Letters From Hillsbrad

[CappnRob]

Cristovao di Silvio sat in the infirmary of Shattrath City, taking a moment from his helping the impoverished and sickly to go through some mail that had made its way to him. Looking over the brown parchments, he read aloud the senders.

"Matthew Hunter... and Royal Hastings? What could those two possibly want...", he said to himself as he opened the envelopes and slid the letters out onto the table. Picking up Matthew's first, he read it aloud.

To Cristovao di Silvio,

You are hereby summoned to Southshore to fight under the command of Dalikan Godford against the Forsaken menace.

-Matthew Hunter

P.S. Undead attacking Southshore. Told you so.

The paladin groaned. Why must Matthew be so obsessed with this topic? He was in Hillsbrad a few weeks ago, before he returned to Outland to provide assistance to Anchorite Telah, where he reunited with his friend Dalikan Godford. The man was now an officially ordained Alliance commander, and was working to mobilize and arm the militias against Forsaken attacks from Tarren Mill.

"Tarren Mill and Southshore have been at each other's throats for over half a decade, now... why is this any different?", he asked the air itself as there was no one to speak to.

"I already told Dalikan I am unable to fight this battle. I have duties to perform, obligations to help others... I can't be caught up in another pissing match between the Alliance and the Horde. Matthew just won't get off my back... ever since he learned of mother, of Flora, he's become obsessed with the issue. Why's he always on my case...?"

Cristovao grunts and reads Royal's letter next.

To Cristovao,

I rarely write one of these damn things... Don't even know what to really even say... Matthew just pressured me into sending you a letter...

Well, we are doing well here, lost a lot of men including the Dwarves of Dun Garok...

Maybe you could help us... I have no idea what I am doing so I shall end it here...

From Royal

"I can't believe this...", the man mutters to himself. "Gang pressing Royal, Matthew? Really...?", he adds on as he grabs his parchment and pen to write up a reply.

Matthew,

I can't drop what I am doing to run off to war in Hillsbrad. I'm in Shattrath City right now, providing assistance to Anchorite Telah's pilgrimage. My absence here would matter more than my absence there, a difference of one more sword arm means little.

I will pray to the Light to keep you safe in your battles to come, though. Stay strong, my friend.

~Cristovao di Silvio

"... Dun Garok, though? ... sounds like it could be getting worse than a skirmish... ugh. Mother... Flora... I hope they're alright", he whispers quietly to himself. Without a second thought, he grabs a second piece of parchment.

Mother,

Are you well, Mother? I'm just writing to check on you. I heard there's fighting flaring up in Hillsbrad, and I hope you are safe. Please stay in Hearthglen until the heat dies down, I couldn't stand to think of you being hurt in the middle of that. I'm doing fine in Shattrath, maybe I will visit you when I return to Azeroth.

Your Loving Son,
Cristovao

[CappnRob]

The following week, more mail came to the paladin. Putting aside some time at the World's End tavern, Cristovao sorted the few parcels he had.

"Ah! A reply from Mother", he says to himself with a small breath of relief escaping him, knowing now that she must be safe from the fighting between the living of Lordaeron and the dead. Tearing the envelope open, he hastily removes the letter for reading.

To my Son Cristovao,

It makes me so happy to know you're so concerned for me. Rest easy, though, I am well and writing to you. I have heard of the fighting escalating in the Hillsbrad township myself. I am sad to say I experienced it first hand - two paladins tried to attack me and a friend of mine, Sir Septif, while on the road to Tarren Mill for errands. Thankfully, Septif was more than capable of fighting them off, though he did completely wear himself out doing it. As I said, I am no worse for the wear, though, just a few Light burns. Do not worry yourself over this. I am not involving myself in any warfare. Like you, I wish for a peace between the living and dead of Lordaeron. Let's hope these fights are just more fading skirmishes and nothing more.

I hope your time on the Red World is being spent wisely, but I do wish you would come home... that place is fearful, and I worry for you being so far. Visit me soon if you could.

Your Loving Mother,
Maeia

A gloved hand clutched the letter tightly, crinkling the paper as Cristovao slowly recited a phrase to himself.

"Two paladins tried to attack...", he said through his teeth which were gritted in concern. With a slow, heavy exhale, he loosened his grip on the letter, and rubbed his temple.

"It is alright... she said she is alright... she's safe. Oh, thank the Light she is...", he murmurs as he quickly grabbed his inking set and parchment, then quickly scratched down a reply to Maeia.

