A Child of Noble Birth (Warcraft High Elf SI/OC)

[Midas_Man]

New chapter, Interlude 2 ready for you!


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After five millennia of experience, it could be said that Lector Narsis was living the magister dream. He graduated from Dath'Remar with top honors. He achieved the rank of magister at age one hundred and fifty; the youngest to ever achieve the rank at that time. Was granted the title of Grand Magister by his Majesty, King Teldean Sunstrider. Served the kingdom at said post for a thousand years. Retired at the age of three thousand. Came out of retirement to help teach the first humans magic on the orders of King Anasterian. Then took up his current post, one of four Lectors at Dath'Remar five hundred years ago out of sheer boredom.

Now, he was to take part in observing the yearly practical exam.

He took a long sip from his glass. The sweet wine washed down his throat.

Oh yes, for the next few hours, he, the old bat Lybiota, the goody two shoes Merill, the straight-laced Ferenris, and old Headmaster Kernwood, would be appraising the skills of the final few children who made it this far into the exam.

He took another long sip, emptying the glass. Narsis raised the glass to signal a nearby servant for a refill.

The portal had just opened, and the crowd of children soon followed the proctor.

Many of them look so soft, too plump. Fattened up by a lifetime of ease and comfort. While enjoying comfort was not a crime of itself, it would be hypocritical of him seeing as he had a large mansion, numerous villas across the kingdom, and was not the picture of health himself. But he was rich, old, and powerful. Therefore, he could do whatever he wanted.

These children had yet to prove themselves, yet they walk about as if the world owes them something. They look at Narsis and his compatriots expecting to be applauded for merely existing.

A few children did stand out of the crowd.

He spotted the Emberbirth girl amongst the throngs of people, her white hair making her stand out. She stood tall and walked with conviction, no sign of the frailty or weakness he heard some at court whisper about. There was even a bit of fear in her eyes as she gazed across the stage provided to them. Good, being afraid means your not stupid enough to think you are invincible.

And, of course, the Coldwater heiress with her bright blue shoulder cape that all Coldwaters seemed predisposed to wear at all times. While she seemed to tick all of the negative traits he had seen in many of the other children, she differed in that she was powerful. Narsis refused to believe the Lord and Lady Coldwater would allow the family name to be insulted by poor showing from the house's heiress. Time would tell if her confidence was a warranted, or a flaw.

Out of all of them, there was one last child that caught his eye. Young girl. Blonde. Her robes were decent enough. She was terrible at hiding her expressions, eyes wide at the chamber's surroundings. To be fair, she wasn't the only one. But whereas the other children looked to the balcony where he and the other lectors were seated, she did not. No, her gaze shifted to the far end of the chamber. Head tilted to the side, as if trying to see something.

He had no doubt she was looking directly at the royal booth; obstructed from sight by enchantments and spell work.

Whether she could actually see the booth or if she merely noticed the enchantments he couldn't say. The spells were quite intricate. But they did not make the booth invisible, merely hid it from common sight.

No need to get the children nervous about who was watching them.

Speaking of children, he chuckled to himself. Lector Narsis pooled mana into his eyes to peer into the booth. Yes the royal booth was packed to the brim with such people.

And such individuals they were! All the choreography. All the set up. Hell, just listening to the damn roll call before they raised the illusion made him want to drink himself under the proverbial table.

His excellency, Lord so and so, master of the arcane and whatever magical talent he actually had. Following him was her ladyship, Magistrix something or other, mistress of some plot of land no one has ever heard of at the edge of the kingdom. After her was his lordship, Magister something something, master of something. He was sure it was something; if the length of the introduction was anything to go by.

Naris couldn't even bring himself to pretend he heard much after the first dozen or so.

And don't even get him started on that circus called seating!

The seating arrangements looked closer to a game of dancing chairs than a layout with any rational sense. All posturing. All about being so closer or so far away. This lord did not want to be seen sitting before his rival at court. Another lord and lady must be seated close to one another, but never more than a foot near each other. There were two families that hated one another, so the servants put them at opposing ends. Another set of families kept up the veneer of civility, but only if they are both seated equidistant to a third family they are both courting and have line of sight on one another at all times. Who knows what they would do if they lost sight for even a second!

Of course this is before they actually started talking!

The faux passes. The snide remarks. My great grandfather did this. My ancestor did that. My child is better than your child! Ughh. If he wanted to sit down for the better part of the morning and listen to parents preen about their children in passive aggressive jabs aimed at one another he'd just have an open house for his students' parents.

At the center of it all, of course, was his majesty, King Anasterian. Surrounded by only his closest courtiers and the royal guards. A single beacon of calm amidst the sea of ravenous vipers.

His majesty has observed every practical exam for the past one thousand years; ever since he allowed the Academy to host the exams in the depths of the royal palace itself. During that first exam, it was just his majesty, her majesty the queen, several close friends, and a handful of royal guards. They didn't even have an illusion to obstruct his majesty from view. Took ages for the exam to actually start, the kids were too nervous to do anything! Afraid they would embarrass themselves before the King. It took an uplifting speech from his majesty to get the exam underway.

Now? Now half the court attends. How times change. From a small gathering of friends, wanting to watch the future of the kingdom, to another battlefield that the court could bicker about.

He downed the last bits of wine his glass held. Noticing his glass empty, he raised it up for a refill. Honestly, Narsis felt embarrassed being in the same social strata as nobility. Oh if only the masses knew just how the rulership actually was! They would riot on principle.

Hell, he'd be glad to help light the first manse on fire!

As old Kernwood began his little introduction, Narsis focused on the three specs of blue amidst the sea of red and gold; foremost amongst them being his Highness, Prince Kael'thas, seated next to his father. Along with his guests from Dalaran, Arch Mage Krasus and another mage he didn't recognize.

This was the first time he had seen his highness in Silvermoon since the end of the Second War. Naturally he was not privy to if the prince had returned home before this. But Narsis was of the opinion that this was the first time in years the wayward prince had stepped foot in Quel'Thalas in its entirety.

And quite the bold return, he mused drinking more of his beloved ambrosia.

He regarded his highness's choice of clothing. Such nuisance in wearing the robes of Dalaran instead of his own royal robes. Why it almost seemed like he was trying to send his father, and the court, a message. But what could it be? The subtlety eluded him.

He chuckled as he drank, half hearing Kerwood finishing his address.

Though, knowing how infantile and sloth some of the nobility have become, maybe it is too subtle. Maybe his highness should be a bit more brazen. Perhaps hanging the Alliance banner above his seat? Or maybe wear a medallion bearing the crest of Lordaeron rather than the serrated sun of Silvermoon upon his person! To ensure the symbolism wasn't ignored or mistaken for something else.

Naris was jesting, of course. He knew, hell everyone knew, his highness was a staunch Internationalist. Which, of course, made him come to blows with his Isolationist father.

It was well known at court that the king and his highness were not on the best of terms as of late. The decision to leave the Alliance was supported by most of the court. Sadly for his majesty, the prince was not amongst them. Officially, the prince resigned from his post as Magister to focus his role as Arch Mage and a member of the Council of Six in full. It was mutual, the courtiers were told.

While Narsis didn't see the falling out in person, his confidants informed him that it was quite loud. Loud and physical.

Less the actions of a royal, and more the actions of a petulant child throwing a tantrum at not getting what they want.

Which of them was he thinking about again? He smiled, keeping the bark of laughter in his throat.

Old Kernwood finished his speech and the first bout began.

Narsis watched the children take their position. He didn't recognize the second name, but Emberbirth? Oh he knew that family well. Hell, he's had the past six generations in his lecture hall at one point in time. He heard that the girl, while beyond brilliant, was frail. Her robes hid it well, but he could tell she was small for her age.

Despite this, as the first of the white hot flames materialized, he knew the match was a foregone conclusion.

As the girl walked off stage, the tell tale sounds of quills scribbling echoed around him. Narisis didn't even know why they were making notes. The girl had passed. Maybe about the boy? He looked at the boy, still shaking as he was examined by the healers. If the boy had simply attempted a counter spell, Naris might have given him a moment of thought.

But as far as he was concerned, the boy had failed. The boy let fear paralyze himself.

Narsis spared a glance to the royal booth. He saw Lord Emberbirth quite exuberant at his sister's victory.

The next series of matches followed a similar trend. One child would overpower the other. Simple, if boring. The only exception to this pattern were the Greatstar twins; knocking each other out. The Lord Greatstar looked torn between embarrassed and enraged. Maybe he was just surprised? Who could say.

When the next applicants were called up, Naris noticed something quite unusual in the royal booth. One of the Prince's guests, the younger one, Sunreaver or Sunflare he couldn't remember, brought the prince's attention to the match. His highness motioned to the Coldwater heiress. The young man, the name is on the tip of his tongue, shook his head, pointing to the other girl.

He regarded the girl, quickly realizing that it was the same one from earlier. The one who noticed the royal booth were all the other children seemed obvious to it. What a coincidence.

He raised his glass for a refill once more. He could feel the wine being poured as the match started.

Both launched a flurry of spells at each other. Coldwater's frostbolt withstood the underpowered arcane spells launched by, he regarded the list for the other's name, Dawnguard. The girl then leapt to the ground and suffered repeated frostbolt hits as she tried to stand up.

A poor initial showing, he mused. Then again, the Coldwater girl is no better. He watched as the Coldwater girl began to go on a tangent about her family. For someone so small, her high pitched voice certainly carried.

He was prepared to write the Kirin Tor's interest in the girl off, but then things got interesting. The Dawnguard girl, on her feet again, renewed her assault. More arcane spells. But when Coldwater tried to counter, the orbs swung around the oncoming frostbolt and struck true. Or as true as a blow could be when met with an arcane barrier. After a series of more orbs, Dawnguard arced one above the arena, striking Coldwater in the back.

Ah, now he can see the interest in the girl.

Coldwater seemingly did not take this blow well. She began to conjure water and snap freeze it. Using the icicles as spears to skewer Dawnguard.

If Narsis had not been a mage, he might have been impressed by the display. But he knew better.

For all her apparent skill, all her gloating and impressing the importance of her family's legacy and her place as its heiress, she cannot conjure ice directly. She needed to first conjure water, then freeze it. While it had the same result as simply conjuring ice, it was more mana intensive. It also showed she was not as skilled with Frost magic as she was with Hydromancy.

The soft scribbling around him showed he was not the only one who reached that conclusion.

Most magical fights, ignoring outside interference or assistance, were decided within the first minute of being fought. One who lost momentum did not tend to recover it. With Dawngaurd's teleporting and rear assaults', the proverbial pendulum has swung.

If the duel continued as it was, with its current tempo, Dawnguard would be the victor from simply outlasting Coldwater. He see, and feel, the difference in mana pool's between the two; even from where he was sitting. Dawnguard was a brilliant hearth when compared to Coldwater's middling candle.

Then Coldwater did something beyond stupid. She used her frost magic to conjure a small blizzard to momentarily blind Dawnguard and then began to summon a water elemental. The girl was already nearing the limit of her mana pool, yet now was when she uses a mana intensive spell?

With Coldwater already showing signs of mana exhaustion before this excessive display of magic, and Dawnguard looking positively radiant if a bit roughed up, Narisis was confident with his assessment of their capabilities to call the match now. For goodness sake, Coldwater was coughing up a storm and looked ready to fall over dead.

All Dawnguard had to do was just last the next thirty or so seconds and wait for Coldwater to collapse under her own weight.

The elemental charged, the girl blew it apart.

It reformed, she blinked backwards.

It charged again, Dawnguard boiled it away with a cone of fire.

Quite a bright display. Coldwater tried to summon another elemental, but it was over. She could barely breathe let alone summon another elemental. The Proctor seemingly agreed with Narisis's opinion, as he called the match in Dawnguard's favor.

Looking over to the royal booth, he just caught a glimpse of a noble leaving the seating area in quite the hurry. Lord Coldwater perhaps? Other nobles and court officials seemingly whispered and talked amongst themselves; eyeing the girls in the arena. His Highness, Arch Mage Krasus, and Sun-somthing, talked amongst themselves. The young man was quite pleased with the results of the bout; along with his Highness. Krasus looked at the girl with an expression Narsis could not really explain. Surprise? Confusion? Worry? It was hard to tell with how well the man concealed his emotions.

Then Coldwater did as all children do, she threw a tantrum that she lost. The girl coughed and wheezed anger and spite. She even tried to summon an elemental again as she shook like a reed in the wind!

This had gone on long enough.

The Headmaster agreed. He was on his feet before Narsis even noticed.

"Miss Coldwater," Magic amplified the wizened elf's voice across the amphitheater. The girl tried to look up, but she failed. "Your objection has been noted. Please return to your seat. If you require a healer, please indicate such."

The girl realized it was over. Finally.

It was only after the girls had walked off the stage, making room for the next applicants, that Narsis realized he hadn't taken a single sip of wine the whole match.

Quite unusual, Narsis thought as he brought the glass to his lips.

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"Failed."

"Failed"

"Failed."

"A unanimous vote then," papers shuffled across the table. "Mr. Silver-Wreath will not be admitted," a thundering stamp sealed the decision. stamped the document.

The room was spacious, yet the table they sat at was quite small. It was littered with scrolls and packets of paper arranged into two piles: the accepted pile, and the failed pile. A series of windows brought fresh light into the chamber. Crystals and gems floated about, providing more light if needed. Servants hovered around the table, holding trays of snacks and pitchers of wine.

'Boy has some potential as a mage,' Narsis mused to himself. 'But he will not achieve such a rank at the Academy.'

Following the matches, the Lectors and Headmaster had retreated to a chamber to discuss the results of the bouts. Less a strict criteria of right or wrong, and more an analysis of actions. A student could lose their match yet still be admitted, as in the case with the Greatstar twins. However, with how the process was going this year, losing the match was tantamount to failing.

They had been at it for hours. One by one, the professors went over the remaining applicants.

"Next up, Applicant Sixty-Nine, Miss Venara Coldwater," the headmaster leafed through the next packet of papers. "Recommended by Magister Heren Coldwater. Scored above average in the pre-examination, above average in the general written examination, positive marks from her meeting," he listed off the essentials of her scores. "Overall, a qualified student."

"Perhaps academically, but her personality leaves much to be desired," Lector Mirell noted. She was voicing what they all were thinking.

"She is just a child Mirell," Lector Lybiota countered. "Personality traits such as that can be worked on over the years."

Of course you would say that, Narsis rolled his eyes. 'After all, which family paid for your new country villa?'

"Such things should have been worked on at home already," Lector Ferenris challenged Lybiota, knowing just why the old bat was going easy on Coldwater. "We are an academy not a daycare," he was addressing the headmaster now. "We should not have to educate our charges on simple matters such as biting their tongues. This is something her parents should have already instilled in her."

"We are talking about the Coldwaters," Merill reminds them. The Lord and Lady Coldwater's were very powerful figures at court. Every party. Every ball. Every gala. The Coldwater's were in attendece. While this poltical activty allowed them to entrench themselves as a powerful duo at court, it was equally well know that the Lord and Lady had quite the 'ego' to themselves. Naris has no doubt that the behavior the Coldwater girl displayed was taught rather than simply observed. So long as the girl kept up with her studies, he doubted her parents would correct any behavioral trait that did not directly impact them at court.

She wasn't a daughter to them, she was a another thing to lord over their rivals.

"That may be, but she is still just a-"

"Can we just call the vote now," Narsis cut Lybiota off. The girl's entry was a foregone conclusion. The Coldwater's could be quite aggressive, when they wanted something to happen. Especially if something could negatively effect their image at court. Such as, for example, the heiress to the family failing to achieve what every Coldwater for the last six thousand years has achieved.

