprint from before.

“Do you expect to be injured once more?” the Vindicator asked briskly.

“I honestly have no idea...” The Night Elf shook her head. “But I probably will be.” She shrugged meekly.

“I see. When should I pass by to check on you?” the Draenei asked, turning for the road.

“I’d assume a few days. Around three, I think.” Sylvandre said, peering over at Seija.

The Vindicator nodded once. She left the premises briskly, calling over her shoulder. “Three days, Sylvandre. See you then.”

“Ande’thoras-ethil.” The discharged Sentinel answered, bowing her head and heading back inside her house, to pick up another apple from a fruit bowl and eating it. Little did she know, but she would need the energy...

A path to the Shrine of Aessina; Present Day.

Sylvandre trod down the path leading towards the Shrine, its lights still far off in the distance, half-obscured by the bluish air of Ashenvale. She stopped briefly at a pair of ponds down a hill, moving for the water and peering into it. She reached down, cupping some water into her hands and raised them to her mouth, drinking.

She smiled, pushing herself upright and turning around, only to spot Avelind behind her. She staggered back half a step, startled, her heel splashing into the water of the pond.

“Sael’ah.” The warden said, nodding her head once, quite unperturbed to the other’s surprise. Her talon-gauntleted fingers curled, clinking, around the handle of her Moon Sword as she bored a piercing gaze into the other elf.

“Ishnu’dal’dieb, Shan’do Serpentstrike.” Sylvandre said, bowing once she’d stepped out of the water.

It took a little for the Warden to speak once more. “Accepting and using the aid of others is commendable, Sylvandre.” She paused briefly. “As I am certain you know, Wardens work, at times, with other Alliance forces. However, let not your hunt rely on them to do the work for you. Vengeance, Justice, Truth, they are your hallmark. They fuel your iron hand.”

Sylvandre straightened to her words. “I understand, I think. The task is a grave one, and that’s the reason for which it falls to us.”

Avelind raised an eyebrow. “Do you, Sylvandre?...” she asked, heaving a small sigh afterwards. “Now, for you to understand how we do the things we do, and indeed, to do them, you must understand a basic fact. Justice is a need, a power, and a source for things greater than what the physical will ever grant you. While it is very true that we are well-trained in body and sharp in mind, our abilities come from belief - The conviction and belief in Justice. These abilities are very similar to what the Alliance’s Paladins’ spells come from. The scholar would classify them as Divine Magic, such as a Druid’s or Shaman’s, whereas we simply call them the conviction that our Justice is the better of all paths ahead of us.”

“So, in a sense, by this belief, we are always bound to act rightly and justly, correct?” Sylvandre asked, tilting her head to the side and trying to wrap her head around the concept that magic can simply come from belief.

“That goes without saying. Now, this spirit of Justice is a force that can be molded towards a handful of things. For instance, it can be used to create areas in which one’s quarry would not be able to lie, or perhaps hold a person in their tracks. Its shadowy paths can also shroud one beyond others’ sights, or make them move as silently and swiftly as the wind. In order to be efficient and versatile, you will study any and all of these abilities.”

“Is there any comprehensive list of them all, and how to perform them?” Sylvandre asked, still sounding doubtful as she peered across to the Warden ahead. Avelind had crossed her arms over her gut, the Moon sword now somewhere beneath her bladed cloak.

“Yes.” She answered eventually. “But until you have access to such, you fill first need to display aptitude in other areas. For now, I take it you have rested your arm?”

Sylvandre nodded once. “Yes.” She said simply.

Avelind turned around, “Good. There is a meadow nearby, to the East. There, I have arranged for a little training ground to be put in place. Come.” She sprinted Eastward, and Sylvandre followed, trying to keep up.

The student was warmed up, and slightly winded by the time they reached the range. A tall, cylindrical barrel with glinting blades inside it was on one side, and a pair of round, wooden targets with bull’s-eyes in the middle a ways away from it. The Warden moved for the barrel and picked a simple throwing knife out of it. She looked to Sylvandre.

“Perhaps you’ve doubted this source, this fount of power that is Justice. Let this cut away your hesitation.” She said, throwing the knife for one of the targets. Almost as soon as it left the woman’s hand, the knife split in mid-air, letting loose a torrent of slicing terror - a storm of blades towards the target, shredding through it. At least six of the knives struck dead center, the rest of the target unrecognizable bits and pieces of wood, littering the forest floor.

Sylvandre stared in awe at the entire spectacle. “I’m... expected to do that?...” she asked, sounding slightly shaken. Who wouldn’t be after witnessing such a thing?

The Warden chuckled, shaking her head. “Not yet, no. First let’s see you hit the bull’s-eye.” She said, looking over to the other.

Sylvandre nodded. She went for the barrel of blades and took one of the knives out. She had been trained in throwing weapons, so she felt relieved when she noticed just how well-balanced the weapon was. She huffed a quiet sigh and tossed it for the target.

The knife struck the target, sticking in, however it did not hit the bullseye. Avelind looked over to Sylvandre. “Try again.” She said, her talon-like gauntlets tapping the handle of Moon Sword calmly.

The former sentinel nodded and picked out another knife, tossing it for the target once more. This time it struck dead center. She allowed herself a smile, looking towards her teacher.

The Warden nodded once. “Again.” She said, and repeated for over half an hour, until she was satisfied that the student could hit her mark. After so many minutes of throwing, Sylvandre’s hand was feeling as though it had somehow gained weight, despite still having stamina enough to continue.

“Stop.” Avelind said. “Now comes the hard part. Take another knife and split it in two. Hit the target with both knives. How you do this is fairly simple. Allow yourself to reach deep within, to the place where your belief in Justice as a force stems from. Channel this force into the knife, and throw it, willing the blade to part in twain as it leaves your hand. Let justice flow.” She gestured to the barrel of blades.

“I can’t just-...” she paused, frowning. “...No. I can.” She moved for the barrel, picking out another knife. She remembered her own words of months ago, on how the people of the world cry for vengeance in the face of the injustice wrought upon them, and how such cries must be answered, by the edge of blades if need be. She tried to reach out, and let this feeling of retribution and justice flow through her, trying to grow accustomed to it. She paused so for a long while, then tossed the knife.

The knife flew for the target and hit it, sticking in dead center. It did not split, however. The Warden nodded. “As expected. Again.”

Sylvandre shrugged and took up another knife, reaching out to the same sensation, the same well of power within, that sense of Justice, and threw the knife. It struck its target, but once more, it did not split.

“Again.”

“Third time’s the charm...” Sylvandre muttered under her breath, calling up the feeling again and allowing it to course through her, angrily imparting upon the knife her will, almost commanding, to split. The knife left her hand and split in mid-air, two identical ones flying for the target and hitting it.

Sylvandre looked to her own hand. “Wow... I just-“ she murmured, her voice an awed whisper. She looked to the Warden, grinning.

Avelind looked completely unphased and undisturbed. “Good. Now do it again, and hit the bull’s-eye with both. After that, split it in three and throw until you hit bull’s-eye, and so on increasing in number and accuracy. When you reach five bull’s-eyes you just need to increase in number. We will speak again in four days. I will be watching your progress, so do not think of delaying.” She said, as calmly as ever.

Sylvandre blinked. “May I sleep when I get too tired to proceed?”

“Naturally. But remember, it takes from your training time. Thus, keep practicing and use every moment at your disposal to do so.” The Warden said, turning and sprinting into the shadows.

Sylvandre turned back for the blade-barrel and resumed her already grueling training...

[flammos200]

A targeting range near the Shrine of Aessina; A day ago.

Sylvandre slept like a log on the forest floor, occasionally turning from one side to the other, but otherwise being quite peaceful, one side of her covered by her long, silvery-white hair, the other pressed firmly to the ground. One of her hands clutched at a throwing knife. Across from her on the forest floor were littered many such knives, and two completely destroyed and shattered targets stood a ways away.

Another being plodded towards her on hooves, her massive armored figure not bearing much sound save for the odd plate clinking noises. The being knelt by the sleeping former Sentinel and prodded her shoulder. “Hey... It’s been three days. Are you awake?...”

Sylvandre rolled over and stared blearily at the Draenei figure forming before her eyes – Seija, mumbling something to the lines of ‘Five more minutes, pleeease?’ before blinking a couple of times. “Hey.” She got up, to a sit.

Seija nodded. “I see you’ve been training. Or do you split knives for sport? Is it against the Heretic Circus, or for your personal betterment?”

Sylvandre shook her head, looking to her. She raised the knife in her hand and flung it for the remains of her own target, the knife splitting in mid-air and a slicing torrent of metallic death flashing through the air towards it. She looked to Seija. “It’s for the greater good of all of Azeroth.”