Mother,

I am glad you are safe, but please do not take any risks like that again. Stay in Hearthglen while there is active fighting. I can't fathom the thought of losing you because you went for a walk in the woods.

Cristovao

Satisfied with that, he then turned his attention to the other mail he has. Two envelopes, from Matthew Hunter and Royal Hastings again.

"... Light, don't tell me...", he mutters as he hastily opens and reads the letters.

The fields are burning. Southshore stands, but not for long. You failed your kingdom.

-Matthew Hunter

Disbelief fell over the Lordaeron man's face. First, dread. Burning fields? Had it gotten that bad? The forsaken have torched crops before, but... would Matthew exaggerate this? Is this just another attempt to spark baseless guilt in him? These thoughts of course lead to Cristovao's second reaction: anger. How dare he be accused of failing his kingdom, as if one extra man could have changed the outcome entirely! If he were there and the battles still gone south, he'd still have failed Lordaeron, what difference does it make?! Growling harshly, Cristovao crunches and balls up the letter before tossing it away in a huff. Then, he turned to Royal's mail...

To Cristovao

Well... It is soon to be over, for the worse this time... Was hoping to see some assistance... Not the fields of Hillsbrad Burning...

Southsore still stands, but not for much longer, Dalikan will barely be able to hold the line against the new Forsaken from the West, they came sooner then we expected. I was sent to get as many reinforcements as I can from the cities of the Alliance, but I do not think anything will come from it.

Cristo, you are a good man, but your judgement was poor... You left your kingdom to burn. Burn, there will be nothing left by the end of the month... We have no way to evacuate the citizens... Besides boat, and no one is planning on lending us one.

I am disapointed Cristo...

-Royal

He couldn't believe it. He could not believe it. No, he -refused- to believe it. What is it that they were expecting for him to do?! He does not have an army, hell, he doesn't even have a following aside from the companions he made in rescuing Stefano's wife and sons! Do they really think one man would change all this? What about the Sons of Lothar, or the Alliance soldiers stationed elsewhere across the world? Why not direct their mail to them, to the Light-damned King of Stormwind? Left his kingdom to burn... ridiculous. They make him out to be some sort of traitor who willingly wishes for this to happen. Ugh... he felt sick. Sick, and frustrated.

Evacuation, though... perhaps he could try and think something up. He may not wish to fight, but he can't stand to imagine innocent people being killed. One thing was for sure, though... he had to organize an effort, and return to Azeroth...

[CappnRob]

Another week or so had passed. Cristovao delivered his farewells to Anchorite Telah and thanked him once more for having him assist the pilgrimage, promising that he will be back to help again some day in the future. Now, though, the human paladin was in Stormwind city. How long it had been since he'd been here to really cherish the last bastion of humanity? He always had his criticisms, namely on political decisions, but he couldn't dislike the Sister of Lordaeron, not by a long shot. This had been his home since the Plague of Undeath, it has preserved the culture of the Light when all the other nations crumbled. For all its flaws, Stormwind was a beautiful thing indeed, though in recent times it would seem a veil of darkness is draping itself over the land as doomsayers preach the end of times and people clamor the Stormwind guard in concern. To escape the depressing scene and clear his thoughts, Cristovao has retreated to the Gilded Rose Inn to look over new mail he haas received.

To Cristovao

Cristovao Di Silvio... (Something has been inked out)

I had the... Pleasure of meeting your Mother for a third time yesterday.

I had the displeasure of fighting your mother and another undead by the name of Septif...

Wait one moment. Do his eyes betray him? -Royal- was one of the paladins who attacked his mother on the road?! Cristovao ground his teeth furiously, anger seething from him like steam from an over boiling pot of water. Clenching his fist, he visibly shakes for a moment before finally letting out a heavy breath, calming slightly.

"It had to have been an accident. A mistake. He wouldn't try to kill her knowingly... Royal's not like that", he said to himself quietly. After wiping his forehead of some sweat, Cristovao resumed reading.

At the time I had forgotten who she was and thought she was helping Tarren Mill... But that is besides the point as to why I am sending you this letter.

We had a long heated... Discussion on the subject of Lordaeron, well originally on why I attacked her... But it only turned into a long argument about Lordaeron, don't worry, no swords or vile words were flung.

But I have to ask, have you heard what comes out of your mother's... Jaw(?)

She says that the Forsaken are not War-mongers, though they attack the peaceful citizens of Southshore. She says the Forsaken would accept them if they only worshiped the Queen... They act like they are the rightful rulers of Lordaeron, following under a false royalty...