For perspective, the last courtier who tried to bring down the Coldwaters, by questioning their honor and integrity before the whole court, was found dead within a day.

It was ruled an accident by the guards.

How a man can 'accidently' break his own legs with a warhammer before dragging himself half a mile out of the city to hang himself was not questioned by said authorities. The city guard had more important things to worry about that day it seemed; such as discovering how their coin purses suddenly became so heavy.

What would they do if their heir didn't go to the Academy?

They could never challenge any of the Lectors or the Headmaster openly, they had the direct patronage of the King himself. But they could make their lives difficult. Not counting what they could do to their relatives and loved ones.

Lybiota seemed to smile for the briefest of moments. She turned to the headmaster, "I agree with Narsis's suggestion."

"Very well then," Kernwood put the packet down, "Lectors, if you will."

"Pass," Lybiota was the first to respond.

"Pass," Narsis followed.

Ferenris and Merill looked at each other.

"Pass."

"Pass."

"A unanimous vote," the headmaster stamped Coldwater's packet, "Miss Coldwater will be joining our academy. It would also appear that our homes are quite safe for the near future." Kernwood gave a light hearted chuckle.

'Who could have seen that coming?' Narsis mused the result.

Kernwood picked up the next packet, "now then, on to Applicant Thirteen, Syllia Dawnguard."

Narsis perked up at the name.

"Recommended by Magister Firebrook," the old man made a face before looking over the next part. "Perfect score on the pre-entrance examination. Average score on the general examination. Perfect marks from her written examination. Perfect marks, again, on her meeting."

Something seemed off. No one gets a perfect score on any aspect of the exam. How does a child even get a "perfect" score?

"If I may," Merill reached out, taking the packet from Kernwood. She flipped through each page. Her eyes running over each line.

"It's simply not possible for anyone, let alone a child, to get a perfect score on any part of this exam," Lybiota spoke up.

"I haven't found any question not properly marked," Merill closed the packet. "Her handwriting is rough, but not the worst I have seen." She passed the packet along to Lybiota.

"What did she write about for her essay," Ferenris asked.

"The Guribashi-Stormwind War and an analysis on the interconnectivity between forms of magic."

"And?"

"And it was a nice, if brief, read," Merill remarked. "Her analysis on magic and its interaction is a bit overly simplistic. But it is still a good base to work off of. I'm tempted to use her diagram in my junior classes when we begin our lectures on magical sources next semester."

"Are we sure she didn't have any outside help?" Lybiota questioned, finishing the packet herself, she passed it to Narsis.

"If she did, it seemingly wasn't caught," Narsis responded as he fingered through the pages. Like the others had said, handwriting was atrocious, but the substance was sound.

Honestly, if the girl was able to somehow get all the answers to her questions, write in without being noticed, then somehow convince the professor that met her to give her a near perfect score on everything else, he'd allow her into Dath'Remar on that alone.

It was easy to forget that while other academies trained mages, Dath'Remar trains magisters. And magisters are not merely mages. They are the clerks who manage the various offices of state. They are the mayors, viceroys, and governors of the kingdom. They council the king in times of peace, and lead his armies in times of war. Outside of the King, Magisters are the sole authority in Quel'Thalas. Only the Farstriders are outside their purview; and even then it is because they take orders only from the King himself.

Magisters must be as political as they are academic in nature. A magister does not remain a magister for long if they do not sufficiently meet these two criteria.

He passed the packet onto Ferenris.

None could deny her practical skills. They all saw her performance against Coldwater. Dawnguard was clumsy. Had a limited training if her performance was any indication. Her spells were underpowered in many areas. Her teleporting was inaccurate. But she did beat a child who has trained the better part of their life. And then showed humility where others would demonstrate vainglory; catching the Coldwater girl and helping her to her seat.

The question of her written grades had only two plausible answers.

First, she cheated on her exams. Bribing, or somehow rigging, her way through the written portion; including her face to face meeting. Somehow managing what no other student in millennia has achieved, and only is getting caught because she was too good and the results were too perfect. In which case, Narsis would vote in favor of her to help train this talent into something useful.

Second, this is genuine and she is a genius beyond anything seen in the kingdom's history. In which case, the answer is still the same: accept her to help train her talents.

"What was this note here," Ferenris brought up. He flipped to a page and placed it in the center of the table.

"What note?" Merill questioned.

Narsis wondered that too, the page Ferenris brought up was blank- Oh, now he saw it.

Merill and Lybiota noticed it as well.

There were tell tale signs of magic being used to remove ink on the page. An alchemical solution. Drops smeared against the page to remove any trace of ink, while also applying a magical effect to make reconstructing what was written impossible by magical means.

"Ah that," Kernwood spoke up. "It was a mistake by one of the librarians. She thought she observed something wrong with Miss. Dawnguard. She told me about it soon after, and I told her not to worry. I applied the solution to wipe off the comments so as to not let them distract from her scores."

'But why make it nearly impossible to even notice there was a note and why use that solution in particular?' Narsis questioned. Naturally he didn't say it aloud.

It wasn't the fact that Kernwood erased a note that had him suspicious, just a couple of packets ago half a page was whited out by the headmaster due to "offensive drawings and inappropriate language" being written by an applicant frustrated by the difficulty of the exam.

But this solution was not a simple white out. This was used by clerks to destroy and dispose of official documents with sensitive information in such a way as to make inferring anything written prior impossible. Why use such powerful ink on a 'note' from a librarian?

If anyone else questioned this line of thought, they did not show or voice it.

"Well then, shall we call the vote?" Kernwood quipped.

"Pass," Merill spoke up first.

"Pass," Ferenris followed soon after.

"Fail," Lybiota broke from the rest. "I refuse to believe that this girl did not commit foul play."

'Of course, that's what it's called when you need an excuse to fail a student that made a fool out of the house giving generous donations to you?' Narsis snickered.

All eyes were on him.

"Pass," Narsis responded.

The headmaster smiled, "majority rules then, Miss Dawnguard shall be admitted into the Academy." He placed the packet in the accept pile before pulling out the next one.

First the girl see's through the illusions blocking out the royal booth. Then he learns she is the same girl who got near perfect scores on her exams. A note was blotted out by the Headmaster with ink used to destroy sensitive documents. Then mages of the Kirin Tor are interested in her. Narsis could tell when something was up. He would keep an eye on that one, Syllia Dawnguard. Seemed like she was involved, knowingly or otherwise, in something that involved many powerful people.

And the night dragged on, but thankfully, the wine kept flowing.

What else could a man ask for?

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My isn't politics a funny thing.

Next chapter may have a bit of a delay because I have FINALLY exhausted my backlog of chapters. Yes these 10 chapters were my backlog! New chapters should be coming out soon; but it'll probably be a few days.

 

[Midas_Man]

Next chapter ready to go!


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Pain was the only thing I felt in the black, cold, void.

Pain that ripped through my very being. Knives that danced across my skin, and picks that drove into my skull.

The drumming pressure on my eardrums reached a breaking point.

"So this is all it takes?"

I was vaguely aware of the voice. It sounded like a woman- no a girl's voice. Young if the pitch was right. Not in the sense that I could 'see' it, something was blocking my sight, but I didn't feel anything 'over' my eyes.

I was submerged ankle deep in freezing water. Aimlessly walking around trying to find something beyond the darkness.

Wait, how did I get here-

"It's kind of pathetic actually."

I whipped myself around in the direction of the voice. It was everywhere. All around me. Yet as I reached and clawed about, my hands met nothing.

And the pain...

"I expected more from us."

Us?

"I mean, think about it! A second chance! A fantasy world. A fantasy world that we KNOW about! Knowledge about very important things that will happen in the future! And what do we do with it? Nothing!"

"Fuck you!" I screamed, flailing at the open, cold air.

"No, I mean it. We have done Nothing! We've just floundered about for a good decade! Sitting on our hands, Waiting for Arthas's stop over at Silvermoon! "Oh yes please Mr. Death Knight. Please take my soul. It's not like we're doing anything with it!"

This girl was getting on my nerves; that cutesy voice of her's was really not helping my headache.

I tried to summon my magic to blast apart everything around me, but nothing happened.

"Yeah I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Fuck you!" I tried to channel more mana. Nothing. Not in the sense my spell failed, but that there was no mana either within me or around me.

"Look, this was funny for the first twenty minutes or so," the voice went on. "But after that? Well, you know; definition of insanity and all that."

Annoyed, I turned my head to the last direction I heard her voice. "Look I don't know who you are, or what you want. But when I get out of here I'm going to-"

I never finished my threat, her laughter silenced my defiance.

She laughed and laughed. It sounded like she was having trouble breathing; hiccups soon followed. Then a big splash. She must have been laughing so hard that she lost her balance and fell into the shallow water.

"'Get out'," she seemed beside herself. Giggles and hiccups interrupted her speech. "The hell are you talking about? You've always been here! I've always been here! We've never been anywhere else!"

"I think I would remember a place like this and a crazy bitch like you."

Her giggled subsided at my statement. A short hum was followed by the sound of her standing up.

"You're the crazy one for being so stubborn," her voice was not condescending like earlier. It sounded almost caring. And right over my shoulder. As in, her head is right next to my ear. Come to think of it, she smelled like salt water...

"How am I stubborn for being pissed off at being trapped down in some cellar in half a foot of cold water." I spat back.

Again, she giggled, "a cellar? Oh goodness me; that's where you think we are? You know what, here." I felt a pair of cold hands cup my eye sockets.

"Let me help you see."

Her hands pulled away and I saw her.

It was a young girl in a black dress. An Elf. Pointy ears. Pitch black hair. Ghostly pale skin marked with strange red markings that circled her neck. But the thing that spooked me the most was her eyes.

The whites of her eyes were pitch black, and the eye color itself was blazing red. Like two hot coals that glowed with unnatural light.

I knew who this was.

Or, more accurately, I saw this face everyday when I looked into a mirror…..

The eldritch doppelganger smiled, "Now do you See?"

-----
-----

My whole body jerked awake. My breathing is haggard. I was shaking in a cold sweat. Taking some deep breaths, my eyes adjusted to the morning light streaming into my room.

'It's getting worse,' I solemnly noted.

Before, it was just the occasional dream. Then I stopped recalling said nightmares altogether for a time. The after effects of them were still felt. Cold sweat, heavy breathing, and a heartbeat so high that I feared it would burst from my chest being chief amongst them.

Then I started enduring waking hallucinations. The sky turns black at midday. Shadowy figures stalking me just out of sight. Weird gurgling noises when I was alone. The scariest one was when all the stars in the night sky turned into innumerable orange eyes.

Yeah, it was mind fucky.

But this….This was different. Somehow more horrifying. That oversized Cultulu rip off was wearing my face, and using my body, to torment me now.

I casually look up to find a cluster of blackened, dead, wood charms hanging on my headboard. From rosy red wooden charms when I went to sleep, to dead and blackened when I woke up. Oh yes, these dream charms did do something. But that something was the equivalent of trying to extinguish a volcano with a single bucket of water. In this case, a handful of buckets.

'I probably need more than just a simple charm for something like this, even a bunch of them tied together' I mused. I'll tell Cerra it worked, of course. But I think I'm going to have to start looking into my own wards against Old God fuckery.

I shivered at the recollection of 'its' face.

'Sooner rather than later.'

I knew that my mind was still my own for now. But how long would that last?

Out of my bed, I headed to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. As droplets ran down my face, tracing and curling around my facial features. I started looking at my own reflection. Something just clicked in my head.

A realization.

A realization of my own inhumanity.

Not in the "I'm a monster" sort of way. But in the genuine "I am no longer human" sense.

Yes, almost twelve years on and I only just realized I'm no longer human. How smart of me!

Joking aside, my realization is coming from the least likely source. A physical feature, but not one I should cause such a realization in me. Not my pointy ears. Nor my glowing blue eyes. Hell, it wasn't even the fact that I was a girl or that I could cast magic!

No. It was my eyebrows.

By human standards, they are far too long; jutting off the actual brow by the length of a fingernail.

By High Elven standards, as Mom assures me, they are just right for someone my age.

Objectively, this should be the least worrying part of my new physiology. The fact that I'm potentially going to live centuries, at least, or that if the Sunwell is destroyed in a near future I have the very real possibility of turning into a living equivalent of a raisin without an ample supply of mana. The raisin part assumes that I don't lose my mind before then because of this eldritch bullshit I have to deal with or from the mental degradation caused by a lack of mana.

No. Its the fucking eyebrows.

Sighing to myself, I used a towel to dry my face.

A nock rapped on the bathroom door.

"Hurry up sweetie!" It was Mom. "You need to eat something before heading off!"

"Okay," I responded.

Ah yes. School. I grimace.

When I first heard about a "magic school" in this new life, I admit that the first thing I thought of was Harry Potter's Hogwarts. A magical place, with magical people, teaching magical things. A place where the fantastical was mundane.

I remember when the acceptance letter came in mail I was over the moon! Books, uniforms, a training wand. It was almost too good to be true. Didn't even sleep that night. I was just so excited to learn something like magic.

I couldn't wait for it to start!

However, six months on, and now the 'honeymoon' period has worn off. I realized something, I was so focused on the "magic" part that I ignored the second, more crucial part: the "school" in magic school.

Now I "like" school as much as the next person. Some subjects more than others, but overall I consider myself quite the educated individual. Add in my knowledge from my first life, and I assumed that anything the Academy could throw at me I could easily finish with my "prodigal" intelligence.

How hard could it be for my graduate school mind?

Oh, how naïve I was.

---

"Careful Miss. Dawnguard! Concentrate!"

"I am sir!"

At first, I didn't know what to think when I heard that my Fire magic teacher wasn't actually a fire mage but a frost mage. Seemed counter productive to me. Why have a teacher who is teaching the literal, opposite of their chosen field?

Kind of obvious in hindsight.

He wasn't a fire mage instructor. He was a frost mage who was teaching students the basics of fire magic. The basics all mages have to learn at some point. If, or more likely when, something goes out of control he can put it out.

This particular class, Basics of Casting, was a hybrid indoor/outdoor class. Indoors, it was like any other class room at this place; gaudy, immaculate, and filled with way too many valuables. This is where the theoretical part of the class takes place.

Outside is where the real class begins. We have our own little area set up for 'practice'. The immediate area is warded so spells would not pass outside the area. It was also bereft of foliage of any kind; no trees, bushes, grass, etcetera. Instead, the area was made up predominantly of smooth red stones. The layout makes sense to me. Kids learning to bed the very fabric of reality to their wills will, inevitably, lead to something going wrong at least once. Don't want to burn or wreck all that fancy stuff inside now do we?

Currently, I was trying, and failing, to keep a ring of fire levitating around me. It was a thin icicle of yellow flames; the embers dancing just below my elbows. The sensation of keeping it up wasn't any different from what I was used to with arcane magic. It's oily, it's slippery, and you need to keep an eye on it at all times.

So why was I struggling?

I jerked in place as the fire licked a little too close to my elbow for comfort. That miniscule distraction was all that was needed to have the flames destabilize and whip about. The whipping flames only made me more nervous I would burn myself, causing me to lose even more control. And so on.

Just as my flames were about to slip out of my control, I felt a stream of foreign mana inject itself into my flames. The fire immediately calmed before vanishing.

The professor sighed, "why don't you rest for the rest of class Miss. Dawnguard."

I nodded, "yes sir." Walking off to the side, I noticed that everyone else had moved onto the final step of the practice.

I was still struggling at the starting line.

As I watched the students complete the last part, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned to see Elsia, a small book in hand that I recognized to be one of our reading assignments. She had been excused from doing the exercise on account of her being an already prodigal fire mage. So she spent her time across the way, treating the class more as an additional study hall for the duration of our work on basic fire magic.