The Draenei nodded. “I see. So your conception is like the Light, yes? If so, then how come you do not accept traditions and beliefs like your own into your own culture? For instance, why do you not have Paladins?”

“I’ve actually met one Xetre Brightoak that wanted to become a Paladin to the Light ever since she joined the Argents.” Sylvandre smiled. “But traditions in Kaldorei culture are there for a reason. It is because of them that we have staved off the Legion’s influence, and it is because of their disregard that the Legion first came to this world.”

“Ah, I see... That is good.” Seija nodded.

“Say, do you Paladins have anything that... can reinvigorate someone? I mean, I know I just woke up but still...” the Night Elf trailed off.

“Certainly. Some Paladins use this for instance.” She proffered an orb made of pure Light. The former Sentinel accepted it, plunging it into her heart, its soothing energies strengthening her and giving her the stamina to stand once more. She looked around, noticing the shrine nearby. “Alright, thank you. For checking up on me, I mean... Would you escort me back to my house, however?”

Seija nodded, and as they left the shrine, she tipped her head back to peer at it. “Who was that made for?”

“Aessina. A force of nature. A nature-spirit that aided the Kaldorei and protects these lands against those who would destroy or defile them. Some believe that it is due to the spirit of Aessina that the orcs never got this far into Ashenvale.” Came the smiling answer.

As the two neared the house, the Draenei offered a small, leaf-wrapped packet. “Here. I’m sure you’re hungry enough after all that.”

Sylvandre nodded, taking the packet. Onion bread and cheese lay inside, and she gave her thanks to Seija. “Thank you. Ande’thoras-ethil.” She said, turning for her house and entering, to the Vindicator’s own goodbye.

Therein, Sylvandre ate heartily, not only of the food she’d received, but also of the fruit lying around in fruit bowls all over the small, two-story building.

South of Astranaar; Present Day.

Sylvandre knelt down at the water’s edge, eying the many ruins that littered the surface like stepping stones from one of the lake’s sides to the very isle upon which Astranaar was built. She eyed over her own reflection for a moment. Something in the water shifted. A harmless ripple caught in the corner of her eye. The girl pushed herself to a stand and turned.

Avelind was there, as expected. This time, however, Sylvandre did not look startled. She was half-expecting the Warden’s appearance on term. She smiled and nodded her head in greeting. “Ishnu’dal’dieb, Shan’do.”

“Sael’ah.” Came the calm answer of the master. “I’ve observed you over time. You’ve made good progress as far as the slicing torrent is concerned. Now, we may move on.”

“Does that mean I’ll have access to those spells using Justice that you mentioned?” Sylvandre asked eagerly.

“No, not yet. First you must master the basics and subsequently the most important techniques, before such paths can be opened up to you. Remember an old saying, Sylvandre – A little knowledge is dangerous.”

“Yes, of course.” She nodded once. “What does my next task consist of?”

“You will learn how to blink.” The Warden’s answer came, calm and collected as ever. One would count it reassuring, were she not an elite Kaldorei assassin, bounty hunter and Warden. The status alone made her words imposing. The deeds Sylvandre assumed she’d partaken in gave the blade its edge, however.

“My eyes-Of course.” She nodded, remembering her previous experience. “What do I do, and... How do I do it?”

“First of all, visualize the point you wish to appear in. You must be able to see the point where you wish to blink with your eyes. You cannot blink somewhere you cannot see. Secondly, fuel this image with the desire for Justice – for instance, following and capturing a traitor, or executing one, or exiting a fray. Lastly, you should add a somatic condition, the easiest of which being blinking your eyes. You can blink with almost any gesture, but actually blinking your eyes is what gave the ability its name.” Avelind explained.

“So, pick a place that I can see, channel the Justice necessary to do it, and... make a gesture. I think I can do that.” Sylvandre said, nodding a couple of times.

“Exactly. Now, do you see these?” The Warden asked, pointing to five ruin-tops, leading all the way from the bank the two of them were on, to the isle of Astranaar.

Sylvandre nodded. “Yes.”

“Good, then you must blink to the first of them. Try it.” Avelind said, her fingers tapping the handle of her Moon Sword with a regular beat.

Sylvandre nodded, turning for the water and staring at the first ruin top for a while. She nodded to herself, mustering up the sensation of the pursuit of Justice and blinked her eyes. Nothing happened. Or so she felt. She looked around. She didn’t move. The air just felt a little cooler.

She shrugged. She tried once more, noting the ruin top in her field of view and imagining herself there, willing the sense of Justice into her action once more and blinking her eyes. She felt a rush of air as she found herself falling into the lake, about halfway before her intended destination. She swam to the shore and looked to her teacher questioningly.

Avelind stood implacable. “Again.”

Sylvandre moved for the bank once more, staring at the ruin top, seeing herself there, willing herself there, and finally performing the somatic gesture required. She felt a similar rush of air, yet felt as though she did not move. She looked down, to find the solid stone of the ruin top beneath her feet. She grinned, looking over to Avelind.

The Warden nodded. “Now blink to the second one. From there to the third. And so on, cross the lake and then cross back here.”

Sylvandre nodded, turning her attention to blinking forth for the other stepping stones, her aim a bit clumsy, however, until the final ones where she actually managed to hone her targeting a little.

Avelind seemed to smirk beneath her owl-like mask. “Good. Now, blink directly to the second one, from here. And from there to the fourth, then to Astranaar. Then back again. Then blink to the third, cross, then come back. Then the fourth, and so on, until you manage to cross from this bank, into Astranaar in one single blink.

Sylvandre silently obeyed her master’s will, beginning her blinking marathon. After a while, Avelind called over. “You have three days, Sylvandre. I will be watching.”

Sylvandre nodded at that point, and merely continued on, trying for the life of her, to manage across the water, oftentimes bathing more than she would care to in a month in the lake’s waters, but misses are to be expected. After all, no one is born learned...

Practice makes perfect.

[flammos200]

Astranaar's Southern Edge; Sixteen hours ago.

Sylvandre knelt on the very edge of the water, facing Astranaar. She was heaving, trying to catch her ragged breath, sweat – or water, flowing from her. Both hands were on the ground now, clutching at the grass. As soon as she could catch her breath, she let out a chuckle. “I... I did it.... I really... did it.”

“Crossed a lake without getting wet, ‘Captain’?” came an eerily familiar, distinctly female voice from above. “Mighty fine feat.”

“Wh-what?...” Sylvandre looked up once she saw a pair of red leather-wrapped feet in her field of view, connected to a pair of legs, covered by some similarly reddish loose pants, that was linked to a torso complete with arms, neck, and a face. The face was that of Serenwylde Seartalon, and it grinned down on the former Sentinel, moonlight-white fangs bared.

“I saw what you did. You popped from the other side of the lake, over here.” Serenwylde said, shrugging and crossing her arms over her gut. “But you look like you need a bath... Or maybe a drink.”

“N-no bath... Had too many.” Sylvandre stammered, trying to push herself upright. Eventually managing this, she nodded her head once. “Elder. Ishnu’dal’dieb.”

“Elder?” Serenwylde chuckled. “Since when do you call me that? You definitely need a drink. Let’s see... Something invigorating... Restorative.” She started searching through some bottles at her side.

“Since you sent a Demon Hunter my way. Strange how things work, huh? It’d be even more ironic if you actually knew the rest of the tale...” The former Sentinel asked, rubbing the back of her neck with a leather-bound palm.

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t need to know. You’re the only one that needs something. And that is –“ The Huntress was cut off.

“A drink, I know, I know...” Sylvandre sighed. “So, how come you’ve come out of wherever you go when you disappear for months at a time?”

The huntress proffered a bottle with a strange amber liquid inside. It smelled faintly of nectar as Sylvandre uncorked it and took a swig. She blinked a couple of times. “...What did I just drink?... And why am I not as tired as before?”

Serenwylde winked. “That’s your answer, kiddo. I’ve been... err... We could call it brewing.” She nodded.

“Brewing?... Like Scotaidh? Since when do Kaldorei brewm-Nevermind. If there’s any Night Elf in this world crazy enough to do it, it’s you.” Sylvandre sighed, taking another couple of long swigs. She then offered the bottle back and stretched. “Heh. I feel much better... Thanks for the drink, whatever it was.”

“Welcome, kiddo.” Serenwylde took the bottle. “And don’t worry about old Scot. He’ll be remembered. I promise. All good people will be. It’s just the way you honor their name that matters. Be it vengeance, justice, or just smiling every time you hear talk of them.”