We already know that we cannot trust them, you heard the stories of what happened at Wrathgate, that is their fault, their fault that lead to the death of both Horde and Alliance...

At an event I was at yesterday I heard Jared speaking of not just 'retaking' Lordaeron, but attacking Stromgarde and moving down the Span... The Forsaken are moving, advancing quickly... Which comes at a surprise to many of us, they cannot reproduce, so what are they doing being all aggressive like this?

I know you have your own problems, and I have my own but please consider what is going on here, you can keep out of this conflict, but I would keep an eye on the situation, on your former kingdom and your mother...

Also... Sorry about your father, glad to hear that his soul was put to rest...

Light's Blessings Cristovao

-Royal

Cristovao finished the letter, and paused for a solid few good minutes. It was... difficult to take in. He pulled down on his face, then rubbed his eyes in contemplation. While everything Royal says is true... his mother is different. He knows she's no war-monger. He knows many others aren't either. The forsaken nation might be on the brink of all out war with the Alliance... but his mother won't go. He knows she won't.

He then mulled over the last portion of the letter. "Did Jared really say that? ... Where would Royal even have been to HEAR that? He told me he would wish for peace, why would he push into Arathi? That's not even Lordaeron's land.... gah. This can't be real... please let it not be real...", he murmured to himself. With a shaky hand, Cristovao inked his quill pen once more, and began to hastily throw together a reply.

Royal,

I don't know where to begin with this. Are you trying to say you know my mother better than I? She would never hurt anyone, as I'm sure you found out when you ATTACKED her on the road. She's not a fighter, she's just a cleric for the Shadow. I get enough of a hard time from Matthew telling me I should KILL her, I don't need this from you as well.

If you want, we can discuss this further in person. Good day.

~Cristovao

With a heavy sigh he places his pen down, the instrument clacking against the table, leaving a few ink spots. Folding the letter into an envelope, Cristovao reaches for the second mail, opening it slowly.

To my esteemed friend, Cristovao di Silvio.

I do not know where to start, Cristovao. We held for as long as we could, and the spirit of Lordaeron was strong. For some days, it seemed as if the Light truly shone across our blades as we defended against the horrors of Tarren Mill and Undercity. But we were unable to hold the line. We were unable to defend Her grace... I failed her, Cristovao. I failed my homeland. Hillsbrad Fields has fallen, and Southshore is not long behind.

It pains me every moment of every day to see my beloved homeland grow darker under this new shadow. The Forsaken are monsters, Cristovao. I will not describe the horrors they committed at both Dun Garok and Hillsbrad Fields, but it was beyond that of even the orcs. Will you leave these innocents to die before such ill mercy, such atrocities that cannot be named? I will not chastise you, but today, Cristovao, your people need you. We all need you.

Paladins are empowered by the Light for the protection of the weak, helpless, and innocent. I understand your motives to see that the forgotten are tended to as well, but your very homeland is currently set upon with ever dire circumstances, and this unholy menace threatens to leave Lordaeronians an endangered name. Whatever you may think of them, they are only masking their horrors behind a face of deceit. Do not let them trick you, friend, or they will stab you in the back.

But again, I will not chastise you for what you believe to be right... In truth, if one is to be chastised, it should be I. I... I feel distant, Cristovao. Distant from the warming embrace of the Light. I cannot quite describe it in written words, but it feels as if the Light is leaving me. I do not know why, but each day that passes, I feel a bit less of its warming embrace. Perhaps it is age, preparing me for death. But I doubt it is that, for I am one of the healthiest among my age at that.

I wish you would come to Hillsbrad, at least for a day, to see what atrocities these so-called Lordaeronians have committed against their former brothers and sisters.

I wish you well, Cristovao. I have always, and I pray everyday that you and yours remain safe. Lordaeron may fall, but we few who survive will not fall with it. May the Light bless you.

Sincerely,
Dalikan Godford, Alliance Commander
(Sealed with Godford Seal)

A good deal longer was spent reading and re-reading over Dalikan's letter than Royal's. Emotions rose more slowly, welled up more poignantly, than the anger Cristovao felt from the previous mail. He took a moment to close his eyes and think to himself. To reflect on what he wanted to say. Dalikan is a good friend of his... has been for about as long as Matthew has. He respected his wisdom and his image, even if he didn't always agree with it... a reply had to be handled with care. He sat upright, and dipped his pen in the ink fountain. Slowly, he applied his ink to parchment...