She just stood there for a moment, seemingly unsure of what to say. Eyes glance between me and the other kids. "You burned yourself before."

"What," I was caught off guard by the statement.

"I was asking if you-"

"No, I heard you. Just came out of nowhere is all" I clarified. "But you're right though, I did burn myself. Was practicing a fireball, didn't shield my hand." I wiggled the offending limp.

She mulled over what I told her, "you keep flinching when the flames get too close to you. You're worried that the flames are going to burn you, that you start to pull too much attention away from maintaining the mana flow and worry about being burned. It only makes sense that you were burned at some point, and are afraid of it happening again."

"Shouldn't I be afraid of getting burned?" I knew I was sounding a bit defensive, but I was just frustrated at it all.

Eslia didn't seem to take offense. "You do remember that our robes are enchanted to resist most basic spells, including open flames, correct?"

I didn't say anything, merely nodding; ashamed that I had been forgetting.

"You should always be concerned about getting burned," she continued. "But you need to be aware enough that the robes are enchanted to never let you get burned."

"But," I searched for the right words. "No one else is having any issues," I gestured to the other students. The flames were whipping around them. Floating about. Circling. None of them seemed to have any fear about them.

"That's because they don't realize how dangerous fire is."

I shot Elsia a look, "they don't?"

"Correct," she nodded pointing to them. "See how even when the flames touch their robes they don't show a hint of fear?"

"Yeah," Now that she mentioned it. They didn't seem all that concerned about the fire touching their robes, or even getting close to their faces.

"That means they don't understand what fire can do to them."

What? "But you were just saying-"

"That the robes are enchanted, yes. But their attitude with fire shows how they don't really understand how badly fire can hurt." Looking back to me, she pulled the collar of her robe done, exposing her collar bone. "My first burn happened right here; embers jumped out of my fire and seared through my clothing."

"First- Wait, you don't wear fireproof stuff when training?"

She shook her head solemnly. "Of course. But I was playing around in my bedroom at the time. And I was six. It was my first time trying the spell unsupervised. Luckily nothing caught fire that time."

Oh boy. "That time?"

She gave me a sheepish smile. She pulled the sleeve of her robe up, showing me her bare arm. "Second time happened when I was eight. I put too much heat into a fire spell that blew a gust of hot air at me. Raised my arms up to cover my face. The hot air blew my sleeve up enough for the fire to burn my whole arm."

Before I could respond, she tapped her bare knuckles.

"My most recent burn was here; a week before the exams to specific. I shielded my hand properly, but the flames licked between my fingers. Everything healed alright, but my hand twitched for the rest of the day."

"You need to stop playing around with fire," I mumbled.

She looked me in the eye, "each mistake I make, each burn I get, makes me all the more aware of what to do and, more importantly, what not to do. How far can I push myself, and where do I need to draw a line."

I didn't know what to say. What does someone say to that?

"I know everyone learns differently," she began. "What works for me might not work for you."

"But.." I led her on.

"But," she continued. "Just be aware of your situation: you're wearing a fireproof robe, you're close to a frost mage, and no matter what burn you might receive the Academy's healers can fix nearly any reasonable injury you might sustain here."

I get what she's trying to do. A good old pep talk. "You can do it!" "I believe in you!" "Don't give up!" Objectively speaking she's right. The Academy is probably the safest place to learn fire magic.

That being said; saying if you get burned, don't worry, there are healers on standby is not really all that reassuring to me.

My expression must have been as clear as day, since she gave me another sheepish smile, "I'm...I'm not very good at this am I?"

"It's the thought that counts," I ignored the implication of the question.

"Is it really?" she questioned.

Before I could answer her, I heard the professor call us over, "Dawnguard! Emberbirth! We're going back in!"

"Yes sir!" I called back. I turned back to Elsia, giving her a quick hug "But thanks. I mean it. I can work through this. But it'll just take me some time."

She blinked like an owl from my short embrace, "I could-" she cleared her throat. "I mean, I could show you a few tricks I learned to help you get comfortable around fire."

Actually, that probably would be a really good thing. Prodigal pyromancer helping out middling fire starter.

I beamed a smile at her, "sure!"

Thinking back, it was probably a good thing the professor called the class back in; it looked like the heat of the summer day was starting to get to Elsia. Her face was getting a little red. Today did seem a bit warm to be honest; even I was starting to feel the heat myself. Though, it's probably wrong of me to poke fun at the fire mage who is uncomfortable under the hot sun. Being proficient at fire magic has nothing to do with tolerance for heat, just ability to use fire.

I hope she drinks some cool water when we get back in.

---

Following 'Basics of Casting' was a study hall.

I was secluded in a small alcove of the elaborate library, sitting in a comfy sofa chair along a bright red wooden desk with parchment and writing utensils laid out. What I groaned into my readings.

Yes, readings. Plural. Each professor assigned readings that needed to be done within a certain amount of time. Nothing unusual for anyone that goes to school. The catch is the reading material itself.

Twenty pages of "Mystical Analytics for Beginners". An incredibly dry text detailing the basics of mana regulation, sealing, and challenging from a theoretical perspective.

Ten pages from "Madam Teri's Grimoire: Volume 1". This one is basically an old Lady complaining about the youth and their lack of drive for one hundred and twenty pages. The current chapter is on how lazy they are.

Six pages from "Alchemy: a Primer". A somewhat interesting book about alchemy.

And finally, another ten pages from "The Meditations of Grand Magister Orak". From what I read so far, this guy is basically High Elf Marcus Aurelius'; a philosopher of sorts who wrote a book on how to be a ruler.

With exception to "The Meditations", each was dry to the bone. Getting through them was a slog.

Honestly, if it was just the books, I would be fine. I've been getting by so far by just skimming some of the historical stuff and filling in the blanks based on what I hear other people say.

The problem is the writing assignments that come along with the readings.

Now, I was used to having a lot of reading and writing from my first life. I'd like to think I was really good at it. One case I remember quite well, for the worst reasons, was working on a twenty four page essay on the Flensburg Government for my graduate degree in Political Science. A paper meant to be worked on over the course of two months was squished into a period of two weeks. I asked my professor at the time why she pushed it up so much.

The answer was, essentially, because "fuck you".

Ughh. Just remembering that makes my fingers hurt.

Now though? Now I have to write a short summary of what was read for each reading. Not that big a deal objectively speaking. Two, maybe three, paragraphs in length and I'm good. Not even a whole page. Maybe three quarters at most.

So what was my problem?

Well...

"That's wrong," Coldwater snapped at me, snatching my paper from me and began to scribble corrections on it.

Ah yes, Venara Coldwater. My 'study partner'. I feel the word 'acquaintance' is a bit too distant to refer to our relationship. But I certainly wouldn't call her a friend. She's abrasive and prickly at the best of times. Carries herself as if every person she passes should thank her for the honor of being in her presence for even a moment. A staunch classist if her comments on the various staff is anything to go by. And, to top it all off, she is one of the most proud and spiteful people I have ever met.

On the first day of classes, a boy tripped her along the walkways outside; right in front of the main gate. I'm not sure if it was intentional or not because I didn't see it, but it doesn't really matter in hindsight. Her response to him? Yell at him? Threatened to tattle on him? Of course not!

Her response was to blast him with a stream of conjured water and snap freeze it so he was stuck on the ground. Such a 'measured' response. And of course nothing happened to her because of it.

How do I know that last bit? Because she told me about when she sat down next to me the next day.

Yes. The girl who is so aggressive that she thinks freezing a kid who may or may not have tripped her is a proportional response, decided to sit next to me in every class we have together; the kid who beat her in an actual fight.

The only warning I had the first day was her backpack slamming down next to me. She had this scowl on her face as she took the desk next to mine. I genuinely thought she was going to cause a scene. But she just starts talking; more venting than anything else to be honest.

Since then, she's stuck to me like glue. Every class we have, she darts over to where I am sitting. Every lunch hour, she zeroes in wherever I am. And study hall? Well...

Across from me, I heard her mutter to herself. Scribbling fiercely on my paper, occasionally shooting me a look before looking back down. All the while muttering to herself. When she was satisfied with her word, she slid it back to me, "Orak was the third Grand Magister, not the thirtieth."

Grumbling, I looked at her correction, my eyes rolling at her cutesy writing style, "that's what I wrote".

"Really?" Coldwater smiled, leaning across the desk, her hands supporting her head, "a child has cleaner writing than you."

It's not my fault elves are stuck in some medieval stasis and have never invented a pencil in their thousands of years of civilization!

I hate quills! They're brittle; I go through about three or four a day. Ink gets everywhere. Every time I scribble in a certain way, there's the chance of me ripping the parchment. And the way I had to hold it made my handwriting look like a child just learning how to write for the first time.

For a so called 'advanced' society, they seemingly have no concept of a fucking pen.

Just give me a pencil for God's sake!

"Look I have a hard time writing okay," I countered.

All she did was shake her head and give an exaggerated sigh, "standards here have obviously slipped in recent years if something like this was considered acceptable."

I frowned, "you know you come off as arrogant right?"

She huffed, "Is it wrong for me to be proud of my own intelligence?"

I groaned in frustration. It seems like she doesn't even like me. So why was she constantly following me around if that is the case! Was this some kind of unspoken nobility thing? I defeat her so she has to put up with me. Hell, I've seen her utterly ignore the very existence of some people for far less sass then I give her! Like not using her name with enough respect. Honestly, what the hell does that even mean?

If she dislikes me, then I ask again, why does she follow me around?

"You're one to talk, Venara," I said softly; but importantly not in Thalessian.

Coldwater cocked her head and frowned; eyes wide as an owl's. "What was that?"

I hummed, "what was what?"

"What did you just say?" she demanded.

"Oh that," I looked up. "I was just practicing my Common. I'm very proud of my skill in it."

Her expression soured

Yes, Verena Coldwater, the self proclaimed greatest mage of our generation, whose knowledge of the arcane is second to none, is horrible at foreign language. She could barely speak Common, let alone write in it! And when the professor did force her to speak, it was broken, harsh, with sounds so overemphasized that her speech had all the melody of nails being dragged on a chalkboard to me.

Maybe I was being a bit harsh. Technically speaking, I am a 'native' Common speaker; since Common is literally the same as English. Despite immersing myself in both reading and writing Thalessian for the past years, I could still speak and write in perfect English. Got applauded for it too! Our foreign language professor says I have the best grasp of Common that he has seen in over five hundred years.

Actually, it's ironic. In my first life, I was terrible at other languages. Only knew English. Now, I'm a language 'prodigy'.

She took my jab with all the grace I expected of her.

"Hey! It's not my fault that humans have a stupid language! They sound like cavemen with all the grunting and moaning! Don't even get me started on the writing!" Oh Coldwater, I think you've already started. Everyone in the local area is now shooting glances at her. "I can barely read that birdscribble they call the written word! I-"

She jumped a bit as a librarian shushed her quite loudly. Coldwater sunk into her seat, a flash of embarrassment clear on her face as she became all too aware of how many eyes were now on her.

We sat for a minute in silence. I returned to my writings.

"Honestly," she started up again, looking around to see if she was still being watched. Thankfully minding her tone this time, "reading it is almost as bad as reading your handwriting."

I won't tell her that I take that as a compliment.

---

"You have all made considerable progress these past six months," the elderly looking man told us from his podium. This was a break from our regular schedule. Usually, we had Enchanting class after lunch but instead of Professor Lightlens, this older guy came in; one Lector Naris. Given the opulence of his robes, and how much jewelry he was wearing, it was obvious he was one of the 'big wigs' of the Academy.

"But now that you are acclimated to the Academy, it is time for you to 'spread your wings'," he chuckled to himself at a joke only he knew. "While the Academy can teach you much, some things are better taught outside our walls." From his podium, he picked up a packet of papers. He jostled the papers before us, "one month ago, the Academy sent out word that we were looking for upstanding individuals of the proper station who were willing to take our new students on as apprentices for the immediate future."

Oh, that.

Firebrook told me about this. This was basically an internship program in the simplest terms. Basically, the Academy looks around for people to take on a student part time. It gives kids a bit of an outside experience. It lets them see how the world 'actually' works. Some hands on, real world, applications of intelligence and magic. It can even help you set up personal connections to people for use in the future. A foot in the door, so to say, for future career options.

Firebrook mentioned he got the memo about this and put his name forward to be my mentor. He also noted that as a relative unknown, he'd probably not have any issue taking me on as his apprentice.

"And so they have responded," the Lector continued. "After providing some amount of information on each of you, you have each been chosen by name by at least one, or more, individuals. Out of these numbers, have chosen the individual we believe is best suited for the role of mentorship. Barring any unfortunate situations," he let the words hang in the air, " you will be apprenticed under them for the duration of your time at the Academy."

An energy of excitement filled the room.

"This does not mean you may slack on your work," he quickly added. "You must learn to balance what your mentor wishes and what the Academy expects of you. Failure to do so can potentially impact your future. Now then," he pulled a single sheet out of order and shuffled it around. Then straightened out the papers against his lectern, "when I call your name, you will come up and I will hand you all the information you will need for your first meeting with your mentor. Which will happen Today."

That got some whispers going on.

Ignoring them, he ran off the names of my class. One by one, the students went up, he had a short word with them, handed them the paper, and they went back to their seats.

I honestly couldn't tell if he was going in alphabetic order or not. Because the names went down as, first Allbright, then Brightstone, then Coldwater, then Emberbirth, then both Greatstars. If he was going athletically, then completely skipped me. By the time he reached Starlight, everyone but myself had gone up.

This was weird.

One paper left, he looked up to the class, "if you have received your instructions already, you are free to go. Dawnguard," he addressed me directly, waving me over. "A moment."

I gave Elsia a look, she nodded and proceeded out with the others. Coldwater lingered a bit, her eyes looking between the Lector and myself, before leaving as well.

Alone, I approached the podium.

"Is something wrong sir," I asked.

The Lector pinched the ridge of his nose, "not from anything you have done, I can assure you." He pulled up the last paper he had, "I suppose you have no idea who this is?"

"It's probably not who I'm thinking it is," I sheepishly responded.

He sighed, "unless you're thinking of someone with ties to the royal family, then no."

The Royal Family! A lot of warning sirens went off in my head.

"I can tell by that expression that you are as lost as we are," Naris began. "The day we released the basic information of yourself and fellow classmates for mentorship, a letter arrived in the post box. Mere hours after we released the information. And said envelope the letter came in was stamped with the Royal Seal."

He waited for me to digest just how big of a thing this is before continuing on. Someone, or someone's, had a particular interest in me.

"In the letter, we were told, in no uncertain terms, that this woman," he tapped the paper, "was to be your mentor."

"Who sent it?" I was genuinely confused. Why would anyone even pay attention to me, let alone know about me?

"Someone who cannot legally be denied in any circumstance within the kingdom," he told me grimly.

Wait. Cannot legally be denied? In an absolute monarchy, only one person has that amount of power. But that mean that would imply that the sender was the-

"I kept you behind to see if you had any indication about all of this," Narsis went on. "But your confusion only raises further questions. I have no idea how you have attracted such attention Dawnguard, but be careful. Having attention is not always a good thing. Remember this one thing if nothing else is retained over the course of your studies. It may seem trivial, but it is by far the most important thing you may ever learn here."

I grimaced at the meaning, and the all too real attention I am worrying about, "I know."

He handed me the paper, folded so I could see what was written on it. Then, he ushered me out.

Outside, I saw both Elsia and, surprisingly, Coldwater waiting down the hall. They looked like they were ignoring the other, but perked up then they saw me.

As I walked to them, I unfolded the paper and scanned it up and down. All that I saw as a single address, somewhere just outside the city limits, and a single name.

Siristra Everflight.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And once again, Firebrook gets apprentice-blocked.