Sylvandre smiled to this, nodding a couple of times. “I know what you mean. But my path is not one through which I remember the fallen by smiling. I will bring justice where there is none. I will answer the cries of the innocent. By my the edge of my blade if I have to.”

“Tread carefully. You’re young. Remember that history has taught us much of those that only live for the hunt of others. Do not fall to the same fate, Sylvandre.” Serenwylde turned, tieing the bottle to her belt.

“I wont.” Sylvandre said firmly.

“Ande’thoras-ethil.” Serenwylde ended, walking forth.

“Ande’thoras-ethil...” Sylvandre murmured back, then looked up to the sky. “Might as well practice some more... Or have a nap. Maybe practice first, nap second.” She nodded.

By the time the young Warden-to-be reached the old training grounds where she’d first learned the Slicing Torrent, about a half an hour passed. She tried her hand at splitting knives once more, and tried alternating between blinking and doing so. She eventually managed to form a comfortable pattern, then realized about three hours had passed. She curled up into a ball at the foot of a large, thick tree and pulled her cloak over herself, closing her eyes and taking a long nap.

The base of a great tree, near the Shrine of Aessina; Current time.

“Rise.” A calm, commanding voice came from somewhere above. “It’s good that you’ve been sleeping. The next task will be quite draining, but you only need to perform it once. After that, I’ll give you some things to practice on that will be a fair bit easier.”

Sylvandre’s eyes burst open and she was upright quickly, nodding her greeting to the Warden in front of herself. “Ishnu’dal’dieb, Shan’do Serpentstrike.”

“Sael’ah. Now, are you ready or do you need a moment to familiarize yourself with your surroundings?” Avelind seemed to waste no time.

“Umm. Give me a little moment.” Sylvandre shrugged, stretching a little and yawning mightily. She nodded once.

“Good. Now, I would suggest not accepting drinks from strangers too often, despite the fact that you may trust their intentions... You got lucky back there. But you can never know.” Avelind smirked slightly to this.

Sylvandre nodded again as she eyed her teacher over. “Yes. I understand. I’ve been faced with that problem before. Now, what is my next task?”

“You recall the way I asked you to summon the very essence of Justice in both blinking and splitting knives, and the release of this energy for various purposes, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Well, draw your blade, Sylvandre.” Avelind said, her talon-like gauntleted digits tapping the handle of her Moon Sword.

Sylvandre did so, taking the sword off her back. She looked questioningly to her teacher, awaiting further instruction.

Avelind exhaled, and her Moon Sword was wreathed in black and red flaring energy. “This is a Shadow Strike. The next person struck with a weapon upon which Shadow Strike has been placed, will not only suffer the extra damage from the discharge of the energy, but also take damage over time, as the spirit of Justice is a lingering one. Beware, however, for using this ability too often will tire you out far beyond the other two. Remember also the fact that what you have to do is summon the sense of Justice into yourself, then suffuse the weapon with it, bathing it in the craving for vengeance.”

Sylvandre nodded, eying her sword. She took a long moment to concentrate before summoning up that sense of Justice, reaching deep inside herself for it and bringing it out to the surface. It came far easier than before. It was, in fact, almost instant. Her fingers curled harder around the handle of her sword their knuckles going white from the tension as she willed the energy to make itself manifest in the blade.

For a time, little happened. Sylvandre sighed. “Damn it...” she muttered, inhaling again and repeating the procedure, at a slightly faster rate.

“Never expect for something to work the first time you try it. Your mind and body must be ready to accept the paradigm of your newly learned ability. Now, keep on trying.” Avelind said somewhere off to the side.

Before long, Sylandre’s sword was wreathed in the same seething black and red energies. She stared at it for a while, her arm feeling heavy. She attributed it to squeezing down on the handle too hard but it wasn’t supposed to happen. After all, she had just woken up, refreshed. She looked questioningly to her teacher. “Why is it so tiring?”

“Because, unlike your other abilities, this one is sustained. It continues to drain from you the more you use it, whereas the others were burst – one time use. Now, the more you use it, the more you will grow accustomed to the drain on your stamina, and you will not be fatigued, as such. But yes, you’ve succeeded.”

Avelind approached, a hand slipping beneath her bladed cloak, then coming back out again, a series of scrolls offered to the other on its palm. “Here. Learn these. You have a strong enough sense of how wielding this force of justice works, that you might be able to wield these spells properly. They’re nowhere near as complex as the ones I’ve personally taught you, thus they should be easy. Regardless, do not forget to keep practicing. You have four days.”

The Warden turned just as the former Sentinel accepted the scrolls, nodding once. As she looked back for her teacher, she realized she was gone already. Sylvandre smiled and sighed, calling down her hippogryph and storing the scrolls on them for further reading. She simply sheathed her sword and made for her house.

She was happy.

[flammos200]

The path to Astranaar; One day ago.

It was cold in Ashenvale, for the briefest of times. It never snowed here, it was too far down South, but it did get chilly on occasion. The Sentinels, used to the Natural Energies regulating the climate of the land – and thus setting it into perfect harmony – braved the cold with ease. Sylvandre herself trod up the path at a speedy pace, and while most normally, her armored boots should have been thumping in the soil, she made no sound whatsoever, and her footprints seemed to vanish after her step.

“You’re getting better at this... But to what end?” came a voice from somewhere to her left.

“You’re one day early, Shan’do.” Sylvandre said, turning and bowing to the Warden. “Ishnu’dal’dieb.”

“Sael’ah. I came to warn you, Sylvandre. And to speak.” Avelind’s voice was as calm as ever. Even and emotionless as the grave.

“I-... Yes, honored teacher. I will listen.” Sylvandre said, expecting the worst.

“First of all, I was watching when you ended a life back there. I do not condone, nor condemn that course of action. That is something you yourself will have to learn and understand. The Law is the Law, and no one is above it. Consider well your reasons for placing a verdict on someone and more so following through with it. To label someone a traitor to our people is to subject them to the life of the fugitive or execution. Be very careful, Sylvandre. Your every action, your every word and gesture carry meaning. You cannot escape this. No one can.”

“I understand, I think. I stand by my verdict and my actions. I have not faltered yet, nor will I ever.” The younger of the two stated firmly.

“Pray your words are true, Thero’shan. For if you stray, I will be there to grant you the same verdict...” Avelind trailed off, allowing her words to sink in.

Sylvandre’s fingers curled at her sides. She nodded her head once. “Lady Serpentstrike, should I stray, I’ll drive my own blade through my neck. I do not suffer corruption nor the clouding of my judgment.”

The Warden’s lips curled into a smirk. “Very well. What of your little Demon Hunter friend, then? Their kind are outcasts... They have tainted their bodies, calling it a sacrifice, yet you see them growing closer to what they seek to fight with each passing day.”

“Him? So long as he does his job, he is useful. He was there when we besieged the den of evil itself. He was there, purging Blackrock orcs from Redridge, and I am certain that so long as he proves his purpose, and moreover his actions true to cause, he will be a worthy ally. If he strays from his allotted path, judgment will fall as an iron hand upon him.” Sylvandre answered, firmly.

Avelind chuckled to this. “Spoken like a true Warden. Yet, that’s not what we’ve chosen you for, Sylvandre.” She shook her head. “I want to know what you, as a person, not as a justice bringer, feel on this topic.”

Sylvandre blinked, a little taken aback by the statement. “Well, he seems nice, and is calm and humble most of the time. He seems always ready to act, yet is troubled when it comes to his family, for instance. When rage gets the better of him, I tend to point it out... severely.”

“...Better.” Avelind nodded. “Now, what of the other deed?”

“For one, the other had already been a turncoat. More so, one that protects the enemy and threatens to fight a Sister for their life is... sickening to the core.” Sylvandre looked down as she spoke.

“Mm...” was all that came from the Warden for a while. “Alright, now, tomorrow I will test you. Should you succeed in passing it, you will gain one of the two pieces of equipment symbolic to Wardens. I would suggest you take another look through the scrolls I gave you, and memorize each and every ability in them if you haven’t done so already, and do come armed and armored, as I would not want my student torn to shreds in the first few seconds.”

Sylvandre nodded a couple of times. “I see. Thank you for the warning. I will do my best. But may I know which of the two I shall be granted?”

Avelind smirked. “You’ll have to pass the test and see. Meet me at the Shady Nook.” She said, crossing her arms over her gut. “Now, ande’thoras-ethil.” She ended, blinking somewhere out of sight.

The one left still standing sighed a little. “Well, Seija will be happy to heal me, I guess.” She shrugged, continuing her way down the path.

The Shady Nook; Present Day.