My Good Friend Dalikan,

You must not blame yourself for defeat. You had the odds against you, and did what you could with what you had. I am sure your efforts were valiant in the face of extreme adversity. You must not lose hope, sometimes that is all you may have. It does not matter who your foe is.

I am not leaving the innocent to die, Dalikan. My heart does genuinely go out to them, but I can not help everyone! Even if I were there, what would I do? What could one extra man do?? I can not bolster the ranks in any significant way. Perhaps, since I am in Stormwind, maybe I could try and fund a ship to evacuate the people, but... I don't know, Dalikan. I just don't know. It is an overall helpless situation.

You must rest your mind and heart, Dalikan. Get your Lionhearts out of there. See if you can lead the people out by foot into Arathi, maybe to Refuge Pointe. Don't stay and fight a lost cause, my friend. The more you burden yourself with this, the more the Light will flee from you. You are forgetting what the Light means as a man, and only recognizing it as a soldier, as a weapon against your enemies. It is becoming impersonal to you.

Perhaps that is my problem, though. I am not a soldier, Dalikan. I never was. Yes, I was trained as a Knight of the Silver Hand, but that wasn't army training. We learned to use armor and hammer as weapons along with our faith, yes, but it was not the same as serving Lordaeron's regiments of foot, nor did I ever see any true action. The plague wiped out everything just before I finished my graduation, and while I did serve the Alliance freelance for a while, I never experienced true warfare. My enemies were faceless evils, Dalikan, they were monsters from under my bed which reeled back in defeat of the Light's radiance. True war is as alien to me as the orcs are to Azeroth.

I have business to attend to at Northshire Abbey this week. Following that, I will see about going to Southshore. Maybe I can ask for a donation from the church to rent a ship for an evacuation of those who wish to flee. Remember this, though. No matter what happens, Lordaeron will never truly fall. Even if we lose the land, the cities, the war, the spirit of Lordaeron is incorporeal. Lordaeron is unity, it is goodness, altruism. It was founded by those seeking spiritual enlightenment, and is is that spirituality that can never be taken from us. Perhaps in that regard, Lordaeron is truly eternal. Lordaeron never dies.

Light keep you safe and strong, my friend.
Sincerely, Cristovao di Silvio

Hands shaking, Cristovao was barely able to finish writing his reply. He almost tossed his pen into the inkwell as he buried his face in his arms, laying forward against the table. This couldn't be real. It can't truly be happening. Did he even truly believe what we wrote to Dalikan? Is he just making excuses for himself? Despite being faced with the prospective reality of war for nearly a decade, he had never prepared himself for it. He never thought it truly possible. How naive of him to think such a way, but he could not be any other way. Oh, what a blessing it must be, to be ignorant, to be vindictive, to be vengeful. To label those which you despise so easily and want to see them dead.

Not he, though. No, the Light had to curse him with a soft heart and an equally soft head. All his time spent to extend his arm in good graces to the Forsaken was for naught. All he learned, all he accomplished, it was soon to be destroyed in the fires of war. He will be branded a traitor, an idiot, a fool, for ever giving these "victims of Lordaeron" a chance. Maiea, Flora, Lendri, Odetta, all of those whom he loves and cares for on the other side of the fence will endangered. They will be targeted, and he may not be able to help them. If he does, he will be targeted himself. The thought of this was maddening. Resisting the NEED to break down and cry, though, Cristovao manages to sit himself up for a few more letters.

His body shakes as he pens the first letter...

Dear Mother,

What is happening in Hillsbrad, Mother? I hear that soon the Forsaken will invade the whole land! Please, Mother, I beg you, stay out of this! Do not get involved! Stay safe in Hearthglen!

Your loving and worried son,
Cristovao

He bites his lip tightly as he resists the urge to cry on the spot while writing the second...

Dear Flora,

Stay away from Hillsbrad. Use portals to get to Hearthglen, or utilize Horde travel such as airships, but do NOT go to Hillsbrad! There is war, you will be killed! Please stay safe, you are a sister to me.

Your closest friend,
Cristovao

As he writes down the third letter, his handwriting becomes noticeably messy and rushed...

My old friend Odetta,

We spoke of this in Duskwood, but it seems Hillsbrad is getting worse than I thought. Please, please, please stay safe. I would hate to lose you after such a brief reunion.

Your childhood pen pal,
Cristovao di Silvio

The final letter soon follows...

Lendri,

Though we are not the closest of friends, I wish to express my concern over the state of affairs in Hillsbrad. You are certainly a strong cleric, I have no doubt, I just wish to let you know I hope you stay out of the brewing war between the Two Lordaerons. Please stay safe.