And yes, Coldwater's tsundere fields are at maximum! But it's not like she likes Syllia or anything....

 

[Midas_Man]

Next Chapter Ready to go!


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Everflight's address wasn't that far from the city limits. A half hour walk at most. And it was seemingly a popular area, given that the road was an actual road and not some dirt path.

But this whole situation just rubbed me the wrong way.

First was the fact that someone picked me by name within the hour of being told people could choose children to mentor. Technically speaking, that didn't surprise me all that much. I was expecting Firebrook to snap me up at the first opportunity. But for some woman I never heard of or met to pick me out so quickly? Oh yes. That set off all sorts of red flags in my head.

Add in the fact of how she muscled her way into, basically, reserving me. A seal from the royal family is not just something you can ask for. Even with my 'real world' twenty-first century knowledge of nobility and the like, I can tell that this is beyond unusual. If it was a favor she called in, why waste a favor with the royal family on me? If it wasn't a favor, and the King himself was watching me…

Was I snapped up by name out of nowhere, or was I unknowingly being watched for some reason?

Some reason like someone noticing an Old God's energy….

I really don't know which is worse.

After a good half hour of walking, I reached the address. It wasn't a house, but an estate.

It sat amongst a vast track of cleared land, tended to by a vast array of enchanted gardening tools that floated about. Each going about their tasks without pause. Several buildings made up the large estate. At the center of it was the manor itself; standing five stories tall, with a large balcony on the highest floor. Red and gold stained windows. Clean marble walls with a red tiled roof. Neatly ordered flower beds. Chairs and benches for lounging rested amidst a massive garden in the front.

A large fountain, a stone dragon with ruby eyes shooting water from its mouth, laid before the front doors. I could just make out a large grassy field in the back with some sheds.


Yet, a few things I saw didn't add up. A series of tiny cracks in this, otherwise, picturesque location.

The grounds around the property seemed a bit too unkempt for an estate of this size. In particular, the footpath to the front door seemed to be overgrown with weeds and other greenery. Some bushes looked a little too disorderly for where they were along the path. Half the flower beds had flower petal colors that did not match any theme or reason. While that in and of itself could be the theme, it doesn't add up when the other half is a clear color scheme of red and yellow.

And then there is the property itself. Overall, it was beautiful. But again, some things did not add up; though far less than the grounds around it. Whereas some windows shined brightly in the sun, others were matted in a fine layer of dust. As if they hadn't been cleaned in years. A few windowsills had bits of paint chipped off them from exposure to the elements. Yet the front door shined as if it had been recently painted.

For a house this size, you'd think that the owners would take more care of it.

Strangest of all was how mana seemed to flow around the house.

Unlike most places, where ambient mana would flow around the building's structure, this place looked like the eye of a hurricane. All ambient mana was shunted out of the area surrounding the property.

In particular, there seemed to be a swell of mana by one of the lawn chairs out front. But no matter how much I looked at it, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Something was not right.

Not right at all.

Taking a breath, I crossed the threshold to the main grounds.

Immediately, I was beset by a sense of vertigo. The world around me seemed to tilt back and forth. My body involuntarily shivered. Every hair on my body stood up. Numbness gripped my entire being for the briefest of moments. I barely even noticed my foot coming down.

Then it was over.

I righted myself before I completely lost balance.

My head swiveled in every direction, looking for anything that might have caused whatever the hell that was!

But there was nothing. Not even some faint dividing line in the ground separating the property from the nature around it.

Not wanting to stick around in one spot. I double timed it over to the front door, doing my best to avoid the uneven tiles along the path.

Reaching the door, breathing heavily, I took a moment to compose myself. Clean up my hair. Straighten out my robes. First impressions were important after all.

When I felt I had made myself presentable, I knocked on the door. Eagerly awaiting my first glimpse of my mentor.

No response.

Huffing, I knocked again.

No response.

Frowning, I knocked harder.

Yet again, no response.

I sighed to myself.

Great. Just great.

Frustrated, I uncrumpled the note I got in the envelope with all the other stuff to see if I had misread the address. Not an unwarranted belief given the 'out of sorts' look this place had.

No, it was right.

'Come here immediately' she wrote. 'Time is of the essence'. Couldn't even bother to be here at the time-

"Actually, you are the one who is late."

I gave a startled squeak as I heard a voice behind me.

Turning to the source, I found that one of the reclining chairs in the garden was occupied by an elven woman smiling at me, an open book sat on her lap. Her red hair ran down to her mid back. Everything about her looked like it was sculpted to perfection, from her blemishless pale skin, to her soft facial features, to her perfect figure. All wrapped up in an immaculate muted red dress.

My response to this beautiful goddess? And what was the first impression given to my possible future mentor?

"Ughh."

Eloquent. I know.

She took my stuttering in stride, "technically, you did arrive on time. But that might as well be late. Arriving on time doesn't imply that you are punctual, it tends to send a message that you don't care about the meeting in question. That you're only going to put forth the minimum effort required."

I know I should be listening to her right now. But I know that seat she's in was empty when I got here. Was she-

"But I do apologize for that little bit of deception earlier," she explained. She stood up and strode towards me. "I'm actually pleasantly surprised. You did see me, but you put too much stock in what your eyes saw rather than what you saw."

I'm genuinely unsure of how to act in this situation.

Everflight came to a stop right in front of me. "I was curious to see how alert you are to mana signatures in your immediate area." She gave a sheepish smile, "perhaps it was a bit cruel to pull such a stunt on our first meeting. Though I can't promise not to do something underhanded like that again."

I didn't respond, though I could feel heat rising to my cheeks.

Her hand clapped my shoulder. "Still, you've done better than most." She congratulated me. "Clearly a good sign for the beginning of a wonderful mentorship!"

Her sizable chest was nearly pushing into my face.

Hands cupped my cheeks, she looked me in the eyes. Then a pinch.

"And you're just so cute!"

"I...um," I stutter my words. I attempted to ask something that didn't make me sound like a flush school girl. "So in your letter, it said that you came from Dalaran-"

"Yes I do hail from Dalaran, thank you for asking," she replied before I finished, releasing my cheek from her grasp. "Going back a bit, always assume you have room for improvement. The moment you believe you have no room to improve is the moment your skills will plateau." Siristra cautioned me.

I mean, she's right but-

"But enough of this boring stuff." She pulled me along as she moved towards the front door, "lets get inside and have ourselves a bit of a talk. Just to get to know one another better."

"But-"

"I hope you don't mind the smell of drying paint," she cut off my protest. "I had to start renovating the grounds without the help of the girls. You know, to get some one-on-one time with my cute new apprentice."

The door opened on its own, and I was ushered past the threshold.

The area just beyond the door looked less like a home and more of an establishment. A large counter and desk laid out before a massive stairwell with two other doorways leading in opposing directions. Velvet red drapes and cloth hung from the doorways and windows. True to her word, the whole place smelled of paint. Tarps and sheets laid sprawled across the floor and covered furniture like chairs and lamps.

It looks like a reception area for a hotel or lounge of some kind.

"Wait girls?" I finally registered what she said.

"Oh don't worry about them! You're my only apprentice right now. Some used to be. Some of them are still under my wings so to say, but for a different reason". She happily explained. "They'll be here in a few days to help with the last bits of renovations. For today you have my undivided attention!"

She pushed me past the desks and up the stairs. I heard the door close of its own accord as we walked.

All the while enchanted paint brushes and buckets of a dizzying number of sizes hovered about. The brushes dip into various colored buckets and smear fresh paint onto clearly worn walls and the ceiling. I actually flinched as a glob of wet, gold, paint splashed down in front of me.

"Like I said, watch the paint!"

We moved from staircase to staircase, ascending to the top floor of the building.

I had to ask. "What is this place?"

"Some place I got on the cheap." She explained as if that was all that needed to be said. I watched as a drop of paint bound for her was defected by some kind of barrier. It splashed on contact with it. Her dress was unmarred by paint.

"This is cheap?" I gestured around, particularly to a crystal chandelier being hoisted into place by arcane energies and cleaned by enchanted cloth.

Siristra gave a smug smile, "it only cost about ten thousand gold. So yes, on the cheap!"

"And when I got here it was in ruins." She continued, "the windows were all smashed. The grass overgrown. Weeds everywhere. The pools held water contaminated by green ichor. The greenhouse was covered in dead plants. And that is only the outside. Inside everything that could be wrong was!"

As we ascended, I caught glimpses of what laid in the hallways of each floor we passed.

Portraits of dragons. Lots and lots of dragons. Mostly red colored. They weren't shown as monsters, but rather in a noble light. If the scenes of them descending from clouds or them watering fields of flowers was anything to go by. Even one with them holding a little lamb in it's clawed hands.

"The wood had rotted away. The floors had holes in them. Wallpaper had long peeled off. What little furniture there was here was old and hideous from exposure to the elements. Oh, and let's not forget all the wild animals that made their home here! Rats. Bats. Spiders. An entire pack of wolves on the first floor! And that is just this building. I'll spare you the details of what I found in the residential building or the greenhouse."

When we reached the end of the last stairwell, we were greeted by a large set of doors. The stench of paint vanished entirely as we entered the far room.

"If I had bought this property when it looked like it does right now, then I'd probably pay something along the lines of one hundred to one hundred and fifty thousand gold. So I think that it was pretty cheap for the price I paid."

We entered the room, and I was taken aback by its size. It was large! Maybe as large as my entire home in terms of floor space. A set of comfortable sofas and reclining chairs off to the side, a fireplace, and a massive bed that dominated the far end of the room. There was a doorway, covered in silk that hung from the empty door frame, that went off into another room.

However, two other things caught my eye.

The first was an entire wall of tinted red glass. Walking over to it, I looked out to see that it was a window to a lower level; probably the ground floor. I saw a collection of tables, chairs, and other furniture below. Large square sheets of tarp laid across them; polka dotted by various shades of red and gold paint that seemingly dripped from the ceiling.

The other thing that really got my attention was a massive mural at the far end of the room, hung just above the bed. A mosaic of different colored stones and precious gems. All slotted together like a collage to make an image. It depicted a great red dragon breathing fire on a field of flowers. Below the dragon were women. They were, in a word, tastefully depicted dancing along the flames and rows of flowers.

"Ah but enough about boring stuff," Siritra broke me out of my thoughts, motioning over to the sofas. "Make yourself comfortable, I'll be out in a minute."

She proceeded through the silken doorway.

Minutes passed as I snuggled into my overly cushy seat. Trying to process what the hell kind of place I walked into.

She's a powerful mage. There is no denying that. All the enchanted items at work. All the magic that seemed to bellow around her every step. That took a lot of training and skill to pull off.

But again that makes me wonder who she is and why she….

"Sorry for the delay."

My head turned to see her walk back into the room. Still barefoot, she returned; a bottle of wine and two empty glasses in hand.

"So, how about we get to know one another!"

----

When Siristra said she wanted to talk, I thought it was going to be more about magic related stuff, academics, hell, even just a get to know you type of talk.

"-so you know what I found? Guess? The very same bitch! 'It's just a one time thing' he told me. I'll admit, I was annoyed. Not that he was sleeping with her, but that he had the gall to lie to my face about it..."

I assumed that the stuff would be about what life was like in Dalaran compared to Silvermoon. Or asking how my home life was.

"- told him not to, but the father came in anyway! So what does this man do when he sees his girl having some harmless fun with a boy she likes? He goes off about marriage and purity and 'think about her image'! Ugh. People like him are just damn sticks in the mud. It wasn't like she was going to run off with the boy under the cover of night. Okay sure, they got married by the end of the year, but she didn't run off like that old bear trap was fearing!"

For the past hour and a half, if the clock was correct, she's more so just talked to me about everything in her life. And I mean everything...

"-and I'll be honest, I didn't get why the girls were fawning over Malcom. I mean sure, he looked like a strapping young man. Not the bulging with muscles kind, but the athletic lean sort of fellow. He also had a better than average head on his shoulders. Basically, the dependable sort. But his trade was less than ideal. I mean sure! Some people are fine with stable hands. Personally, I prefer my partners with a little more social mobility and grace. I'm not thumbing my nose up at anyone who isn't a prince or countess. But if you want to be serious and start a family, these are the things you need to keep in mind. Why, I remember when-"

This was very much outside of my wheelhouse.

"- so I was stuck in that damn keep for six weeks. Six! And I can assure you no knight in shining armor was coming to save me! After all that bluster from earlier, there was no way I was getting any help from them! So what did I do? Simple; I played to my strengths. Build up some trust with them. A kind word here. An understanding quote there. A tactically precise tear at a sad backstory. Then, when their guard is down and they think you have a sympathetic opinion of them, you steal a horse from their stables and ride. Ride right into the sunset!"

This was the uber powerful mage I had wondered about hours ago? The mage who not only singled me out by name, but had enough clout to get the royals to intervene on her behalf? The image in my head was that of some ancient sage with eons of experience under their belt. Some scholarly type. Maybe even the seductress I saw when I arrived. Not...

"-and then they left! No letter. No note. Nothing. My babies left without saying a word! They just got up and left the nest! I was billowing fire, literally!"

..this.

"Why me?" I groaned to myself as she went on about her kids.

I only noticed something was off when silence filled the room, as opposed to her semi coherent ramblings.

"I assumed that question would be at the top of the list." Siristra hummed, finally stopping her long trade about how her 'babies' flew out of the nest. She sat up, no longer reclined. "Truth be told, I came here at the behest of my Mistress."

"Who is," I led her on, even more curious now.

"A very powerful woman," Everflight remained elusive.

"Who is," I repeated myself.

She smiled, "if you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a question first."

I mean, fair is fair I guess. She did basically spill her whole fucking life's story to me over the course of an hour. Might as well tell her some stuff about me.

"Sure."

"Tell me," she leaned forward, "do you or have you ever had any strange dreams?"

"Strange?" I parroted. Wait, was she talking about-

"Oh you know; strange." She gestured about. "Weird. Abnormal. Scary. Nightmarish…." Her eyes took a predatory glint at the last example.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. My gaze went to my hands. My fingers nervously wriggling into a clenched fist. That phrasing. Could only be one thing she's asking about.

Siristra hummed at my reaction. "About what I expected. So, I ask again; are you suffering from strange dreams?" Her tone had grown dreadfully serious.

I sat quietly for a moment. The thing I felt earlier, could it have been some kind of barrier or alarm system? A system that would obviously alert someone if something malign had entered the area.

Like someone who is under the watchful eye of an Old God...

"You already know…" I muttered. Why bother saying otherwise. She knows. Why else be so specific with her question.

"I want to hear you say it." she stated simply.

"....yes…" I kept my gaze downwards.

"And these nightmares, what happens in them? Can you remember anything? Or do you just know something happened when you wake?" She dropped any pretense of being unaware of my predicament.

"...yes."

"What are you saying 'yes' to?"

"Everything," I looked her in the eyes.

"Can you describe them for me?"

"Why do you care," I snapped at her.

Instead of answering, she simply stood up to take a seat next to me. Her arms quickly wrapped me in a soft, motherly even.

"I care because you need help." she told me softly. Like a mother trying to soothe a frightened child, she pulled me deeper into an embrace. "You are strong. Stronger than most if I'm right about what I think is wrong."

"And what do you think is wrong?"

She paused to choose her words. "I think you have garnered the attention of beings whose natures are dark and vile beyond imagining. I think you have been withstanding their siren call for a length of time where most people, some many centuries your senior, would have broken. And, I think you are very much aware of both these facts."

I didn't say anything; just snuggling further into her embrace.

"Knowing them, they told you as much." She continued. "They probably preen and praise how resilient you are. How pure you were. All the while, showing how others fared before you, and what became of them after they submitted. Mocking your fortitude and the futility of it all."