A light breeze wafted through the trees, the leaves rustling throughout them, birdsong filling the air alongside it with sound. The meadow was empty, as per usual, but for once, Sylvandre tried not to be fooled. She stepped forwards, for the center, in a soundless sprint.

The Kaldorei extended her awareness, sensing no less than three pitfalls arranged in an equilateral triangle around the meadow’s center. She managed to leap over one and reach the middle before hearing the swishing of knives splitting the air, headed straight for her.

The knives hit the ground as she jumped backwards, Sylvandre ramming a fist into the ground, from the point of impact an obscuring, thick mist rising to fill the Nook. For a moment, Sylvandre could breathe calmly, to try and catch her breath. An ear twitched, and she turned rapidly, yanking her weapons out of their sheaths, but was too late to prevent a serrated Moon Sword from cutting across her arm, denting some of its plating inwards and leaving a nice, clean, bleeding cut behind, before fading back into the mist somewhere.

Sylvandre tried steadying her breathing, griping for a knife, and unleashing a Slicing Torrent in the direction of the weapon’s flight. She did not know whether or not she hit something, but noticed that the surrounding air went slightly darker. She blinked, looking up and crossed her weapons above her head as to block the falling Warden, which came from the mist, sword first, locking both their blades.

Avelind smirked. “Not bad. Now, you have to hit me once to pass.” She said rapidly, and disengaged from Sylvandre, darting back into the mist. The younger let the mist dissipate. She couldn’t fight like that. The Warden unleashed a flurry of slicing terror from another treetop, to which Sylvandre rapidly blinked away and tried answering in kind.

Avelind simply blinked somewhere out of sight. Sylvandre sighed. “Okay, new tactic.” She muttered under her breath.

“Stop talking.” Came from someplace indistinct, and Sylvandre turned sharply, only to receive another gash across her formerly intact arm and wincing. Her fingers curled weakly around the handle of her sword and this time, she followed the Moon Sword on its return path, into the hands of the Warden.

Sylvandre exhaled rapidly, her mind racing, the sword’s blade encasing itself in black and red searing energies as she swung out for the Warden, only to be parried and to engage in a blade lock. Avelind also charged her Moon Sword with the potent energies, breaking the blade lock, slicing out at the younger. Sylvandre ducked rapidly, avoiding the Warden’s sword, and thrust upwards, hoping to nick her arm.

Avelind merely blinked away as she saw the sword coming, to someplace behind the former Sentinel. Sylvandre turned. “I’m not going to hit you, am I?...”

“If you haven’t studied, you shall not. You can give up at any time, you know...”

Sylvandre took a couple of seconds to move again, darting to the Warden’s side, a silvery, tri-bladed glaive forming just outside her closed fist, and firing forth for the elder. The student was grinning all the while.

Avelind smirked, blinking out of the way, only to find the glaive homing in on her new position, and flying for her rapidly, before ramming into her arm and shattering against her armor there. “Took you long enough.” She ended, crossing her arms, her talon-guarded fingers tapping the handle of her Moon Sword at a regular beat.

“It took me a while to figure out what you wanted, Shan’do.” Answered Sylvandre, mimicking her gesture.

“Now, now, don’t get all smug with me. I could have just parried that. And, do turn around.”

“...Want to hit me some more, then?...” Sylvandre blinked, thinking it a trick. “...Alright.” she turned with her back to the Warden.

Avelind waved a hand behind her, a circular, serrated Moon Sword dropping out of its invisible state in front of the younger. “There. Now, you’re not allowed to do two things. Do not, under any circumstance, write anything on the handle. Secondly, do not throw it.”

Sylvandre blinked, staring at the ancient weapon of the Wardens. She bent down, and curled her fingers around the handle. It felt... strange. She’d never handled a circular weapon before. She looked over to Avelind. “Thank you, Shan’do. I will do as you ask.”

“Good, now, you should practice with it in melee. You have three days.” She said, turning and kicking off the ground, and into the treetops.

Sylvandre stared at the weapon now in her hand, in hushed awe, and, carrying it as one would a holy relic, she wandered for the road, towards her house.

[flammos200]

Somewhere Southward of Sylvandre's House; Three days ago.

It was well after dark, the stars piercing the sky as though a million brilliant points of light speared through the darkness of the cosmos above, a single silver moon bathing the small clearing in its light, making the two trees planted there look in such a way that they seemed to rival Nordrassil itself in their beauty. The trees themselves stood in the center of the clearing, towering above the others, and they seemed to be almost identical, save for a subtle color difference, one being paler in its shade, the other darker.

Between the two trees, Sylvandre practiced, swinging, swishing, twirling, thrusting, parrying the blows of imaginary enemies, all at a rapid pace, seeming in a frenzied flurry. The Moon Sword in her hand cleaved through the air swiftly, but always seemed to want to escape her grasp slightly. Sylvandre stared at it, and went for her forge. Therein she switched suits of armor, modifying the right gauntlet of the new one with a talon-like grip to the fingers of its hand. She grinned, flexing them. They looked almost like Avelind’s talon-like armored digits. Now re-equipped and grinning like an idiot, she went back to the trees and returned to practice, time slipping past rapidly.

What felt like two days later, she eventually stopped, slumping down against one of the trees, setting the Moon Sword down. “I wonder what you think of me...” she said, looking up to the tree’s crown. “I... never got to see where you fell, so, I couldn’t plant the trees over your graves... But I thought you’d like it here. Do you?... Mother? Father?” she looked from the pale tree to the darker one. She smiled.

“I wonder how you’d react to my last months. Travelling to Northrend... Killing off a group of thieves... Then drug dealers, then Satyrs, Felhounds, a Dreadlord, a Doomguard, a Doomlord... Meeting a Bronze Dragon, time travel, executing a Shadow Priest traitor and helping in the downfall of his organization...” she blinked a couple of times rapidly. “...I sound like I’ve seen it all... It’s funny, these last months feel more like years. So much has happened in so little time.”

Sylvandre curled around the tree’s roots, exhaling, her entire body sore. She listened to her own heartbeat for a little in the quietness of the night and encroaching dawn. She looked up, towards the treetops, from the pale tree, to the darker one, noticing a wisp spinning around each of the two. She smiled quietly, closing her eyes and let herself drift off, to sleep.

When next the young Kaldorei woke, she pushed herself upright, finding the Moon Sword still clutched in her grasp. She spun it quietly around her hand, swishing through the air. She found she had far more control than before. Satisfied with her mastery of it in melee, she let herself trod out into Ashenvale once more...

The Zoram Strand; Present Day.

Sylvandre knelt over the shattered body of a Naga, eying over the waves, and glancing over her shoulder to the forest behind herself. She then looked back to the body, reaching over and taking a small idol off the Naga’s neck. She pushed herself upright, turning.

As expected, Avelind stood behind her. The Warden had her arms crossed over her gut, her talon-like armored digits tapping the handle of her Moon Sword rhythmically. “Vanquishing our ancient enemies, I see. Good enough practice, I’d suppose.”

Sylvandre nodded quickly, bowing her head. “Shan’do Serpentstrike. Ishnu’dal’dieb.”

“Sael’ah, Sylvandre. Now, are you ready to further your knowledge as far as the Moon Sword is concerned? First, though, a round of practice. Raise your guard, thero’shan.” Avelind said, raising her Moon Sword diagonally, only to thrust the non-serrated part out towards Sylvandre in a punching motion.

The Sentinel brought her own sword upwards, the hoop-shaped blade pushing the other aside. She spun rapidly, throwing a sideways swipe for the teacher. The Warden brought the opposite end of her own weapon into her hand, blocking the incoming strike by using the sword as a shield, though lacking in middle. Avelind then thrust forth a flurry of blows, out towards the former Sentinel, to which the other blocked as many as she could before being forced to blink somewhere behind her teacher and swing out towards her back.

Avelind turned sharply, her own sword impacting the edge of the other, metal grating against metal and sparks falling down to the sands as the crashing of waves washed sound over them. Sylvandre tried pushing forth the bladelock, but only managed to go so far with one hand, before Avelind swung for her yet again. The former Sentinel managed to bring her blade up in time, the incoming weapon bouncing off her Moon Sword and ramming into the armor of her left side. She winced a little, staggering.

“Well? Come on..” Avelind said, to which Sylvandre darted forth, swinging for her teacher once more. Avelind raised her Moon Sword to parry, but nothing came for it. Instead, in the blink of an eye, Sylvandre was behind her teacher, the sword’s fluid motion continuing and ramming into her back. The Warden didn’t even flinch. She chuckled.