Sincerely,
Cristovao

The quill drops to the floor, ink splotting the old hardwood. The paladin's arms slump to his sides, and he looks up at the roof vacantly.

"Is this truly the end of the world, as the doomsayers in the streets outside say....?", he muses to himself.

With a deep, choking inhale, he sighs heavily. Pushing his letters aside for now, he buries his face in his arms on the table, and sobs softly. He can deliver them in an hour or so; now is the time for sorrows.



(Thread is open for IC mail replies!)

[c0rzilla]

My old friend Odetta,

We spoke of this in Duskwood, but it seems Hillsbrad is getting worse than I thought. Please, please, please stay safe. I would hate to lose you after such a brief reunion.

Your childhood pen pal,
Cristovao di Silvio

Somehow, someway, the wandering Apothecary Odetta Mosle receives the short letter. She is thankful she got it after she left Tarren Mill the day before.

Cristovao,

Indeed, it is. Me being the mage I am, I couldn't resist visiting Tarren Mill briefly to see for myself what is becoming of my home province. My suspicions turned out true; the Harvest is there. Three members at least. Executor Richter, your mother, and a very jittery would-be deathstalker I do not know. Arnaldo Gallo, is his name.

It is sad. Your mother and Jared wish to see Lordaeron as it was; unified, green, and verdant. But it will not be so. The Apothecarium's most focused purpose is the development of toxins for war. And they will be used sooner or later.

I am no longer in Tarren Mill, though. I have no plans to return.

Be mindful and watchful, friend
Odetta

[cartoonkarl]

In Southshore with nothing to do but fish and walk around Royal would receive this letter...

Royal,

I don't know where to begin with this. Are you trying to say you know my mother better than I? She would never hurt anyone, as I'm sure you found out when you ATTACKED her on the road. She's not a fighter, she's just a cleric for the Shadow. I get enough of a hard time from Matthew telling me I should KILL her, I don't need this from you as well.

If you want, we can discuss this further in person. Good day.

~Cristovao

Cristovao,

I am not saying that I know her better then you, but how often do you talk with each other? Especially now when you are in the Outlands... And yes, that is true, when I attacked her and Septif she never really did anything... Just sat there, so we didn't pay her any heed after that.

We finally have a plan though, we are going to... Try and push into Fenris Isle, take the keep and try and rebuild it back to its former glory before the Second. Making our way to Arathi is too dangerous, we would be passing by Tarren Mill, and then the trek would only get us as far as Refuge Pointe, I don't think the Dark Irons would allow a large line of civilians and armed soldiers across the other bridge. And then in Arathi we have to deal with Trolls, and raptors... A recipe for disaster.

Well, whatever happens we are not going to stop fighting the Forsaken menace... Even if there is a lull in the fighting for awhile.

Light's Blessings Cristovao di Silvio

-Royal

[Zenethen]

My Good Friend Dalikan,

You must not blame yourself for defeat. You had the odds against you, and did what you could with what you had. I am sure your efforts were valiant in the face of extreme adversity. You must not lose hope, sometimes that is all you may have. It does not matter who your foe is.

I am not leaving the innocent to die, Dalikan. My heart does genuinely go out to them, but I can not help everyone! Even if I were there, what would I do? What could one extra man do?? I can not bolster the ranks in any significant way. Perhaps, since I am in Stormwind, maybe I could try and fund a ship to evacuate the people, but... I don't know, Dalikan. I just don't know. It is an overall helpless situation.

You must rest your mind and heart, Dalikan. Get your Lionhearts out of there. See if you can lead the people out by foot into Arathi, maybe to Refuge Pointe. Don't stay and fight a lost cause, my friend. The more you burden yourself with this, the more the Light will flee from you. You are forgetting what the Light means as a man, and only recognizing it as a soldier, as a weapon against your enemies. It is becoming impersonal to you.

Perhaps that is my problem, though. I am not a soldier, Dalikan. I never was. Yes, I was trained as a Knight of the Silver Hand, but that wasn't army training. We learned to use armor and hammer as weapons along with our faith, yes, but it was not the same as serving Lordaeron's regiments of foot, nor did I ever see any true action. The plague wiped out everything just before I finished my graduation, and while I did serve the Alliance freelance for a while, I never experienced true warfare. My enemies were faceless evils, Dalikan, they were monsters from under my bed which reeled back in defeat of the Light's radiance. True war is as alien to me as the orcs are to Azeroth.