We sat there for a few minutes. Me soaking in what I was just told. Siristra, calmly holding me.

"...how'd you figure it out" I finally spoke.

"There are signs. Things to look for. People who have their attention have a certain aura about them." She explained. "Vile magics that cling to them like tar. It's subtle, but not beyond detection. If one knows what to look for."

"And how did you know to look for it in the first place?"

I felt her hand run through my hair.

"Truthfully, I never would have assumed you to have their attention in the first place." She admitted. "You are too sane and well composed to stand out. No mindless ramblings or twitchiness so common in their prey."

"But how did you know to look at me, specifically, for Old God influence?" I dropped the term to just put all our cards on the metaphorical table.

"Remember I mentioned my Mistress?" I nodded. "Well, she told me to seek you out. She said that her beloved had seen you and felt the Corruptor's presence around you. That he told her you needed help soon, lest you fall into madness."

Every hair on my body went up at the mere thought of becoming one of N'zoth's puppets.

"So that's the only reason?"

Siristra moved a stand of hair out of my face. "Initially, yes. I planned to aid you, then watch you for a time to make sure you were well."

"What is 'a time'?"

"A decade at least." she quickly responded.

"What about my mentorship?"

She gave me a sad smile, "someone else would have seen to it after we concluded our business."

Kind of took the wind out of my sails. I mean it makes sense. Make sure the ticking time bomb is defused at any cost. I...

"But after having seen who you are, and getting to know who you are, I would be happy to instruct you." She cut my train of thought off.

Really?

"You've only known me for two hours at most. And in that time, this conversation is the most you've heard me talk. What could have- How could you have changed your mind so quickly?"

Then, she did something I never would have expected. She booped me on the nose with her finger!

"I know because I am a very good judge of character," she explained. "The short time we've been with each other told me all I need to know about who you are. And what I've seen shows great promise. And even if you managed to trick me, that would mean you, at the tender age of twelve, are intelligent enough, and wield such a fine tuned control over your micro expressions and body language, that you managed to outsmart a woman many millennia your age. At that point, as long as I could prove you weren't malicious, I'd teach you regardless!"

My deadpan stare was all the response I gave her.

"Regardless of anything we say or do right now, we do have work to do," she got up and walked over to a cupboard by the bed.

"You mean with stopping N'zoth from corrupting me," I asked her.

"Just because you lasted this long, doesn't mean you will hold out indefinitely." she explained with her head down searching for something. "Soon enough, you will fall. Could even be as soon as tomorrow. I doubt that, but anything is possible. So we need to work as quickly as possible."

"So you're going to make it so that oversized squid can't get into my head ever again!" I almost jumped for joy.

"Nope!" she replied in a far too cheery voice for my liking.

"But, you just said..."

"I said I was going to help you, and I will," she quickly explained. "But what you're going through isn't some illness that can be cured with a simple potion. Or a malevolent spirit that can be cast out by a simple spell. Or even a malignant curse. You are dealing with an Old God. Very few things can protect against the attention of those things for very long. Fewer still are readily available in any meaningful way."

I saw her walk back with two vials in her hand. They were filled with a soft glowing green liquid.

"So, we're going to improvise."

I eyed the potions. "But didn't you just say potions didn't work."

"Oh they don't work the way you're thinking." she held them out for me. "These aren't going to protect you from the Corruptor, these are going to keep you out of his grasp long enough for us to get the real work done. Careful with them, they are the only two potions of their kind in all of Quel'Thalas."

Taking both vials in hand, I eyed the green liquid curiously. "And how is that?"

"I need to explain what something is and what is going to happen before I explain what these do." Siristra took a deep breath. "When most people go to sleep, their mind enters a plane called the Emerald Dream. Few are ever aware of themselves entering the dream. Fewer still manifest in the realm proper. And only a miniscule number of those who manifest are lucid during the experience. Are you following so far?"

I nodded, "I think so."

"Good. So, everyone enters the Emerald Dream. Many will manifest properly a few dozen times in their life. Magic users, mages and the like, will manifest more often; a few hundred times their whole life for example. It's more complicated than that, but that is all you really need to know about how the Dream works at this time." She explained as best she could.

" So," Siristra continued. "When people manifest in the dream, almost nothing ever happens to them. Worst thing that normally happens, a person wakes up from a vivid dream they may remember with a bit more clarity than most. Or a bad experience will be remembered as a particularly frightening nightmare. However there are worse possibilities. The most common is that their mind will wander the dream and never return to their body. They become unresponsive in the waking world and often die soon after."

"But…" I think I remember what comes next from one of the World of Warcraft expansions.

"But," she continued. "Overtime, an opening has emerged in the Dream. Through this opening, the Old God's can influence the minds of people as they sleep. If they wish it, they can manifest people into the dream and keep a connection with them as they return to the waking world. That is what is happening to you."

"Is that how it always works?"

She shook her head. "No, but this method accelerates corruption. Merely being in the presence of certain artifacts and objects they have empowered causes similar effects. But through the Dream their reach is far greater."

"So, how do you stop something like that?"

She smirked, "you enter the Dream, lucid, and build up your defenses. And, if it is possible, sever the connection. "

I eyed the vials again. "So these let us do that?"

"No, that keeps one out of the Emerald Dream entirely. The magical properties force your mind to remain in your body for the duration of your sleep. In short, something akin to a dreamless sleep."

Okay, now I am confused.

Siristra must have picked up my confusion, because she continued her explanation.

"I do not know how to teach someone to build up their defenses, let alone deal with something like this," she admitted. "I can protect myself, but that's about it. To help you, I called on the help of an old friend who is far more knowledgeable with this sort of thing than I ever will be."

I sat there for a moment, my eyes focused on the vials. Processing what I was just told.

"How long will I have to wait," I asked.

"Two days." She told me. "By then, my friend assures me she'll be ready to assist us."

"But that's a school day," I muttered out without thinking. Honestly, that was the least of my worries. Hell, I'd drop out of Dath'Remar entirely and live on the street if it meant I could keep myself sane for the coming years!

"Oh, don't you worry about that. I'll send the Academy something or other to excuse you. 'Important mentor-apprentice things need to be done' or something like that." She waived off my concerns.

I kind of tuned her out by now, my attention solely on the vials and my soon to be reckoning with N'zoth.

When I left shortly after, I felt like there was something I forgot to ask her…

Eh, I wouldn't have forgotten it if it was important.

----

As evening came, I followed Siristra's instructions to the letter.

Right before bed, I downed one of the potions. I was only half way to my bed before I felt an intense sense of drowsiness overtake me. Just before I completely blacked out, I landed on the covers, too tired to even snuggle underneath.

A pleasant, if dreamless, night followed.

If only more nights were like it.


---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I always find it very fun writing Siristra's character. Its a tasteful blend of being too old to give a damn about the little things, and witty enough to bullshit her way out of a problem. All while being smart enough to back it up. Very fun indeed.

 

[Midas_Man]

People of SV, I have returned!

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"You didn't tell me about the migraines," I deadpanned to Siristra.

Two days after my first visit, I returned to Siristra's residence. And in those two days I had not a single intrusion by N'zoth or any episode where I saw things out of the corner of my eyes. The downside? The potions in question caused me to experience skull spitting migraines during my waking hours.

I was actually sent home early yesterday because I was so distracted by the pain. No matter what potion or concoction Mom gave me, the sensation of an icepick being hammered into my head persisted. I'd like to think the only reason that I slept at all the past nights was because this potion had some kind of sleeping effect. Otherwise I can guarantee I would be thrashing about in a vain effort to catch some shut eye.

"It doesn't cause migraines," Siristra responded, not taking her eyes off the large magic circle on the ground. "In fact, the potion has no side effects at all."

Rather than any playful bantering when I arrived, she simply grabbed my arm at the door and teleported us into the building. At least, I assume it was inside the building. The room we were in had no windows, no obvious door in, and was very chilled. Maybe a basement?

The room was barren of almost anything of note except for a single long table at the far end, chairs, a couple of vials of undetermined origin that sat on said table, and a mattress that sat in the center of a massive series of runes circling around it. I didn't recognize any of the symbols that glowed a soft blue.

"That doesn't make any sense," I rested my head against the cool wooden table, in some vain hope that the coolness would sap away some of the discomfort. "How are migraines not a side effect with a potion that affects the mind?"

Siristra hummed as she etched another rune down; taking a note from a small booklet she held in her free hand. "You are, technically, correct that the potion effects are causing the migraines. But your reason as to why is wrong."

"That makes no sense," repeating my previous point.

"Not necessarily," she rubbed off a rune from the circle after a quick glance at her small book. "It did work. In the simplest terms, the 'migraine' you are experiencing is the result of the Old Gods smashing themselves against your mind."

"Wait, wasn't this potion meant to separate me from wherever He could slither his way into my mind?"

"I told you the potion would keep your mind from entering the Emerald Dream," Siristra explained. "I never said it severed your connection to the Dream. It only puts a 'lock' on the 'door' that separates your waking mind from entering the Dream. So instead of entering your mind, the Corruptor is smashing himself against that door."

"Guess that's why I feel like a warhammer is hitting me in the head?" I tried to snark, but wincing as a flare of pain came on.

"Indeed," she agreed. "If you weren't feeling anything, we'd know the Corruptor either lost interest in you or found a way past said lock."

Before I could respond, she stood up, closing the book in her hand. Siristra regarded her magic circle and gave it a quick look over.

"Good," I winced at her voice. "Everything is almost ready. Here take this!"

Looking up, I saw Siristra holding out a necklace she had picked up from somewhere when I wasn't looking. She shook it in front of my eyes as I hesitated to grab it. It was a simple thing; a silver chain holding a single brilliant emerald. Not wanting to argue, I did as she asked. The green gem contrasted with my red and gold lined clothes.

As I stared down at the emerald, I felt Siristra grab my arm.

"You'll have all the time to gawk at it in a moment," she pulled me into the circle proper. "But right now we are pressed for time."

As my feet crossed over, I felt a burst of mana erupt from Siristra. In response, the runes on the ground lit up. Illuminating the whole room in a soft blue.

Checking them yet again, and seeing them all light up around us she seemed to relax.

"Now we wait," she declared. For all the rushing and pushing she did earlier, Siristra seemed more subdued down.

I looked around. Nothing seemed to be happening.

"What are we waiting for?" I asked.

"For her signal," as if that was all that needed to be said.

"Um...Whose signal are we waiting for?"

"Okay then, let me explain what's going to happen," she explained, holding a vial before me. "Unlike the last potions I gave you, this one will send you into the Emerald Dream. However, unlike most people, we shall enter the Dream lucid. Then together, we will meet with my friend in the Dream to help deal with the Old God influence and shore up your mental barriers."

"Wait," Okay that explained some of my questions. "You said the Emerald Dream was a vast realm right? So how are we going to meet her? And also, what's with this magic circle." I gestured around us.

"I was expecting some questions," she took a seat on the mattress, patting the space next to her. "Take a seat, we might be here a while."

Shrugging, I took the spot she indicated next to her. An arm reached around my shoulder and pulled me next to her.

"So I only understand the basics of how Vasyra is going to help you," she softly began; finally taking care to not agitate my migraine. "She must have explained it to me at least a dozen times. In one ear out the other she would say. But from what she managed to drill in, this circle," she gestured to the runes, "will keep us from separating too far from one another in the Dream."

"Separate?"

"Yes," Siristra continued. "In simple terms, just because two people enter the Dream from the same place doesn't mean they arrive at the same place. They could. More than likely they will. But it is not guaranteed. Also can be affected by other things. Such as, if a force is pulling one of them in a different direction."

"Like an Old God."

"Like an Old God," she agreed. "The Emerald Dream is vast beyond imagining. If you get lost, there is no chance I could ever find you."

"So this circle lets your friend, Vasyra, find us?" I think I got it.

"No," she pointed to the necklace. "That is how she is going to find you."

I took the emerald in hand again, seeing my reflection on its gem cut surface. "So it's like a beacon?"

"It's probably a bit more complicated, but yes; a beacon. For her at least. Again, I am not an expert in this type of magic." She repeated her earlier point holding up the small booklet from earlier. "I'm just following her instructions."

So this little thing was going to lead this Vasyra to me. I can feel the mana inside it. It's different from any other mana I have felt. Unlike the arcane mana I'm used to, which feels like a cool breeze around me, this feels earthy. Dirt. Soil. A freshly tilled garden. If I had to guess, I'd say that a druid imbued their mana into this going by the nature theme of it all. Given I'm about to enter the Emerald Dream, that is not a far off assumption.

"So when we enter," Siristra continued. "She'll hone in on the magical signature of that necklace and rush to your side. Then we go from there."

All the moving parts were coming together. But one thing still nagged at me.

"What about you?"

"Hmm," she hummed.

"You said that this would let Vasyra find me," I ran through my logic. "What about you?"

She sat quite as she mulled over her next words.

"While I am not as proficient in the dream as Vasyra, I am sufficiently skilled enough to find you at the close distance this circle will keep us at."

"Then how-"

"It's more important that she finds you as quickly as possible," Siristra interrupted. "I can protect myself, you can't."

Before I could inquire any further, I felt a pulse of mana from the gemstone. It was the magic equivalent to a tap on the shoulder.

"Okay, she's ready," Siristra passed me a small vial. "I'll go first. Drink yours after I fall asleep."

"Wait, how will I know why your friend is?"

She had already downed her potion. The effects were immediate. Her eyes closed and she fell back on the mattress. "Just...wait for...green." was all she managed to get out before falling into a seemingly deep sleep; snoring loudly.

I frowned a bit as I began to count down the seconds as I stared at the small vial of liquid; hoping there would be no unforeseen side effects like killer migraines from it.

Popping the small cork, I sniffed the contents. Smelled like soil and lavender. I waited a few seconds before downing mine.

Immediately, my eyes grew heavy and I felt the mattress come into contact with my side as I came crashing down.

----
----
----
----

The transition was instantaneous. As if I merely blinked, and I was...here.

Whatever here actually was.

I was upright and felt the earth shift my feet. Instinctively, I patted down my clothes in some reflexive attempt to straighten them out. The first thing I noticed was that my migraine was completely gone. Additionally, I was vaguely aware that the necklace I was wearing while awake was no longer on me. But I was too busy gawking at the surroundings to really register.

Trees, at sizes that seemed unreal, surrounded me. The mighty tree trunks stretched well into the clouds above, leaves and branches obscured by primordial fog.

The sky was not neither dark, nor bright but something wholly different altogether. A shade of blue that was bright enough to bar the vast expanse of space, yet dull enough to allow starlight to flicker in the sky. A perpetual state of twilight that danced with green auroras and a pale silver moon.

And it wasn't just the sky or the plants but the wild life. Birds chirp at pitches I never thought existed. Unseen wolf-like howls echoed all around. Bugs and crickets buzzed. I even heard the distant roaring of a great beast off in the distance, and the whooshing of great flapping wings.

This place was utterly alien.

"Well hello there!"

My body jolted. My veins went cold. That voice!

I spun around to find her, but only saw a pile of leaves rustling under the wind.

I tried to calm-

"No need to be so jumpy," a cold hand landed on my shoulder. I felt a hot breath along my pointed ear. "It's only you."

Before I could fully register what was said, I was thrown forward. I must have soared a dozen feet before crashing into the ground, skidding to a halt. My head pounded from the impact with the muddy forest floor. As I worked myself back to my feet, I heard footsteps crinkle leaves and snap twigs.

"Little kids shouldn't be out all alone in the woods."

Looking up, I was met with her horrifying visage staring down at me. Not horrifying in the grotesque sense, but in what her features represented.