“You might have noticed that I did not use anything save the Sword. But... That will do. I think I’m going a little easy on you. I’ll compensate for it with your next test. For now, however, understand this. The Moon Sword can be thrown, and when you do, it will return to you – even if you’ve changed position, so remember that well. Also, learn how to catch it properly, because it may just lop your head off if you don’t... I see you’ve already gotten talon-like grips for your gauntlet. That is good. They will help.”

Sylvandre peered at the sword in her hand, nodding once. “Alright, I understand... Does it return to anyone that throws it, or just me?”

“Just you. When you picked it up, it became yours. It is why I did not hand it to you.”

“I understand. Is there anything else?” Sylvandre asked with another nod of her head.

“...Yes.” Avelind mouthed eventually. “You remember how I asked you not to write anything on the sword? Well, that was for a reason. The Warden’s Moon Sword can show the general direction of the person whose name is stamped or written on the handle of it, acting as a compass. You may erase and write another name, if it is suitable. Also, you cannot track dead people. It simply does not indicate a direction.”

“I see...” she blinked. “So... I could theoretically find... anyone alive just by writing their name on the handle of this sword...” she trailed off, growing quiet.

“...Sylvandre. I urge great caution when using that. I cannot stress enough the importance of the righteousness of your hunts. Understand that you must adhere to Justice, and show unerring loyalty to your cause... To falter is to fall into disgrace. Remember, as a Warden, you have a certain status. Great things are expected of our kind, and we are looked upon as the best of the best. The elite. Do not tarnish such a reputation.” Avelind said, slowly but firmly, each word carrying over with her grave tone.

Sylvandre blinked. This was the first time she heard Avelind referring to her as a Warden. She nodded quickly, after a moment of silence. “I understand, Shan’do. I will not let power get to my head, and will accept all things coming to me humbly. I will not abuse what is given, nor will I ever let myself stray from the path of Justice. I would rather my soul be torn free of my body than walk that road to darkness.”

“Good words, Sylvandre. I suppose it’s no wonder you are where you are now. As for the future...” Avelind slipped a hand beneath her robes, taking out another set of rolled-up scrolls and proffering them to the younger. “Here. Learn these. Another test is coming in four days. Pass that, and you will be granted the remaining piece of a Warden’s equipment.”

Sylvandre took the scrolls carefully, so as not to damage them. “Thank you, Shan’do Serpentstrike.” She bowed her head. By the time she straightened, the Warden was gone. Sylvandre called down her hippogryph, flying off towards her house once more.

[flammos200]

Auberdine; Four days ago.

Sylvandre sighed, entering the inn and moving for the barkeep, her lips parched from thirst. She raised a fist-full of coppers out of a plated pocket and slid them towards the ‘tender. “A glass of Moonberry, please.” She said, nodding her head once. The barkeep stared at her, and the Moon Sword in her hand. She carefully pushed the coins back towards Sylvandre across the counter, offering her also the drink, looking awestruck in the process.

The former Sentinel tipped her head to the side, but shrugged, taking only the drink and sating her thirst. She turned away from the counter, setting the empty glass on it in the process and noticed another woman, looking rather young, carrying a lantern.

“Are you my escort?” the young robed woman asked.

“I...” Sylvandre blinked. “...guess I am. If you’re in need of an escort, I’m offering.” She shrugged. After all, Wardens did what they did to protect the Kaldorei people, and by extension, all the peoples of Azeroth.

The girl nodded. “Good. Are you ready? We can go now if you are.”

“Sure. Let’s get going. Where to, though?” Sylvandre asked, adjusting her grip on her sword.

“The nearest Moonwell. And the one after that... And the one after that...” the girl trailed off.

“So... You’re a priestess on a pilgrimage to the Moonwells.”

“...Yes and no. I am a Priestess I guess, but only in training.” The girl fell quiet.

“Alright.” Sylvandre gestured to the exit, and thus came a fairly uneventful, but banter-filled journey ending in Ashenvale once more. After completing the round of escorting, Sylvandre found that almost half a day had passed, and returned home, to her studies.

A little while later, the following night, Sylvandre was on her porch, reading from a scroll, when she heard the familiar clip-clop of hooves on the short cobblestone path leading out of the deep wilds and to the very entrance of her house. She smiled, lowering the scroll and waved with three fingers over at the coming Seija. “Hello.” She called over.

Seija approached, nodding her own greeting, then peered over at the scroll, raising an eyebrow. “I was under the impression that most training is conveyed from person to person – not really from text. Or is this something different?”

Sylvandre nodded, smiling. “It is different. I know the basics already for the abilities in the scrolls. They’re just insight into new ways to use what I already have. I believe something similar happens with the Light. When one can call upon it as an energy, one can mold it into different shapes and such for different purposes. Is that not so?”

Seija blinked, then nodded. “Yes. And the circular saws – are those your new weapons? I think I have seen a few before. Mostly used by higher-ranking protectors of the forest. Something similar.” She shot Sylvandre a little grin. “So does it mean you’ve joined their ranks?”

Sylvandre nodded at her in return, grinning back. “...I... Yes, though not fully. I have things to learn further... And it’s a Moon Sword. They’re symbolic and... well, typical of Wardens. Wardens are more of the law-keepers of the Kaldorei, working as bounty-hunters, tracking down and executing criminals and such...” she reached up, scratching a cheek. “I feel honored... yet, I find it strange when people react differently to me than before.”

“It is to be expected. One would think of them as a sort of elite sentinels...” The conversation continued to the point at which a touchy subject was broached – namely the source of a Warden’s abilities.

Sylvandre snickered. “It is based on Justice. Believe it or not, Justice is a force of the Universe that can be harnessed, if one’s faith in it is strong enough. Scholars class it as a Divine Magic type.”

Seija was very distraught to this. She seemed upset. “I disagree with the thought that Justice is something different from the Light.” She eventually said.

“Well, they’re not really all that different. You see, they are two perspectives on the same thing – namely, the inherent good in all things, and the desire and devotion necessary to protect it.”

Seija shrugged. “Good enough. Now that I see you are all right after your training, I had better go get the fish prepared.” She turned and clomped back over to the Talbuk – vaulting onto its saddle easily. “Or better, just sell them to someone who can actually cook.” She said under her breath. She waved at Sylvandre and trotted down Southward for Astranaar.

Sylvandre waved back. “Ande’thoras-ethil!”

The deep wilds; Present day.

Lightning cracked the skies, its forked tongues rippling across the dark clouds obscuring the heavens. Rain poured down as though the on high commanded the oceans be split asunder, half their contents set awash upon the land from high to low. Nothing but the deafening roars of thunder and the incessant tapping of heavy drops of rainwater could be heard amid the trees.

Sylvandre stepped forth, exhaling under the downpour. She looked up, watching a lightning bolt streak across the sky, her silvery hair wet and sticking to her armor. She looked back forwards, only to see Avelind approach in a flash of lightning from above.

“Ishnu’dal’dieb, Shan’do Serpentstrike.” Sylvandre said, inclining her head to the Warden.

“Sael’ah. Let’s see just how ready you are for your task. You must find a fugitive and, upon confirming their crimes, execute them. They are called Tharrius Silverlight and they are bound to an innocent. They have been told that if they manage to escape a Warden – namely you – they will be cleared of all charges against them. Do not let the wicked go unpunished. Their crimes constitute the slaughter of Sentinels in a fit of rage, apparently he believed it wrong that he was turned down for joining the Sisterhood and sought to prove that he was ‘better than them’. Go. Bring him to the justice of your blade.” Avelind said, her voice crystal clear, despite the storm.

“I-... Yes, Shan’do.” Sylvandre nodded once, slipping a piece of charcoal out of a gauntlet and quickly scribbling a name onto the handle of her Moon Sword. She held the weapon up, judging its weight. She suddenly grinned, and blinked off, further Westward into the forest.

“The quickest way between me and him is a straight line. Thus...” Sylvandre trailled off, muttering to herself as she sped through the woods. She was getting closer, or so she thought. She was grinning all the while. Something about the chase... it thrilled her, it gave her energy she never thought she had.

She perched up on the thick branch of a tree, eying the meadow below. The rain had quelled, mostly, until then, and she saw a pair of Kaldorei females, bound together by one wrist and one ankle, running frantically. Sylvandre blinked right in front of them and they stumbled, slipping in the mud and landing on their backs.

She stepped forwards, an implacable wall of steel, her armored frame advancing on the two very steadily. They tried crawling away, but slipped and fell back down.

“Stop.” Came Sylvandre’s voice. They did so.