I have business to attend to at Northshire Abbey this week. Following that, I will see about going to Southshore. Maybe I can ask for a donation from the church to rent a ship for an evacuation of those who wish to flee. Remember this, though. No matter what happens, Lordaeron will never truly fall. Even if we lose the land, the cities, the war, the spirit of Lordaeron is incorporeal. Lordaeron is unity, it is goodness, altruism. It was founded by those seeking spiritual enlightenment, and is is that spirituality that can never be taken from us. Perhaps in that regard, Lordaeron is truly eternal. Lordaeron never dies.

Light keep you safe and strong, my friend.
Sincerely, Cristovao di Silvio

Dalikan Godford sits in his chair at the great table of the Town Hall of Southshore, looking over maps and correspondence. He takes a deep breath, and reads over Cristovao's letter again. Cristovao was a good friend, and he looked at him as an equal on many subjects despite personal skills of either. He understood that his friend wrote softly, and with the heart of any man in the outskirts of a situation of turmoil. Dalikan smiled, though. Cristovao's advice was heartening, at least, and he felt hope rising at least for Hillsbrad. Lordaeron is eternal. No undead menace would ever eliminate it. The aged Commander took up feather pen and parchment, and slowly penned away at his reply.

To my esteemed friend, Cristovao di Silvio

I will take your words to heart. This I swear. You are a good friend, and always have been, and always will be. I look to you as somewhat of a younger brother at times, as all elder siblings must seek advice from their youngers at times.

It is because of our friendship that I will tell you of our plans. Southshore offers us no more protection. There will be no more time for an evacuation by sea, and making for Arathi would prove far more dangerous than remaining. We will be punching a hole through the Forsaken armies of Silverpine to advance northward to Lordamere Lake. From there, we will take those that survive the trek to the Lordamere Isles, where we will make our home in a reclaimed Fenris Keep. We will lay low there, and hopefully wait out the storm. If we keep to ourselves, then the Forsaken should even forget about our very presence. I do not know what will happen at Fenris, but at least we will have walls and a proper defense should the Forsaken continue to hunt those innocents under my charge.

I apologize for my earlier words, as I do not blame you at all for the fall of Lordaeron. Know that I hold only myself responsible, for reasons I do not know. The only thing I ask of you is that you make your way to Southshore, and look upon the vile machines that constantly plague Hillsbrad Fields with their toxins and threaten to bomb even Southshore. I ask the Light every day for an answer to our questions and prayers. Why have the Forsaken, who claim they wish for peace, begun to slaughter these innocent, defenseless peoples? I recall they once claimed us to be the aggressors, yet now they burn our fields and slaughter our people.

If you should use your money for charity in any way, do it in the way you see fit. The Cathedral of Light can always use more donations, despite anything else. I wish I could join you, to walk beside you in peace and revel in the simple duties of the Light, but... Hillsbrad will never allow me to do this. Perhaps someday, when this is all over, I may remake myself in the eyes of the Light. But for now, my duty lies with the survival of my people - these citizens who I have taken as my charge.

As always, I wish the Light to bless you and your family,

Sincerely,
Dalikan Godford
(Sealed with Godford Seal)

Dalikan did not notice until after he finished sealing the envelope that a small splotch rested at the edge of it. He focused on it and took a deep breath in, letting it out as a sigh. It seemed his old eyes were failing him, and easily shed tears now. Or they were true tears, and he simply did not have the emotional will to hold them back in the current days.

"Commander...?" Henry Maleb, Magistrate of Southshore, leaned forward to look at Dalikan's face.

"I'm fine, Magistrate." He bowed his head silently. "I'm fine..." He then turned his eyes towards the door out of the main hall. "Courier!"

[Dae]

Dear Flora,

Stay away from Hillsbrad. Use portals to get to Hearthglen, or utilize Horde travel such as airships, but do NOT go to Hillsbrad! There is war, you will be killed! Please stay safe, you are a sister to me.

Your closest friend,
Cristovao

The letter is written in Flora's usual, messy cursive with unnecessarily large loops. The warped parchment smells faintly of sea air.

Cristo,

Whomever delivers your mail must be really amazing, because I've been wandering around this damn jungle for days before winding up back in this weird pirate place. Bucket Bay or something? And yet, here's your message, waiting for me at this salty post office.
And the growing tension in Hilsbrad (is it one or two Ls? I really should know this!) worries me too. A lot of people I thought were with me on promoting
peace between the living and undead are all riled up for war. The thing is, Cristo, this is all just a bunch of dumb politics. A lot of people I know are fighting just because the side that they're on wants this. People are just using the whole "deadness is the best thing ever, and we should put it all over the world" stuff as a half-assed justification.