"Who knows what monsters you'll run into," the twisted doppelganger of myself seemingly smirked at my own disgust. She looked and sounded just as she had before; ghostly pale skin, tar black hair, blazing red eyes, all framed in a simple back dress with my face and voice.

Without missing a beat, I raised my hand to bathe this fucking bitch in a stream of fire.

Only nothing happened. I just sat there with my palm open to her. It was like I had no mana!

The doppelganger smiled at my confusion.

"Yeah! High five!" her cold palm quickly hit mine. "Team spirit! I like it!"

"What the fuck?" I mumbled as I stared into my open palm.

"Sorry, but I'm afraid you're in 'magic time out' right now," she cheerfully explained. "So no magic for you!"

"The hell are you talking about?"

Rather than answer my question, the eldritch girl looked at her wrist to check an imaginary watch, humming to herself.

"Looks like I got some time to explain stuff," she 'noted'. "With your lizard people friends preoccupied for the moment, we can finally have a proper talk."

'Lizard people?'

"So!" she clapped her hands together. "Quick introductions then. I'm you."

"Fuck you," I cut her off. I did not have time to entertain this old god bullshit in front of me.

"Oh geez don't give me that," she tsked rolling her eyes in a mix of amusement and annoyance at my expression. "Let's get this all out of the way. No, you're not crazy. I'm not some split personality. Not an Old God in disguise. Not an evil twin. Or a clone. Or some manifestation of our past life. I am you; full stop. I'm just more honest with our current situation."

"Really, that's the best you can come up with?" I asked. "First off, you look stereotypically evil," my hands gestured to her appearance. It was still horrifying to look at her. Almost like looking in a mirror. Same face. Same voice. Same body. But there were several key differences. The eyes glow sanguine red, the hair was tar black, and her skin was a stark shade of white.

"You mean I look cool as hell?" She countered, waving her hand through her black hair. "I look like a total badass!"

"Second," I ignored her. "You're fucking haunting my nightmares like that rip off cultulu!"

"Whoa there partner, hold up," the creature interrupted. "I can already see where you're taking that argument. So let me lay it out. Yes, I am empowered by the Void, but no I do not work for that wannabe Cuthullu under the sea. Our goals align a little bit, but it's a matter of convenience rather than anything resembling trust or teamwork. We work for the same department, but in different cubicles. I give him gas money in some situations, and slash his car's tires out in others. "

"And third," her argument did not move me in the slightest. "When I came into the emerald dream looking to confront Old God influence, look who happens to show up!"

"Like I was going to miss a chance to talk with you," she brushed off my accusation. "I mean, how many people can say they talked to themselves without actually being crazy?"

Frustrated, I looked around us. Trying to peer through the primordial fog around us for signs of anyone coming over.

"What are you doing?" she questioned my gazing, giggling a bit at my actions. "I told you the lizard people aren't coming. Which finally brings me to my first question: what do you think you're doing?"

"Looking for someone," was my reply.

"Not that," her hand clamped down on my shoulder again. She turned my body so I was now face to face with her. "I meant what the hell you've been doing out there! You do realize we are less than ten years away from being at High Elf Ground Zero right?"

It took a second for her question to really register in my mind.

"You mean the Scourge?"

"No, I meant the other undead horde that wanders itself north and slaughters ninety percent of a race. Yes, the Scourge!"

I really didn't have a response for that. With all the stuff that had been going on, school, friends, life, and being so many years out it just seems so distant.

"Did you actually forget?" She questioned me.

"No."

She huffed. "Then why the hell are we still in the splash zone?"

My questioning look made her continue.

"In less than ten years, this city, this kingdom, this whole race is going to be a casualty of Mr. Menethil's Wild Ride," for the first time in our conversation, her voice no longer held the light hearted whimsy from before. It now had a direct and serious edge to it. "Ninety percent of all high elves, which we are now, are going to die. More elves will die following Grand Marshal Garithos's bitch fit and Prince 'I can't hold my fel energy's campaigns in Outland and Northrend. Taking into account those events will also shave off a few percentage points a piece, how many elves do you think are going to be left after everything is said and done?"

I...I hadn't actually thought of it like that. Objectively she was right. Odds of me dying from all that nonsense was incredibly high; and I doubt I was going to get yet another do over like I did last time I died.

My silence only seemed to annoy her further.

"You don't have a plan do you?" Her irritation was obvious. "What were you going to do? Wing it? Hope for the best? Power of friendship your way out of this!? You realize that there is a very, very, high chance of us dying in ten years! And all you've done is just twiddle your thumbs and just fuck about doing nothing! If that's the plan, just take the nearest knife you see when you wake up and just get it over with already!"

"Shut up," I tried to walk away, but her grip tightened. Wincing in pain, I fell to one knee.

"And supposing we survive all of that, Arthas, Garithos, the demons, the undead, then what?" She kept up her tirade. "Drink the fel kool aid like most of the other elves? Trade our magic cocaine addition for some magic heroin? And if we ignore the new drug being pushed on us, then what? Where do we go when we get kicked out of our home for not drinking the kool aid? How do we deal with the arcane addiction while the Sunwell is gone!?"

"I said shut up!"

"I'm only bringing up points that you should have thought about years ago! You should have been planning and acting like an adult instead of playing pretend like you're a damn child! Like it or not. Few years from now this world WILL change!"

"Wh-"

"Because I'm you!" She didn't even let me get a word in. "And since we're the same person, I know you are so afraid of dying again that you just shoved everything to the back of your mind in an attempt to just live in the moment than deal with reality! Oh its years away, I'll deal with it later. Oh, its months away, I still have time. Oh, it's happening right now, but it's just a game. And how do I know this? Because I am y-"

She stopped mid rant. Her expression morphed from one of irritation to neutral. Her ears twitched. The doppelganger let me go, and turned to look into the woods around us. Red eyes narrowing at something just beyond the fog.

What was she-

As if to answer my unspoken question, a great roar deafened the area. Even the trees shook at the force. The hands that shot to my ears did nothing to dull the sound from hitting my eardrums.

It was followed by a second, distinctly different roar.

"Oh fuck," the Other mumbled.

Again there was another monstrous roar.

She looked down at me, just now coming to my feet again, then to the general direction of the roars. "Wait, how did they-"

Whatever she was going to say was interrupted by another roar. My whole body felt pain from the vibrations caused by the sound. From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a pair of large winged creatures circling overhead. They were large and reptile-like creatures. Boney spikes protruded across their forms. The most striking difference between them was their coloring; one was a dry ruby red, the other a vibrant emerald.

Dragons.

They both glided down. The force of their landings kicked up dirt as they slowed to a stop. Glowing eyes of red and green energy respectively glared at us.

No! Glaring at her.

"Begone abomination. You shall not have her!" a deep yet distinctly feminine voice roared from the red colored dragon. Bright flames licked through the spaces between its fangs. Wings kick up a gust of wind in a show of intimidation.

If she was phased by the pair of monstrous winged lizards, the doppelganger did not openly show it.

Rather than stand gawking at them like I was, she quickly moved behind me and wrapped her arm around my neck in a choke hold.

"Okay you oversized salamanders," she called out the dragons. "Let's not do something we're all going to regret now."

I tried to elbow the copy's gut in a vain attempt to upset her hold, but it was in vain. It felt like I was hitting a sack of potatoes more than a person's chest. My elbow felt sore after many attempts to elicit some reaction from my captor that would give me a chance to escape.

The dragons gave no response, merely glaring at the doppelganger with obvious vitriol. The green one stood its ground, while the red one began to walk around; flames still pecking out between its teeth. Probably trying to get around to breath fire on the thing holding me.

"Now the two of us were making some very good progress before your rude interruption," she continued. "So I'm just going to take her off to the side so we can finish our-"

The doppelganger never finished. In her attempt to keep me between herself and the red dragon, she had accidentally exposed herself to the green one.

A wave of green flames engulfed us. The girl screeched like a wailing siren as her skin blackened under the flames, leaving only red runes, glyphs, and her eyes unmarred. As the force of the fire threw us off our feet, I looked into her red eyes last time before her body crumbled away like ash in a strong breeze.

I soon hit the ground for the umpteenth time.

Despite the obvious intense heat around me, and that it clearly disintegrated the doppelganger, I didn't feel uncomfortable. It was like being close to a fire, but not touching the flames. Bits of ashy smoke chipped off my skin, but I didn't feel any pain from it. Especially not enough to be burned alive.

Actually, it felt like being submerged in a warm bath rather than bathed in fire. Washing away all the grime and filth of the day. Feeling refreshed and clean.

As strange as it may sound, I was actually feeling better now than I was before the fires. My head felt clearer than it had in some time. Like there had been some horrid white noise going off for so long I forgot that it was there. I felt my strength even return to my body. A second wind in a sense.

Then the flames stopped, and I stared up at the perpetual star lit twilight sky.

I sat up, taking note of the slight burning sensations scattered across my body. Patches of skin felt irritated as if something had been ripped off them.

A question for another time.

I turned my full attention to the dragons.

They stared at me. Glowing pupils locked onto my blue one.

I was holding back a squee right now at how awesome they looked. Dragons were so cool.

"Thank-" My thanks was cut off by the dragon's forms being enveloped in bright light.

Before my eyes the creatures shifted their forms. They shrunk, wings retreated into themselves, its reptilian face morphed. Righting on their hind legs, as their overall forms became more humanoid. Two long ears sprouted from each head. Claws became fingers. Hair grew from bony scalps. Breasts grew out from their chests.

When the light cleared, I saw not a dragon but two elves.

The first was Siristra.

The other was a night elf.

A Night Elf.

Intellectually, I know that night elves look differently from high elves. But seeing the differences in a painting one time, and seeing them standing in front of you are two different things. Even more so when another elf is standing right next to her for comparison.

She stood far taller than anyone I had ever seen; Siristra's head only coming up to the night elf's collar bone. Her skin is a bright shade of lavender. Bright green hair that ran down her back. Ear tips that went so far back that they seemed almost floppy. And her eyes shined a silver blue; different from my own glowing mana blue. A motherly smile graced the night elf's features as she walked over.

Unlike the simple red dress that Siristra wore, the night elf wore an earthy, wood textured, robe. Topped with grassy vines that circled her neck like a necklace, and a floral pattern along the outer edges of her robe.

Siristra came to a stop over me, pulling me up so I stood on my own two feet. Then she examined my body. Patting me down, looking over every inch of me; with special attention paid to my neck.

"You need not worry so much, Siristraza," the night elf spoke up. Her arms crossed, she came to a stop next to me. "The corruption had no strong hold on her. The ease in which my flames cleansed her of that tainted being attests to that."

"But there was so much," I heard Siristra mutter to herself, still looking me over. "I didn't think...how can she be…"

"Child," the night elf addressed me. Now that I heard her speak a bit, I could definitely tell that her voice had a lilt to it. Nothing that made her speech unintelligible, but it was obvious Thalessian was not her first language.

"Yes?" I looked up to the towering elf.

"Please look into my eyes for a moment," she requested.

Honestly, I was already looking at them. The silvery glow was mesmerizing.

I heard the elf hummed, then looked back to Siristra. "She is fine. I sense no remnants of the taint on her."

"But the corruption was-"

"You said she was well collected and alert," the night elf interrupted Siristra. "And going by her own admission, she was assailed for the better part of two years now. It almost defies belief that young Syllia was a functioning individual rather than a half mad, gibbering wreck holding onto the last shreds of her sanity."

That was a bit horrifying to learn. If I was that close to losing myself. The glyphs on her body. Around her neck. I know I was starting to agree with her points. But was I...Was that… Was I about to…?

"But where are my manners," she held her hand out for me. "I am Vasyra of the Emerald Dragonflight."

I took the offered hand.

"And I'm Syllia," I replied. Blinking, I finally registered how she had addressed herself. And what she was. An ancient and powerful being that was most likely thousands of years old. I bowed forward a bit, "I mean, thank you for your…"

"Oh please none of that dear," Vasyra chuckled at my display. "You were in need, I came to help. Indeed, I should be the one apologizing to you for not arriving quick enough."

With her 'confession' I finally remembered the original plan. I also registered that Siristra had also been a dragon with Vasyra.

I turned to Siristra, "what happened?"

Siristra's face soured in a mix of embarrassment and anger. "The moment I entered the Dream I was under assault by the Corruptor's forces. Eldritch beasts and monsters swarmed from cracks in the dream and spilled forth like a flood. I was overwhelmed for a time, before Vasyra," she gestured to her companion, "came across me on her way to you. The two of us dispatched the creatures and we rushed over. You know the rest."

"You held your ground well enough Siristrasza," the green dragon consoled her. "They were lying in wait and swarming you."

Wait, Siristrasza?

Realization hit me like a brick wall. "Wait. Sitristrasza. That means you're also a-"

"I suppose I should properly introduce myself then," the red head gave me a cheeky grin. "That's right, Siristra isn't my real name. Nor am I an elf. I am Siristrasza, of the Ruby Dragonflight. A proud handmaiden to the Life-Binder herself."

I blinked my eyes. Then a groan.

In hindsight, I feel kind of stupid. All the dragon references in Siristra- Siristrasza's residence. Her last name is literally Everflight. There was a giant mosaic of a red dragon above her bed.

"So you're not a high elf," Sirsitrasza shook her head as I turned to Vasyra. "And you're not a night elf." Again, another head shake.

Oh I feel really stupid. I feel really, really stupid right now.

"Oh there, there Syllia," Siristrasza patted me on the shoulder. "Only a handful of people ever connect the dots despite all the evidence I practically lay out for them! You are one of the bright few! As expected of my apprentice!"

I mumbled something under my breath.

"Our apprentice," Vasrya quipped.

"Our?" I parroted.

"Yes," the dragoness replied. "Our. You will need help protecting and fortifying your mind in the years to come. We may have driven off the influence of the Old Gods this time, but you most likely still hold their attention. In order to properly defend yourself, you will need training I can provide."

"And when you're awake, I'll train you to be the greatest mage Quel'Thalas has seen in generations," Siristrasza proudly declared.

"Pride comes before the fall," Vasyra noted

"That's what wings are for Vasyra," the red head countered.

She ignored her counterpart's childishness. "Syllia, I must ask you to wear the emerald necklace Siristraza gave you when you sleep for the immediate future. Until you learn to generate a unique signature in the Emerald Dream, it will simply be easier to find you with that enchanted gemstone on your person."

I nodded. "I get it. And thank you. For everything."

Another motherly smile. "As I said before, think nothing of it I-" She looked out into the distance, at the perpetual twilight sky as if something had called out to her. "Forgive my brusqueness, but I must go now."

Walking a few feet away from us, Vasyra shifted into her green dragon form.

Reaching out with her massive hand, she pressed against my forehead with the tip of her claw. "I shall return you to the waking world now. Siristrasza shall awaken of her own accord shortly after. Farewell for now, Syllia Dawnguard."

I felt the world shift around me. Everything went out of focus; sights and sounds mixing like a gradient.

One last question lingered in my head following the exchange, as I drifted into the nothingness of dreams.

'Why weren't they surprised I knew what a night elf was when the very existence of Night Elves was scrubbed away from High Elven history for the past eight thousand years?'

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Another chapter done. Don't worry, this wont be the last time we see Nightmare Sillya.

And the Green Dragon and Red Dragon not being surprised that a random high elf girl knows what a night elf is NOT FORESHODOWING ANYTHING. PLEASE MOVE ALONG, NOTHING TO SEE HERE.

Also, again, sorry for the delay, stuff just came up and I got lazy. Also WOW Classic. Oh boy have I been playing the hell out of it to level my night elf to 60 before TBC. Only level 50 now. (Pre Patch comes out May 18, TBC in full on June 1. Yes I think its too short to max level a space goat or blood elf! And yes I think its being made so short to encourage people to buy the character boost for 39.99 USD! When we said #SomeChanges we didn't mean bring the damn cash shop from retail in!)