“Now...” she raised her Moon Sword, approaching. She brought it very close to them, the light of the night reflecting off it as it would off a mirror. It seemed, for a moment, that the two women were identical. Silver eyes, dark blue hair... Yet, as the blade neared them, one of them blurred, her shape dissolving, twisting and warping into that of a Kaldorei man with the same features. He glared up at her.

Sylvandre sighed a little. She swung the Moon Sword right through the bindings of the two, snapping both wrist and ankle chains apart. The female stood, walking off shivering whilst Sylvandre pinned the male down, sinking the Moon Sword into the ground, a faint black and red searing circle of energy springing to life around them.

“You stand in a Zone of Truth. Here you cannot lie.”

He said nothing.

“Did you or did you not kill Sentinels?”

“I...” he began, then winced. He writhed against the Warden, seeming to convulse, his face contorting while he strained against the spell. “...I did.” He groaned afterwards.

“Then for the crimes committed, your verdict is death.” Sylvandre said, and sung the circular blade through his neck, spilling his blood on the still-wet grass. She stood off the corpse and turned, only to find Avelind there.

“...A bit quick, hmm?...” the Warden asked. “Regardless, justice came swiftly. You did good.”

“Thank you, Shan’do.” Sylvandre murmured, bowing her head.

Avelind stepped for her, producing a long, black velvet cloak, which at first glance seemed to be filled with knives on its underside and edges, the blades glinting savagely in the moonlight coming from above. She walked around Sylvandre, before fitting it to drape her shoulders, the knife blades reaching down to her ankles. Sylvandre stood perfectly still throughout it all, fearing she’d cut herself on the blades of the cloak.

“Now, you have three days to grow accustomed to the cloak, and not get cut when you swing it. It is your secondary weapon as far as melee is concerned. Also...” Avelind slipped a hand beneath her cloak once more, producing another set of scrolls. “Learn these. Ande’thoras-ethil.”

Sylvandre nodded, taking the scrolls very carefully. She shrugged her shoulders, finding the knife blades clinking dangerously against her armor. She watched the Warden blink away, and she herself did so.

This could turn out to be a pretty painful three days...

[flammos200]

Ruins near the Shrine of Aessina; One day ago.

Sylvandre stood with her head bowed, leaning against a column, many scrapes now present on her armor. One hand was tapping away at the handle of her Moon Sword, her other simply flexing its fingers to the rhythm. Her eyes were open, staring dead ahead. Suddenly, a crackle of Arcane was heard and a human voice shouted into the wilds that he meant no harm.

Sylvandre sighed, smiling a little beneath her faceplate, and curled her fingers further around the handle of the Moon Sword, their tapping stopping as she blinked behind the man. He expressed his dismay at not being in the wrong place.

“...Lost, are we mister Blackstone?” Sylvandre asked, her tone amused.

The man whipped around quicky. “You scared the magic out of my skin, miss Cloudtear. And, to answer your question, yes. I am lost.”

Sylvandre nodded her head. It appeared that Aroes was searching for someone. They headed for Astranaar, wherein the mage-turning-Archmage attempted to scry his quarry. Failing to discern his location, Sylvandre offered her help.

The two walked to the inn, where Aroes explained that the artifact was a magical amplifier which had been stolen by a Highborne mage suspected of warlockery. Immediately, Sylvandre asked for a name, receiving it. Subtly, she wrote the name down on the handle of her Moon Sword, using the heavy, covering cloak to hide this from the other. She nodded once, and directed the both of them towards the fugitive.

Their path was not an easy one. Dodging Horde and slaying Demons on the way, the two eventually found the fallen elf at a fel-brazier, and combat ensued.

After proving her cloak fireproof time and again, and pelting the enemy with a myriad of slicing blades, to Aroes’ help, the two finally brought the final verdict upon the traitor.

Sylvandre decapitated the Highborne, Aroes’ taking the magical artifact off his body and stowing it safely into a lantern which he carried for this purpose, before returning both of them to Astranaar where they parted ways.

Hours passed and Sylvandre returned home, deep in the wilds of Ashenvale. An almost regular visitor came by... Seija atop her Talbuk.

Sylvandre looked over her shoulder to her. “Hey... Come over. I need some help...” she called over to the Draenei on the road. Seija came, and Sylvandre turned, the cloak whipping dangerously behind her.

“I... need some healing.” Sylvandre admitted, showing off a fair amount of cuts and bruises, one even trailing along her chin. Seija frowned a little. “Wardens do really like sharp objects, it seems.” She said quietly as she tended to the wounds.

Sylvandre nodded. “Yes... We do.” She blinked once she noticed the Draenei plop down, rummaging through a bag. She eventually produces a pendant of a jade of an owl, with silver, sharp wingtips. She proffers it to the younger, smiling. “I just thought Wardens resemble owls.”

“I... Heh... Owls...” Sylvandre said disjointedly. She tilted her head back. “That reminds me of someone... Someone who judged me an Owl ten months ago. I never knew it would have this significance now, in the future. Doesn’t it seem strange how we meet people in the past, yet lose track of them as time passes?”

“Yes, it does. However, we do so in order to meet new people and keep our interest sparked throughout. What maters is just that you keep that interest alive and keep seeking others, new people, every time..” Seija answered.

“Thank you... You truly are wise, Seija. And, thank you. This is beautiful. I love it.” Sylvandre said, slipping the pendant over her head.

After they conversed for a while, they both stood, saying their goodbyes. Sylvandre turned for her house, stepping up to the second floor. “...I wonder what comes next...” she muttered, before picking an apple out of a bowl and chowing down on it.

The Targetting Range; Present Day.

Sylvandre sighed, swinging her cloak at a test-dummy, a light smile on her face. Training had always made her happy. No longer did the knives clatter and scrape at her armor. She wore the bladed cloak as though it were a normal one, having grown accustomed to it. She turned around, inclining her head. “Ishnu’dal’dieb, Shan’do Serpentstrike.”

Avelind was behind her. The Warden nodded once. “Sael’ah. I have been watching your exploits... Executing a Highborne turned to Fel, hmm?”

“Yes, Shan’do. It was only just and fair.” Sylvandre said, her eyes unblinking.

“...Very well, then. I approve of this...” Avelind said, her tone tinted by amusement. “I would also advise not going about crying on a Draenei’s shoulder in the near future, but you have... what was the expression... ah, yes – dodged that particular bullet already. Now, you must also understand that the cloak has other properties too.”

“I see. So, it’s not just a usual piece of equipment, similarly to the Sword.” Sylvandre said with a nod.

“Precisely. Swing it properly and you can detach knives off it for use in the Slicing Torrent... Also, it has dormant spells that can be activated, similar to the ones you’ve been learning, mostly dealing with defying gravity. For instance, jumping to great heights, or gliding, or even hovering in mid-air.”

“So, the cloaks are not the Warden’s wings for no reason, then...” Sylvandre tipped her head to the side.

“Precisely. In order to tap into its dormant powers, you must channel a small bit of the energies you’ve been working with up till now and focus on the proper one. This is done mentally and can be done rapidly.”

“I think I understand.” Sylvandre nodded once.

“Good.” Avelind slipped a hand beneath her cloak, proffering a final set of scrolls. “Here. Study these. They’re some of the most advanced abilities you should muster. Now, only one remains...” the Warden sighed. “I will see you in four days and explain. I suggest you meditate and focus your mind, whilst also learning how to tap into the powers of the cloak and studying these scrolls.”

“I will, Shan’do. You make this final ability sound very grave, however...” Sylvandre said, taking the scrolls.

“That’s because it is grave, Sylvandre. Nothing I say will prepare you for it. You’ll have to experience it for yourself...”

“I see. Then, until then.” The former Sentinel bowed her head. Once she raised it, Avelind was no longer there.

Sylvandre turned, swinging her cloak for the targets lined up in front of her, a single knife blade coming off it and splitting into a cone-shaped cascading torrent of slicing terror. The knives shredded through all five lined up targets. She nodded, calling down her Hippogryph and mounted it, flying off once more...

[flammos200]

Sylvandre's House; One day ago.

Sylvandre was sitting there, frowning slightly, wrapped in her velvet black cloak of knives, her right hand’s talon-like fingers gripping the handle of her Moon Sword. She raised her left hand, taking off her faceplate.

Kenarith’s stormsaber slunk out of the undergrowth of the forest, and she clambered off quite easily. She gave the saber a fond sharp-toothed grin and wandered off, onto the path.

Sylvandre peered around the wooden support in front of her, and pushed herself upright. She took a few steps to her left, and looked over to Kenarith, having set the faceplate on her belt beneath her cloak, and waved at her with her free hand.

Kenarith moved off to the side before she even had time to recognize the source. Her hand went to something at her side. But, she faced Sylvandre before doing so, then released – Seeing that it’s just another Night Elf. She waved back and soon started ogling. “Been... training lately?”