I'm not trying to make excuses for them, I just want to make it clear that I'm still just me, and even though I'm undead, I'm not obligated by my deadness to follow anyone into war. Some people may call me a coward for not supporting "my people," but I'm not a mindless slave to anyone anymore. A true member of the Forsaken would understand my right to chose my own involvement in any conflict. I don't get all of the stuff that's causing the fighting in Hillsbrad, and good people on both sides falling in a fight that makes no sense to me just seems so wrong.

You're telling me to stay out of this because you care about me, so how about I promise to keep out of it as long as you do the same? At least, don't go somewhere where you're probably going to get killed in this fight. As a righteous Paladin, I know you want to go Light-frying all the bad things in the world, but this isn't righteous. This is fellow Lordaeron against Lordaeron, and nothing is right about that. You should use the Light to help the living in what ways you can, (You probably already are, aren't you?) and I'll try to teach the dead that they don't have to be so damn angry all the time.

Take care of yourself!
-Flora

[CappnRob]

One month. It had nearly been a month since his visit to Southshore. For a place on the brink of war, the foothills were oddly tranquil. It was hard to believe the Forsaken were making pushes into this land, to believe so many of its populace had fled.

Now, Cristovao found himself once again on the roads of Hillsbrad, on a usual travel to Hearthglen. Usually, he would take portals to travel directly from Stormwind, but something compelled him to take the long road. It seemed so safe, even though it was anything but. The leaves rustled softly in the wind, the grass was nice and green as spring time blossomed. The paladin let himself get lost in his thoughts. How foolish.

There was a crunching of leaves from the nearby hillside. Cristovao turned just in time to see a thuggish looking Forsaken with a metal jaw and a massive battleaxe come rushing towards him. His armor saved him from the blow, but the wind was knocked out of him. He pulled out his gavel and took the defensive, blocking a few blows, but unable to talk the Forsaken down. He could simply destroy him with the Light- he had every right to do so, now, but couldn't muster it. He was no soldier. Finally, he dazed the the marauder with a well placed burst of Light, and disarmed his attacker. He turned to leave him on the road, but his assailant proved a more resilient opponent than expected. He trounced the knight onto the ground, and the two engaged in some hand to hand fighting. The commotion attracted a third party... Cristovao's mother, Maeia.

She stopped the fight. Cristovao was shocked to see her. His forsaken attacker was shocked to hear him call her "mother". What shocked Cristovao further was the revelation that his mother was friends with this forsaken brute. She spoke of him fondly, and while she expressed her disappoinment in his aggression, a grim reality became clear to him: the Harvest was actively participating in the invasion of Hillsbrad. Odetta's letter had mentioned they were in Tarren Mill, but in the back of Cristovao's mind, he had hoped they weren't involved with the war. Protecting their camps, perhaps, but not... not attacking living men and women on the roads. He was given only a small relief when Maeia denied being involved in the war herself, a claim with Septif, her compatriot, supported. He trusted her, but the damage was done. He left the two undead on the road as he slowly walked off, as he realized now that there would never be peace between the living and the dead.

As night fell, Cristovao at last made his way to Hearthglen. He let himself inside his mother's house, which was expectantly empty, and flopped himself on a chair. Frustrated, he took a moment to sort his thoughts.

"Is this the peace you were talking about, Jared!? A peace where Forsaken lord over the living, killing them remorselessly?!", he thinks to himself, grinding his teeth.

"Could you not even stand up for what you believed in? Or was it all a lie to begin with... dammit. Dammit!", he says to the air, pounding his fist onto the table. Spying some parchment and ink, he grabs it without hesitation. With disgust fueling him, he wastes no time in writing a hasty letter.

Jared,

This isn't the peace I had hoped to have. This isn't the Lordaeron I wanted to see.

He did not even bother to sign it. He knew the recipient would understand who it was from. He placed the simple message in an envelope, and sealed special with a wax Lordaeron emblem. He placed it in the nearest mailbox, and went to brood a little more. A reply would surely come soon.

[Sol]

Claws tap in a tuneless rhythm against the notched old wood of a writing desk. A few minutes prior, they were gouging fresh scars into the oak, their owner's jaw clenched hard in inexplicable frustration. He was no stranger to receiving post from strangers, and nor was he a stranger to cryptic messages from the blue, but this . . . this made him angry.