Ranting aside, I hope that chapters will take less time to come out as we near the beginning of Warcraft 3 (about 3 or 4 chapters from now, not counting the next chapter which is an interlude)

So stay tuned for that!

 

[Midas_Man]

Basically what it says, a collection of images I found that I think roughly look like the characters in the story, for visual representation.

Note: Some images may not line up 100% with in story descriptions, due to how hard some images are to find so I just went with the closest looking ones.

Also: The images do hint to future character developments if you look closely, but that's all I'll say on that matter.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spoiler: Syllia Dawnguard

Spoiler: Amiria

Spoiler: Lesser Magister Darriel Firebrook

Spoiler: Noly

Spoiler: Cerra Whitecloud

Spoiler: Elsia Emberbirth

Spoiler: Venara Coldwater

Spoiler: Siristrasza

Spoiler: Vasyra

Like I said above, some are a little different then how they are described, but I got the closest images I could find.

 

[Midas_Man]

I have no idea why this took so long.

--------------------------------


"A little to the left...no MY left!"

"I know, I know! I can't help it if this body is so clumsy!"

"That sounds like a 'you' problem to me!"

"You're lucky I don't have a tail right now! Otherwise I'd slap you across the face!"

"Hey! Less yelling, more lifting!"

"Hey I'm not the one who broke the last one! Right Erelstrasza!"

"Fuck you! If I was in my regular form, I'd have no problem."

"You didn't have a problem this afternoon when you were-"

"Girls!"

As amusing as the back and forth between the whelps was, Siristrasza did have a timetable to keep.

Especially after these two have already dropped one chandelier this evening.

"You're free to bicker and dither about in your private time," Siristrasza told them. She leaned up from her reclined seat. "Until then, please focus on the task at hand."

"Yes Ma'am!"

"Yes Mistress!"

The two nodded their heads vigorously and returned to their work. Not without some grumbles under their breaths; blaming each other naturally. However, they were finally making progress with aligning the chandelier on the ceiling. Locking the bolt in with telekinetic force, and screwing the bits and pieces in place.

Dozens of similar scenes were occurring all over the massive chamber. Hammering. Paining. Shining. Dusting. Moving potted plants into place. Removing tarps dotted in paint. Cleaning glasses. Laying out sofa cushions and tablecloth.

Siristrasza smiled and returned to her previous relaxation.

The last of the whelps arrived just a day ago, and she wasted no time in putting them to work. While Siristrasza was not lazy, she was still exhausted from her excursion into the Emerald Dream from a few days ago. If not physically drained, then mentally at the minimum. Fighting off hordes of other worldly nightmarish monsters bent on warping your mind tends to do that. So she was glad to have the extra numbers.

When the renovations were finally done, Siristrasza was certain that this would be the finest Salon in all of Silvermoon! Essentially, she had moved her Salamander House from Dalaran to Silvermoon. Many Dalaran natives were most likely weeping at the news of her House's move. It had been the center of high society for decades in the city.

But everything was coming along swimmingly.

But what was a salon without fair maidens? Or handmaidens in this case.

As per their training into becoming Handmaidens to the Life Binder, they had to perform all these tasks while in their 'mortal persona'. There was a sort of grace involved. Learning the flow of conversation. Finding little secrets to uncover between words and meaning. The acting and theater of it all. It was a performance, and these actresses needed years of experience before they could even think about training with their Ladyship Herself.

Not that they were uncomfortable in their mortal forms. Rather, the training was to ingrain into them to not simply shift back and forth when a minor inconvenience arose. So no shifting into their draconic forms to cross a distance slightly faster by flight. Or using their immense height to reach something.

If they wanted to do something, they needed to learn to do so in their guises.

Siristrasza remembered how annoying it was for her when she was just a whelp millennia ago; walking the streets of Elun'dris and resisting the urge to simply take flight to get out of the crowded avenues. She remembers fuming at how the Kaldoria could stand just waking from place to place!

So maybe she did shift back into her normal form to travel faster, causing quite the scene, but it was only that one time!

...and the five times after.

Good times.

These days, the training regime is similar. Whelps had to interact with the moral races and provide that deft touch in their interactions. The whelps had taken on the various female forms of the mortal races. Most donned the appearance of high elves and humans, though the occasional gnome did stand out.

All of them are distractingly beautiful.

On the matter of bodies, that is one thing she'll never understand about mortals: their incessant need to cover themselves. Sure, if such coverings were required for warmth during winter, protection in battle, or even empowering them in some way, then it makes perfect sense to drape their forms in such things. But to wear such things for the simple sake of it when environmental and situational factors did not necessitate it? The material could be better used elsewhere for more important things; like bandages.

She remembers asking her Lady so many millennia ago that very same question. Mistress Alexstrasza laughed, and said that it was simply part of the 'mortal compulsion'.

And Siristrasza has seen nothing since to disprove that notion.

If that was part of the mortal compulsion she hears so much about, they could keep it. Along with that predisposition to a monogamous mating system. Silly people who had many wives, fathering many children with them, yet calling them mistresses and keeping the children from claiming their father's family name. All the silly rules they made up and terms used to justify having multiple relationships.

Madness!

On the topic of her Ladyship, she had contacted Mistress Alexstrasza shortly after her newest apprentice, Syllia, went home following their joint excursion into the Dream. She told her mistress of the things she had seen. Of the monstrosities that were assaulting the girl's mind. Of how deep the rot went. And naturally its resolution.

Strangely, her Ladyship did not seem overly surprised, nor concerned, with any of it.

Oh she did express her relief that the situation was handled, and gratitude in Vasyra's part in it. But in the same breath, her Lady laid out what she was to instruct the young girl on next.

As if the attentions of an Old God were as mundane as asking about the weather. It wasn't malicious disregard for the girl's life; that much Siristrasza was sure of. Even the most egg-addled whelps knew of the Life-Binder's unending love of all life and her endless desire to protect it. Her Lady's dismissal of the threat was not from callous disregard, but came from a place of her knowing that all would be well.

Which still puzzles the Handmaiden.

She's seen the pools of pure hate the mere mention of an Old God corrupting an innocent mind can inspire in her Lady. But here? While there had been the urgency in her voice to deal with the rot as quickly as possible; there was none of the fear of being too late. None of the suppressed anger at the voidborn abominations. Nor was there any concern that Syllia's mind was compromised in any way.

It was all very strange.

But she knew better than to question her Lady on these issues. Whatever knowledge her Mistress knew would be revealed eventually. She had complete trust in her Lady's judgment and assurances that all was well for not at least.

So what was to come next for young Syllia? Language. Her Ladyship explained that Siristrasza was to focus on this just as much as her magical education. Not every language of course, just a handful: Common, Darnassian or Old Thelessian as the high elves called it, Gnomish, Dwarven, Zandali, Orcish, and Draconic. She didn't need to be fluent in all of them, simply 'competent' at minimum, in the words of her Lady.

The last three were of particular note.

Zandali? She guessed that knowing how to speak to trolls could help her in a way being so close to the Amani lands. Trolls can be quite loose lipped when they think 'stupid elves' don't understand what they're saying.

Draconic? It would make sense if the girl was being groomed for the role of a Dragonsworn; the mortal emissary of a flight that acts on the flight's behalf in matters they cannot personally act on. In that case such a language would be beneficial for ease of communication. Though she was far younger than the average dragonsworn; by several centuries.

But Orcish? What reason would she have to ever learn that guttural tongue?

She scowled at the mention of one of Azeroth's newest denizens. While she may hold sympathy towards them for the loss of their homeworld, such feelings had their limits. Particularly after what the Dragonmaw Clan did to her Lady. As far as Siristrasza was concerned, they deserve neither mercy nor pity. Millenia could pass, and she would still hunt them down with the same savagery that they showed her Lady.

Alexstrasza has cautioned all of the Ruby Flight all on the dangers of lumping accusations on the whole for the actions of a few on her return to Wyrmrest; that not all orcs were cut from the same cloth as the Dragonmaw.

Perhaps in time Siristrasza would agree. But for now the wound was still too fresh.

At the thought of her Lady, another memory bubbled to the surface.

She bit her cheek as an old ache emerged.

How long had it been since Myrastrasza and her spoke to each other? Four millennia? Five?

Her daughter still, rightfully, holds a grudge against her for her actions in the War of the Ancients.

When her Lady called her Handmaidens and consorts to her side in battle to fight off the Burning Legion thousands of years ago, she answered; bringing much for her own brood and mate to battle.

Blood was shed. Lives lost. Horrors that could not be unseen. And when it was all over, Siristrasza returned to her home with but a fraction of those who left with her. Many of her sons and daughters died fighting for the sake of the world itself. Her own mate laid dead at the hands of Deathwing's betrayal.

And when she came home, she found that demons had found and assaulted her home. Many of her children she left behind to protect the whelps were killed. A heart wrenching number of her eggs had been smashed. Myrastrasza had fled the burrow with what whelps and eggs she could, but what could a young drake do against a horde of demons?

So when she returned to her decimated brood, and with only a fraction of those who left with her, Myrastrasza lashed out at her. She clawed at her mother's scales. Breathed fire on her. Cursed in every tongue known to her.

She let her daughter vent; her words cutting deeper than any claw and burning hotter than any fire.

And Myrastrasza was right of course.

A mother's primary goal is to protect, nurture, and guide her young.

What kind of mother could she call herself if half her young lay dead on the battlefield?

What kind of mother allows herself to be saved by her own son at the cost of his life?

What kind of mother allows her young to be butchered before they have even hatched?

She had long made peace with the fact that she was a horrible mother; deserving neither the love nor kindness of her children. Siristrasza would always attempt to atone for it, supporting her children in any way she could. But she would never hold it against any of her children should they hate her for all eternity.

But when her daughter started to drag her Ladyship's name into the same muck that Siristrasza rightfully laid in, she reacted.

In hindsight, she did not take into account her daughter's state of mind or that she was simply venting her own frustrations. That these were empty words, with no real weight behind them except for grief and loss. That Myrastrasza could not know of the comfort her Ladyship had given her at the sight of her dead child. Nor the knowledge that many of her brothers and sisters who still lived did so from Alexstrasza's timely rescue in battle; at the cost of one of her Ladyship's own sons. And she could have never guessed the hours of consoling Siristrasza had with the Life Binder when news of her love's death made it to her.

One second.

That's all it took to ruin any relationship she may have been able to salvage with her daughter. A single action that she still regrets to this day. No amount of apologies, no matter how emotional or grand, can repair the bond that was shattered that day.

She's heard that the claw marks are still quite visible on Myrastrasza to this day.

Maybe that's why young Syllia has grown on her so much in such a short span of time. She reminds Siristrasza so much of her own daughter that it's almost frightening. That same kind heart. The same tone of voice when talking. The back talking and acting like she knows more than everyone else in the room.

She even pouts with her cheeks out like Myrastrasza did when she was newly hatched and was annoyed.

Siristrasza's memories were cut short by a magical ping going off in the back of her head.

Someone has just entered her room on the top floor.

Someone who should not be there. From the runes and glyphs that ran the length of the room, she could feel the intruder's very movement and presence.

Whoever they are, they must have scaled the building; since she felt they came in through the balcony door. They picked the lock and were now softly stepping around her room.

Each footstep a soft echo to Siristrasza's mind.

First the padfoot walked to her desk. A minute later, they moved to her dresser. Then the bed. Finally, they crossed the threshold into the bathroom, but never actually entered it.

Whoever they are they are seemingly busying themselves with rummaging through her belongings and clothes.

A predatory smile found its way onto Siristrasza's face; she's heard that even in this form people say her smile had a fang like quality to it.

'What to do?' She mused.

Is this a thief? Not a common cut purse by any means if they managed to get past all the estate's magical detection to reach the main building. While her room at the top did contain many valuable trinkets, gems, precious metals, paintings, and expansive clothes. The real valuables were safe in the vault below the building. Accessible only to teleportation and capable of being opened only by her magical signature.

Perhaps someone at court hired a spy to infiltrate her home and see if they could find anything 'scandalous' to reveal at court and embarrass the King? Salons did have that reputation.

But what if it is not a thief, but an assassin? Waiting in her bathroom to cut her throat under cover of darkness? Not a minion of the Old Gods, otherwise the wards would have alerted her sooner.

A mundane assassination plot? What a tale that would be! Noble Dalaran mage cut down in her own home. How scandalous for the King's own guest to be killed in such a way.

Perhaps the intruder wants something a bit more personal from her. Siristrasza knows she exudes an aura of sexuality and lust from even the most stoic of people. Many a man has tried to take her 'captive' and ravish her over the centuries.

So the question remains: what to do?

"Mistress," cooking an eye to her side, she saw one of the girls rushed over to her. The whelp's chosen form was that of a half-elf girl, blonde with blue eyes devoid of the glow 'true' elves had; nore akin to the cerulean orbs in a human. Coming in close, she whispered to her. "There is an intruder in your room Mistress."

Siristrazsa will give her props for noticing the intruder quickly. Looking around, she saw that none of the other girls seemed to have taken note.

"Thank you for telling me dear," Siristrasza thanked the girl. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it. Tell the other girls to stay away from there for the time being. Quietly of course."

The girl said nothing. With a curt nod, the girl rushed off.

'Can't be more than four or five centuries old', Siristrasza mused about the girl.

Crossing her legs, she decided on a course of action. She would wait for a time before entering her room. Let the would-be thief think they were undetected, then march up and be 'surprised' by their presence.

All she had to do now was wait an appropriate amount of time.

Or until she got bored....

----

Twenty minutes later , Siristrasza reached her room; acting oblivious to the intruder within. At this short distance, she could hear the intruder's breathing with her enhanced hearing. Soft, but controlled breathing.

Committing herself, she threw the door open in a single motion.

Siristrasza saw the intruder. A woman. Clothed in a dark leather outfit that hid nothing of her figure from the eye, but obstructed any defining traits . Two daggers strapped to her waist along with a collection of flintlock pistols. Her hair was a silvery blond, running down to the midpoint of her back.

She was pawing through her dresser, looking over some papers, when she heard the door slam open.

The woman went still.

Siristrasza smiled, and approached. "Oh my! What do we have skulking about in my-"

Before she could finish her monologue, which she spent the whole walk up the stairs practicing, the woman moved.

The woman threw a book that had been laying on her desk at her and made a mad dash to the balcony door.

Siristrasza ignored the book, which bounced harmlessly off her bare form, and readied a paralysis spell. But before she could cast it, the woman pulled one of her pistols out and fired.

A great light and intense pressure blanketed the room.

"Fuck!"

Siristrasza's enhanced sight rendered her momentarily blinded by the sudden light; even as she reflexively shielded her eyes. She leaned over onto the side of the door frame for support as her senses went in every direction. Instinctively, she raised a magical barrier around herself in preparation for a strike on her vulnerable person.

None came.

When Siristrasza finally regained control of herself, the intruder was gone.

Rushing onto the balcony, she caught the faintest glimpse of a silvery haired figure sprinting across the grounds. Jumping the small stone wall, that was more for decoration than defense, and vanishing into the shadows of the Eversong Forest.

As anger at herself for being careless boiled over. Soon, she felt a sense of excitement overtake her.

It appeared she had a little hunt on her hands; a little silver hare running from the big bad dragon.

It may take weeks, months, even years. But she will find who did this; her pride demanded nothing less.

And they will have quite the talk when they meet again.


---------------------------------------------

Like I said, I have no idea why it took me so long to get this out. Maybe I'm just lazy?

So yeah, mysteries and questions abound!

Hope to get the next chapter out in a shorter time than it took to get this out.