Sylvandre nodded a couple of times. “Yes...” she grinned over at her, baring her fangs. “Feel free to come over. It’s not in my nature to bite those that have helped me.” She blinked. “And matter of factly, I do have a question for you.”

“Oh? I’m normally the one that asks the questions. But sure, ask away.” Came the answer of the still-ogling Kenarith, now complete with impossibly-wide eyes.

Sylvandre smiled. She asked for something calming, either in the form of a potion or advice, and got just the answer she wanted – for one, a pair of vials containing a calming resin, for the other, disconnecting for a moment and having fun. To this point, Kenarith suggested that she display some of her abilities. Sylvandre agreed.

The former Sentinel leapt from one wall to the other of her house, seemingly effortlessly, and stood, upside-down on the ceiling, as though her boots were glued to it, her cloak wrapped about her, as though it were the bladed wings of a bat. She held a hand out, which Kenarith took and together, they glided down from the ceiling, and back onto the front porch.

Afterwards, Kenarith attempted the wall-hopping herself, whilst Sylvandre ran up the wall, quite literally, and brought forth a Zone of Truth around the front of the house. “...What would you do, if you were me, and had these abilities?” she asked, her eyes narrowing very faintly.

“I would do what I always do. Though, I’m not the Warden type.” Came the answer from the surprised other.

Sylvandre grinned, letting the Zone dissipate, content in the reply. “I see. Well, whatever you do, and however you do it, I’ve felt the need to say thank you for some time. You were there when Sagi fell, you were there when Shivala was slain... I like to think you’re always there, watching from the shadows.. It gives me a measure of comfort.”

“That... was sudden. But I like watching like that.” Kenarith said, clambering up to the balcony above, dangling her legs off the edge of it.

Sylvandre blinked to her side, standing. “It reminds me of a human concept of guardian beings made of Light, in that each person has one watching over them... Though we, being Kaldorei, have more shadowy guardians. Shadows, really. You are one...”

“Am I a shadow in general, or am I someone’s shadow in particular?...”

“I’d like to think that you’re my shadow, looking out for me from places unseen. I wouldn’t mind it, really... But in the end, the choice is yours, I think, whether you are my shadow, or just one in general...”

“I wouldn’t mind being your shadow either.” Kenarith said, before slipping down off the blacony and landing almost soundlessly. She waved her goodbye up at Sylvandre, who answered in kind. Kenarith wandered back to her saber. “But we should play like this some other time too. Maybe even some tag – that would be even more fun.”

“Sure. We’ll play tag sometime, don’t worry...” Sylvandre said, chuckling. She then went inside, and resumed her meditation.

South of Raynewood; Present Day.

The air was cold, despite the beams of sunlight coming down from the sky. It was also quiet. Strangely quiet for a place where songbirds ruled the trees and winds rustled their leaves. Avelind stood quietly in front of Sylvandre who had just arrived.

“...Well, then. Are you ready?” The Warden asked. “This is the last of the things I have to teach you. There is a reason for its placement. Such knowledge is more than dangerous – and not only to those around you, but also to yourself.”

“I am ready, Shan’do Serpentstrike. Whatever comes for me, I will judge, and cast my verdict.”

Avelind didn’t seem to react much. Her tone was grave. For the elder Warden that always seemed to toy with her student, this was much out of character. “Very well. You have channeled justice itself into knives to split them, into your own body to blink, and into weapons, and so forth. Now comes the time that you realize that this energy can also summon beings. You will summon such a being forth, using the justice and wrath that you bear within you. In order to muster such a feeling up and use it, you will witness something...”

“I... Yes, Shan’do.” Came Sylvandre’s voice, nodding once.

“In order to do so, you must simply give in to the need for vengeance and call upon the energies you are already familiar with. This will summon an Avatar of Vengeance which will stay with you until such a time that the enemies it was called upon are all vanquished. I would suggest you make haste Southward.”

“Bu-Yes.” Sylvandre sped Southwards, wondering just what she was about to find.

The sounds of combat and screams echoed through the air as Sylvandre assumed she was nearing whatever she was supposed to. She reached a small glade wherein she shifted into invisibility right away, eyes widening at the sight before her.

A band of Orcs had just finished slaughtering a small troop of Sentinels, bodies of both races strewn across the meadow. The grass ran red with blood...

Sylvandre felt as though she stopped breathing for a moment. Then, all of a sudden, she inhaled and ran forwards, dropping out of invisibility only to run her Moon Sword through the neck of one of the Orcs and blink away to safety. She turned for them while they were still a ways away.

“You will all die here today!” she howled at them in a rage. She reached out for the familiar sense of justice yet found it tinted with wrath and anger. Nevertheless, she called upon it, and let it wash over her just as the Orcs neared her. She shouted something unintelligible over the war cries which suddenly all stopped.

For a moment, it felt as though time stood still, and Sylvandre looked up. A searing black shadow stood in front of her, with its back towards her. As it fully materialized, Sylvandre noticed a particularity. The shadow, though made of the darkest shadow, seemed to wear a wing-like cloak about its shoulders, ending in knife-like fringes. They too, were black. A sense of wrongness overcame Sylvandre, and she had the split second to glance around and notice the birds flying from their trees, and spotted a hare scurrying away from the group.

She stared silently at the tall figure in front of her. Through the shadow, a blade tip came and went, leaving it unharmed. The figure yanked one of its appendages to the side, a circular, serrated blade clasped between its talon-like fingers, yet all were made of darkness. The hand moved with unfailing precision for the possessor of the blade, cleaving them in a single strike, from their body rising a similar black figure, though shorter and thinner. The two slew another, raising another spirit.

“...All die...” a garbled voice came from what Sylvandre now realized was the Avatar of Vengeance. Sylvandre was on her knees by now, watching the scene unfold. The Avatar and its Spirits dispatched the green-skinned enemies seemingly effortlessly, one by one raising more Spirits from each corpse. As the last fell, the Avatar turned for Sylvandre.

It approached slowly, the sickening sense of wrongness increasing with each step. Sylvandre could do little more than stare into its shining white eyes, unblinking and smoldering like death itself.

The Avatar knelt, the Spirits surrounding the former Sentinel.

“What evil have I brought forth? What terror have I spawned? Is this the true face of Justice?... Are you going to kill me too now?...” Sylvandre asked, and despite the fear coursing through her veins, her voice was calm, unbetraying of emotion.

“...Justice...” came the garbled reply of the Avatar. Sylvandre stared up at it, and narrowed her eyes at the horrifying truth. The Avatar was, in truth, a mirror image of herself, though twisted by the shadows of which it was made, its features dampened, it looked precisely like her. The other Spirits of Vengeance had dematerialized in the meantime.

“So... you’re... me?” Sylvandre asked, and the Avatar brought its face towards hers.

“...You’re... me...” once more echoed the same twisted voice from the Avatar, which Sylvandre now noticed was much alike her own. The Avatar tipped its head to the side, then simply vanished as quickly as it came.

Sylvandre blinked, then raised her left hand, rubbing her eyes with her index and thumb of the left hand, trying to clear from them the image of the smoldering white eyes which she had stared into. “...I need to udnerstand this...” she muttered to herself. “Maybe I should try summoning it again... Maybe I can study it somehow...” she thought aloud. The sound of her own voice felt comforting – far more so than its twisted version.

Sylvandre pushed herself upright, eying the carnage. She shook her head at the remains of the slaughter and turned, walking into the forest. Not long afterwards, Avelind blinked right in front of her.

The Warden spoke quickly. “I apologize for putting you in that situation. You needed to understand.”

“Yeah...” Sylvandre mumbled, head lowered. “I understand. It was... necessary. But what is the Avatar? Why does it feel so... so wrong?”

“The Avatar of Vengeance is a being born of the most wrong of feelings – wrath, vengeance, yet formed of a desire for Justice. No one really knows how they come to our world, save for the fact that they’re drawn by this sentiment. No one knows where they go when they finish their job, either...”

“It looked just like me...” Sylvandre’s voice was eerily quiet.

“...Yes, they look like the people that... spawn them.”

“It had my voice. It-“ Sylvandre was cut off.

“Don’t let it get to you. If it brings any comfort, then try understanding it, but try not to dwell too much on the matter, for it is a grim one. For now, just rest. We meet in ten days to formalize your graduation... Warden.” Avelind said. “Either that, or take the little elf’s advice and distract yourself. Try writing letters to your friends or something... You’ll be seeing them soon enough.”