The familiarity of the handwriting was part of it. The single, simple sigil with which it was stamped was another -- how dare that insolent little brat sign his letter with the icon of his country, claim to speak with the voice of a nation?

Nothing enraged him more, however, than the vexing familiarity of those simple words. Words not unlike those he'd said himself at his lowest and most honest moments . . . pledges he'd tried to make. Promises he'd hoped to keep.

All broken, now. Burnt away like the crops of Hillsbrad Fields, their ashes swept up in the same dread wind that was carrying him and the rest of the nation terminally towards a strange and uncertain future. The same old words crept up between the cracks in his thoughts like the misheard voices of long-forgotten friends on the breeze. Liar. Hypocrite. Traitor.

One fist balled around the note, rendered it a crumpled ruin. No. The other talon dug anew into the wood of the table for a vicious moment before both relaxed. He stared down at his flexing digits for a long, long while before he resolved himself to scrawl out a jagged, spiteful reply.

I should have known you would not understand.

Did you expect them to welcome our ambassadors with open arms?

Did you expect them to open their gates and docks to us with the love of countrymen?

Did you expect them to invite us back into their fold, when they pay their taxes to a man committed to our extinction?

In time, perhaps, you will see how this is the only way peace will ever be had -- when your false Alliance is driven into the sea where it belongs, and when every man, woman and child of Lordaeron bends their knee to a single throne, as was always meant to be.

In time, perhaps, you will see that this is the only way Lordaeron will ever be reforged -- piece by broken piece, brought together anew by the sure strength of arms, grander and mightier than ever before.

Until then, you are free to discuss the matter with me personally.

In faith,
Jared Richter
Executor of the Black Harvest

He turned to toss the crumpled missive into the crackling fire -- but hardly as an afterthought, almost on impulse, he tucked it away within his surcoat and resolved to keep it there.

Then he rose, straightened himself, held the letter before the flame to dry it and stalked out to find a messenger bat. Find a messenger bat, and find Maeia. Something's happened.

[CappnRob]

Cristovao received the Executor's reply sometime later. He had so much he could say back, so much he could utterly pour onto a piece of parchment and send it right back to the Forsaken executor which had betrayed him.

But he didn't. He looked over the final words of the scrawled together letter, saying it in his head.

"Until then, you are free to discuss the matter with me personally."

Personally, is it? Then it shall be personal. The paladin wasted no more time, and he simply cobbled together a quick, short reply.

Then let us discuss the matter personally. Alterac mountains, at your next possible convenience.

With a bitter frown, he sent the letter off. Who knows when it may be acted upon?

[Dae]

A young page, looking visibly shaken, would approach Cristovao and hand him a folded scrap of paper without a word.

Written on it, in fine cursive was:
Sir DiSilvio of the Silver Hand,
Yesterday, I saw a glimpse of the man I expected you to be, and it was due to a most curious point in our conversation. I had accused you of lying when you said that my undeath did not bother you, and you rebuffed me with the utmost conviction and certainty.
You still have it within yourself.

I will visit the Abbey again soon enough.

-Julie

[cartoonkarl]

To Cristovao di Silvio

I have not wrote a letter in quite some time... Last one I wrote was to you in Hillsbrad, and now that I think upon that letter I must apologize. I was not myself when I wrote it.

Well, the time has come... As much as I dread it. Shipping off once more to the field of conflict, this time in the Twilight Highlands. Dalikan has informed me of our enemies, Goblins, Orcs, and then the Twilight. Excluding the Twilight Hammer, it seems like a traditional battle between the Horde and the Alliance. One that I would rather avoid. Fighting up north near Gilneas seems more of a fitting battlefield then the Highlands. Slaying undead that would call themselves Lordaeronians. They are not my brothers, the people I grew up with...

Dalikan has the intention of promoting me, eventually to his 'second'. I don't even know how to lead men, or come up with a strategy... How can he expect me to become his second? With Commander Lynch no longer around I am the one that has to fill his space. In the event of Dalikan's death, I am to lead 'them' into battle and victory... I really have no idea where I am going with this anymore...

Besides all that, all I can say is I wish I had stayed out of the wars. Stuck with the Argent Crusade, and helped clear up the rest of the North, not fighting the Horde or fanatical cultists.

It has been quite some time since I have spoken to you in person, and probably an even longer time until I do. All I ask is that when you receive this letter you pester Matthew about marriage, something I have never seen you do. It is his turn to be on the recieving end...

I have little else to say beyond Light's Blessings, and Prayers. This letter is a bit one sided... How is the weather? Or your mother?

I will just end it there...

-Royal