“Yes, Shan’do.” Sylvandre said, her voice carrying renewed purpose. She raised her head to face the Warden just as she blinked away. She herself vanished in a heartbeat...

[flammos200]

Sylvandre's House; One day ago.

Sylvandre stood atop her house's roof, straddling it, an inkwell at her left side, and parchment in front of her. The air around her was warm - unusually so for this time of year. Her talon-like fingers curled around a white owl-feather quill, as she regularly dipped it into the inkwell and wrote...

Dear Annabelle,

I pray this reaches you well. Apologies for my absence. I will be back soon, and will further be able to aid the Force of Reckoning, it seems. It is about time traitors, outlaws and users of Fel and Shadow alike feel the long arm of the law clawing at them. Do not write back. You can share anything you wish when we meet in person.

Sylvandre Cloudtear; Warden.

The Kaldorei rolled up the small sheet of parchment and offered it to one of the massive black crows nearby. "To Annabelle." She said to it, and it rapidly snatched the letter in its talons, flying off. Sylvandre returned and continued writing on another sheet.

Dear Avints,

I'm sorry I haven't been around much. I've been training, so to speak. You'll know it when we meet. I'm not sure if you'll agree with the change or not, but I have to speak with you regardless. Plus, after so much time in Ashenvale, I'm dying for some ale travel. I pray this reaches you well, and that the Light is with you.

Sylvandre.

She rolled up the new letter, setting another Storm Crow on its way, and proceeded for a new letter.

Dear Fala'thorei,

It seems my time here has come to an end. In a few days time, I'm returning to active duty. Have you found any trace of your kin? Nevertheless, shadows lengthen and grow just as the light is there to purge them.

Sylvandre Cloudtear; Warden.

Another Crow flew off with another message as Sylvandre wrote yet again.

Dear Tirius,

I hope this reaches you well, old friend. I'd been wondering where you are, and I still am... Luckily, Storm Crows, such as the one that has delivered this message to you, are connected to the Emerald Dream and can find their way to whoever should the message need delivering to. I hope you're growing just as much as I am. Have you seen Fran? I miss her...

May Leon not find you and hug you, wherever you are,
Sylvandre Cloudtear; Warden.

The last of the Crows flew off as Sylvandre stood, gathering the writing equipment, corking the inkwell and putting everything away. She walked calmly to the very edge of her roof and extended a foot out over its edge, taking a deep breath and smiling brightly.

She seemed to fall as she literally stepped off the roof's edge, only to turn upside-down and end up standing on the ceiling of the house. It took a fraction of a second to get used to the change of direction, but soon, she walked over to the bed, snapped off most of her armor, and allowed herself to fall asleep..

The edge of the Deep Wilds; Present Day.

Ashenvale had always been a massive forest, yet in few places was it more apparent than here, on the edge of the part of the woods containing the eldest trees, most predating the Sundering and the War of the Ancients themselves.

On the threshold to this historic site, Avelind stood, facing her student.

"It is time that we formalize your becoming a Warden, Sylvandre. We will be going to a place where only our kind go, and even that rarely... Understand that most normally, the following ceremony is conducted by the very first of our Sisterhood - the Lady Maiev Shadowsong herself. However, as she is lost to us, and to our people, the eldest of our kind lead our order now. Know that you will be standing before the eyes of every Warden that has gone before you, as you yourself will one day watch upon the newest of our brethren."

Sylvandre nodded once. "I understand, Shan'do. How do we get there?"

Avelind smirked slightly. She held a hand out to Sylvandre - her left one - open, palm facing upwards. Sylvandre took it, and they found themselves in a meadow, the stars burning brightly above them, a pale, silver moon at the center of it all, illuminating the scene below.

In front of the two, were two rows, one to their left, one to their right, of Wardens, each with the signature Moon Sword and Cloak, but also trees, here and there, which Sylvandre understood, marked the fallen. Her stomach churned in anticipation, and in the realization that she was standing in a graveyard. At the very end of the rows, before a massive Ash tree, stood, on a wooden rise, a tall, muscular and seemingly old Kaldorei woman, a braid of silver hair reaching down from the top of her head to her knees.

Sylvandre peered at her, tipping her head to the side slightly. Kaldorei did not really age, yet this one had a sort of elegance about her that seemed to make experience and knowledge forming an almost visible aura around her. Sylvandre glanced to Avelind as they neared the beginning of the two rows. Avelind stopped just short, and nodded at Sylvandre. "Go on." She said, smiling.

Sylvandre looked forwards, and walked for the eldest Warden, her ears catching some of the murmurs of the small crowd.

"- at her, she's so young...- So that's who Avelind picked... I thought she'd be taller - Well, huh. I didn't expect someone like that -"

Sylvandre couldn't help but smile a little as she finally neared the leader of the congregation. The woman looked to the girl, and the girl bowed her head.

The eldest then spoke. “It is an all-too-rare occasion that we gather here for.” Her voice itself indicated a venerable age. “Ancient, though our order is, the new and the young are welcome in its ranks, should they prove worthy. Now is such a time. The one before you – before us all – has proven herself worthy in the eyes of this congregation.” The woman looked across the rows, scanning them with her gaze. She then looked back to Sylvandre who had moved very little.

“It is time that we acknowledge her as one of our own, will all the power, the privilege, but also the responsibilities and duties that come with being a Warden. If you would kneel...”

Sylvandre did so. The eldest continued. “...Before us all, has knelt Sylvandre Cloudtear, the former Sentinel.” She called over the crowd. She gestured for Sylvandre to rise to her feet. Sylvandre pushed herself upright as the Eldest called out once more. “..And among us all now stands Sylvandre Cloudtear, the Warden.” She then looked to the younger. “Now, Warden, if you would take your place among us, a graduation gift is to be granted unto you by your former teacher.”

Sylvandre turned away from the eldest and walked for the other end of the rows. As she did so, each Warden she passed, raised their Sword obliquely, forming a serrated metallic cover to her passing. She approached the end of the rows, and found Avelind standing on one side, with no one opposite her, so she herself stood there.

Avelind nodded once, slowly. She was grinning. The Eldest exhaled. “Now, you may all return to your duties. May Justice be done.” She called one final time over the crowd, and one by one, the Wardens disappeared, until only Avelind and Sylvandre remained.

“So... Shan’do, what now?” Sylvandre asked.

“I am not your teacher anymore, Sylvandre. Call me by my name, for we are of the same standing. Now, there is a name I wish that you track down and bring to justice. They are nearby. I merely want to watch.” Avelind shrugged slightly, offering Sylvandre a scrap of paper. The new Warden took it, and scribbled the name on the handle of her Moon Sword with a stick of charcoal. She nodded over at Avelind. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“All right. Go.” Avelind said. Sylvandre blinked off, speeding through the forest, leaving behind the place of the congregation. She soon reached a small, open Kaldorei house, and blinked soundlessly atop it. She walked off the roof, standing upside-down on the ceiling, crouched, her silver hair hanging down, her talon-like fingers curled around the handle of her Moon Sword as she peered inside.

A single man was devouring a roasted fish and a loaf of bread, the house itself ransacked around him. He turned sharply, and noticed Sylvandre on the ceiling. He blinked a couple of times, a gurgling sound coming from him. Then a muffled cough. He reached his hands for his neck, gurgling still, as though he was struggling to breathe. Sylvandre tipped her head to the side, having done nothing but watched.

The man pounded his chest violently, smacking the back of his neck, trying to dislodge whatever he was choking on. He eventually collapsed, falling to unconsciousness due to lack of air. Sylvandre dropped from the ceiling and Avelind blinked inside, bringing with her the sound of laughter. Sylvandre looked over to her former teacher. “Umm... I didn’t... do anything.”

“He-“ Avelind was roaring with laughter. “You startled him. He choked on a fish sandwich..” she said once she calmed down. She went for the man and gave him a kick to the back, making him reflexively cough out the obstruction in his airways, yet he was still unconscious. She looked back to Sylvandre. “That’s probably the strangest apprehension of a criminal I’ve seen yet. I wish I could come with you...”

“Who’s to say you can’t? I would be honored to bring Justice to the unlawful with you at my side.” Sylvandre said, still looking a little bit confused by it all.

“No, I’m sorry. But my place is here. You’re the one that is going out into the world, vanquishing evil and upholding the law. You should keep all the scrolls I gave you, by the way... Just in case you find someone that would make a good Warden... That should be a ways off, though. You’re still fresh.”

Sylvandre nodded once. “Mm...” she trailed off, still peering at her former teacher.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get out there and do your job.” Avelind gave her a dismissive wave. “May Justice be done.”

“Aye. May justice be done.” Sylvandre answered, blinking away...

~Fin~