But in unrelated story news, The Burning Crusade Classic Pre-Patch is out! And guess who just dinged their hunter to level 60?

As for the game itself. All I'll say is that leveling is noticeably faster and that there's a lot of Female Space Goats in running around in Stormwind.

 

[Midas_Man]

That's right everyone! Next chapter is here!

---------------------------------------------------------------------

I knew I would be facing a bit of culture shock in Dath'Remar. Not just from being a low-class person in a school for the elite, but being a former human in an educational system created for elves. People here may have different ideological views from the human norm and all, both from different biology and different worlds and all that.

But there was a fine line between things that seemed a suspect to the former human in me and the 'what the fuck am I looking at' diagram on the board right now in history class.

"-this semester we've talked at great length about the failures of the Empire of Arathor. The shattering of the first human state into the collection of petty city-states that would form the kingdoms we know today. We also discussed the faults and failings of their political structures that decentralized the power to the provincial level and how it weakened the Empire to the point of it's eventual collapse."

The professor spoke from his lectern. Behind him was a massive diagram showing a timeline between the founding of the Kingdom to the present. Along the line were a series of 'X's that denoted points in time where a nation, somewhere in the civilized world, met some kind of internal strife or challenge. Civil war. Change in ruling families. Incidents of 'Mob Rule'.

"We also looked at the weakness inherent in this political landscape that has long left its impact on the human race," the professor continued. "In this polity of constant fighting and self-harm, they allowed weakness and softness to fester unabated within the foundations of their civilization. The First and Second Wars are both the most recent display of the effects these failures have wrought, and the most damning examples to date."

The point of all this exercise? To show how 'unstable' and 'fragile' non-elven political systems were. Because by elven standards, any governing body that cannot maintain unity for at least one-thousand consecutive years was seen as shaky at best, and a hair's breadth away from complete anarchy at worst.

Of course, the professor didn't just pick on the humans. The dwarven War of the Three Hammers forever shattered the 'racial unity' of the dwarven race. The gnomes were too cosmopolitan in nature and had a culture 'constantly on the precipice of collapse' due to how fast they could change the gears of their whole society. Goblins are money grubbers to whom the word friendship means that they will demand slightly more money to betray a person then they would normally ask for. And the less said on the 'barbaric' orcs and the 'animalistic' trolls the better.

Honestly, given the overall tone of the class, I was surprised the professor didn't break out some skulls from behind his desk to show how small the other races brains were.

"-so Miss Coldwater," the professor calling her out jolted me from my grumblings. "Would care to share with the class what the failing of the human political system that you have found that contributes to their instability."

'Talk about a leading question,' I mused from my textbook.

Vereena stood up from her seat next to me, overflowing with confidence.

"Yes professor. I've found that one of the more damaging aspects in human politics is their tolerance of mob rule."

Ah yes. Mob Rule. sounds rather bad right? Well, for elves mob rule means any type of political involvement in the nation by the 'lower classes'. Ranging from hearing the grievances of the guilds, to allowing elections for government positions for even something as small and local as choosing a mayor.

In Quel'Thalas, everything in the government is controlled by the Convocation; a senate like body that is composed of the most powerful and politically connected magisters in the kingdom. While not every mage in the Kingdom was a member, ever member of the Convocation was a mage.

No one is elected to the position. It is a body filled by appointment. And the only one allowed to appoint, and remove, a sitting magister is the king himself. They serve and leave at the king's behest.

And when I say everything is controlled by them, I mean everything. If it's not a hereditary position, the Convocation decide who has it. Captain of the city guard; Convocation. Governorship of a territory not held by a noble family, Convocation. Mayor of a small town in the middle of nowhere; Convocation. Generals of the army; Convocation. Headmaster of a public school; Convocation.

Suffice to say, nepotism and cronyism runs rampant in Quel'Thalas. More often than not, a position is filled with a magister's relatives or close friends rather than a qualified individual. Actually, a few of the worst cases I've read about in my own time make it look like some magisters will put their opponents relatives in position they are utterly unsuited for they will fail; allowing them to embarrass their competition in the eyes of their peers.

In layman's terms, they knowingly put people in positions they have no qualifications for because they want to look good, or make their opponents look bad.

How does a 'superior' race defend such blatant inefficient and self destructive activities?

With classism.

"Their mob rule is nothing more than a popularity contest," Veranna continued. "Positions of power get filled by individuals whose only skill is playing the crowds or who can make the grandest promises that have no basis in reality. Of course, that assumes they have any education to begin with."

While I might have warmed up to Coldwater a bit more over the years one thing I will never understand, or want to, is her utter dismissal of the lower classes. By lower classes, she means anyone who is not a noble; not even the wealthy merchants or large landowners are spared her ire. After all, why trust 'money grubbers and cheese merchants' with any power?

As far as she is concerned, if you are not from a noble house, with the exacting standards and a moral stake in 'decency' and 'righteousness' for the kingdom such an upbringing instills, how could a person be reasonably be trusted to work for the betterment of all?

"Very good Ms. Coldwater," the professor applauded her response. He looked to address class as a whole. "But a reminder to all of you to not limit this ideal to merely human societies. If mob rule can just as easily bring our kingdom low as quickly as any other. Mark my words children, the day the stable hand, the courtesan, and the farmer have as much say in governing as the lords and ladies of court, is the day our kingdom begins its spiral into self destruction."

Coldwater sat back down and looked at me with a smile. Her eyes that seemed to be looking for some form of approval from me.

I gave her a nod and a small smile.

What else could I do? Going by all the nods and genuine affirmations from our classmates, I'd be the only person who has a problem with this. Sure, I'm all for having qualified people in positions of power; but this mindset is taking it to another level.

But in this environment, it was best to keep such thoughts to myself.

----
----
----

"So what is it?" Coldwater questioned. Following the history class, we had a study hall. She must have looked up from her books to see me scowling.

"What?" I responded.

"You're too quiet," she clarified, noting the page she was on before closing the book to give me her undivided attention.

"It's nothing I just-"

"Oh no, you're not doing that," she cut me off.

I growled a bit, "nothing is wrong."

"Yeah, sure nothing's wrong," Coldwater imitated my own words. "You just look like you want to set something, or someone, on fire for no reason."

"Verana…." I groaned.

"Oh no," her hand gestures were quite expressive. "None of this 'nothing's wrong' or letting whatever is eating at just stew until it bursts. Nope, we are not doing that. As your friend I won't allow it."

'Friend?' The word caught me a bit off guard. I'd expected acquaintance or associate, but friend? I mean sure, we were together a lot on campus, and yes Verana seemed quite loose lipped about her life around me.

But that attitude of hers.

The constant poking and prodding. The unspoken back hands and slights on me. The constant back talk. I'd always assumed our relationship was more of that friendly rivalry sort. The ones where both rivals, despite being opposed to one another, develop a healthy degree of respect towards each other.

She always seemed a bit too condescending to be considered a 'friend'.

"Wait," she stopped any reply from me before I could even open my mouth. Muttering under her breath as if conversing with herself, realization dawned on her. "Something upset you in class."

I'll give her one thing, she does put puzzle pieces together rather quickly.

"But I can't see why you'd be upset," Verana thought aloud. "You're one of the professor's favorites and your grades are excellent."

"How do you know my grades?" She wasn't wrong, but it's a little creepy that she knows my grades.

"I see the grades you get on your assignments Syllia when the professor hands them back," she explained. "The only points you get deducted are for grammar. If you knew how to write like a proper adult, you'd easily have the highest grade in class."

'Hey, it's not my fault this language is so fucking hard to write!' I bit back my retort.

"So just tell me what's bothering you already so we can move onto fixing it," her tone of voice and the expression she was making did not seem to synch up. The facial expression gave off the impression of genuine concern, but her voice sounded perpetually stuck in a passively arrogant tone; like a child annoyed at something.

I sighed, realizing I was not going to get out of this.

"It was that whole thing at the end of the lesson," I explained.

She hummed, finger drumming against the table as she thought. "Well, I know your not the type that gets upset by being upstaged in class; so what is it? Look if this is all about the paper you turned in at the end-"

"I don't believe in that stuff," I cut to the point.

"You're going to have to be a bit more-"

"All that stuff about Mob Rule, Race stuff, and this," I held up my book to her. The current page was about the 'Moral Virtue' of the current political system. "All of this is just nonsense!"

Coldwater for her part looked genuinely surprised at my statement.

I didn't give her a moment to reply, like a burst dam, all the annoyance I'd been holding in for the past few weeks as we covered this societal bullshit just flowed out.

"This stuff is just degrading. Everything in here treats people like their little more than chattel who need to be tended to! With no concept of self-preservation or self-improvement in a single fiber of their being! As if they lack the basic intelligence to make decisions on their own! Like the people would just happily run off a cliff if they saw enough people do it in front of them because their brains are too small to understand-"

"Okay, Okay I get it," she held up her hands to calm me down.

As I caught my breath, I became painfully aware of how loud I had been. Almost everyone in the immediate area was now staring at our table.

Oops.

Coldwater ran a hand through her hair, "geeze Syllia, try and speak up next time; I don't think the King and his court heard you clearly from all the way over here."

"Sorry," my eyes kept meeting all the eyes on me. But since I was now quite, they slowly began to return to their previous things. "I'm sorry I just….Look this whole thing just frustrates me alright."

After a few moments of silence, mulling over what I had 'told' her.

Then, the noble pinched the ridge of her nose and sighed.

"I really should have expected this…"

"I'm sorry?"

"You're an idealist," she deadpanned. "'Everyone is equal'. 'Everyone should have a voice'. That's what you think right?"

While I nodded, I just knew she was going to take a stance I did not like from her tone of voice.

"I'm actually surprised," she told me.

"About what?"

"I'm surprised that someone so smart can so st-…ignorant to how the world works," Verana explained, changing her words mid sentence.

Smooth Verana, I almost didn't catch you calling me 'stupid'.

"And how does it work," my voice carried a slight edge to it.

"It works like this," her tone become more forceful, but not to the point of coming across as demanding. More like exacerbation as she leaned over to me. "Society is comprised of different classes with different obligations and responsibilities to the greater whole. The farmers till the land. Merchants pawn their wares at market. Priests heal the sick. Scholars teach and pass on knowledge to the next generation. And so on."

She paused for dramatic effect and to let her words sink in.

"All these myriads of classes and disparate groups are organized under the guidance of a ruling class. A class who are burdened with the task of managing these, often conflicting, classes into a cohesive structure for the betterment of all."

"And they are?" I had a sinking feeling about what her next words would be.

"Us," her tone indicated that the answer was obvious. "We", hands pointed to both of us, "are that class. Without us, without the skills and foresight we provide, society would collapse."

'Bullshit' I wanted to spit at her.

She saw I was unconvinced and changed her approach. "Think of it like this then. Who would you trust more for monetary advice: a famer or a banker?"

I think I had an idea of where she was taking this.

"This isn't a trick question," she confused my lack of reply for hesitance.

"The banker," I finally replied.

"Yes, and why?" she led me on.

"You're building a strawman Verana," I told her. "When I said I think everyone should be equal, I didn't mean it in that way."

"You chose the banker because monetary things are what he's been trained for," she finished her own point. "And just like bankers are trained and educated to deal with money, we nobles are trained and educated to deal with the rigors of statecraft and politics."

"Verana-"

"Fine," she cut me off and sat back down at her side of the table seeing that I wasn't budging from my position. "Fine. I can see your being as stubborn as a mule on this topic and I don't want this to turn into some battle between us. Know that I respect that you hold these views on the matter, but that I also respectively disagree with them."

"Fine, lets drop it," I agreed to disagree. This was probably the best outcome for our discussion with two people holding wildly different world views clashing with one another.

"Good then," she let out a breath she seemingly didn't know she was holding in. With a flick of her fingers, the retuned to her page in her book. "Before we got off track, I was going to ask you for some help on that Arcane Theorem paper. Low as I am to admit, you have a better grasp of these mysteries than I do."

As our prior argument left our minds, I could only wonder why someone who held beliefs like Coldwater would even hang out with me.

If that is the type of stuff she genuinely believes and holds to be true, I wonder why in the world she wants to associate with me at all. I'm the daughter of a whore; I was literally from the bottom of the societal totem pole. By her logic I should be following in the footsteps of my mother and learn my 'trade' rather than study here.

Even as a girl myself, I fear I shall never understand them.

---------
---------

"Hello-...Siristra. How...How are you...today?"

"Why, I'm doing fine. Thank you for asking. How about you?"

"I- I am...good...to-today."

"Well that's good. So tell me, how was school today?"

"I- was….My-"

"Yes Syllia, your…"

"My...My…-Fuck!"

I could not even finish the sentence as the arcane orb in front of me fizzled out of existence as my concentration broke. In a flash of light, a crack of glass, and a gust of wind, it was gone.

Fucking dwarven language. Damn "L" lull into one another for no seeming reason!

"I believe that is enough language for the day," the red-haired dragoness concluded. She walked over from her desk litter with all manner of papers and parchment. "We had a pretty productive day I feel."

"Yeah," I replied, not really paying attention.

Let it not be said that Siristrasza was a bad teacher. She wasn't. By her own words she has had millennia of experience teaching at it shows. My magical capabilities have skyrocketed since she's taken me, quite literally, under her wing. Using mana was easier than ever. Channeling mana was almost second nature now. I could detect common enchantments weaved into clothing or armor with but a single glance at their mana signatures. I was even picking up new languages at an astonishing rate.

She was, in other words, a brilliant teacher.

She also reveled in crass humor and inappropriate innuendos.

Such as regaling me with tales of her numerous 'adventures' she's with men and women alike over the millennia. Always being circumspect with some of the details, never explicitly saying anything wrong, but using word play to imply something far more crass than her story's may imply.

I can still feel my cheeks burning from her tale on how she learned to 'dual wield' from a helpful pair of 'fine gentlemen'.

Of course, her tales did affect me in one way I doubt she intended them to; and not in the 'make apprentice adorably squirm' effect she was going for.

I was a straight man in my past life. I never once thought of other men in any romantic way. But seemingly the moment this body entered puberty, and flooded me with damned hormones, I couldn't help but fantasize about people in 'that' sense.

Both men and women.

Being attracted to women seemed natural to me. Made sense that I was attracted to them before, so I ought to be attracted to them in my second life. Sirsitrasza's elf form oozed sexuality, while Vasyra's night elf norm had an exotic air to it that drew my eye. Hell, I even gawked at a few of the older girls at the academy whose chests had grown in quite nicely.

But men? Sharp features? Chiseled abs? Athletic forms? Masculine? These things shouldn't even draw my eye, let alone hold my 'interest'. Sure, I could tell if some men were more handsome than others, but I never fantasize about stuff like this.

I was straight; meaning I should be gay now since I was a girl.

Maybe it was just this body was straight, but my mind was gay?

But that doesn't make any sense since I have plenty of fantasies about girls.

Ughh. Fuck puberty. And fuck hormones.

This is getting too confusing.

Reining myself back on topic, I flipped through the arcane tome laid out before of me to see where I went wrong with the orb. Was my attention too split between the language and maintaining the orb, or was it something with the mana flow?

"So, what's wrong," the dragoness asked, landing next to me on the sofa. "The reason you failed was because your mana flared up at something eating at the back of your mind and distracting you from regulating it properly."

"What do you mean? I asked, still flipping pages.

"I mean, that you ought to get whatever it is off your chest," she replied.

I sighed. She was right.

"It's just I…I don't know where to start," I admitted.

"The beginning helps," she joked to lighten the mood.

"Its just, it's the Academy." I started. "I really like it. I do. I love how much stuff I'm learning. But…"

"But you don't like that…" Siristrasza urged me to continue.

"The people there…Bigots," I finally got it out, and it just kept flowing from there. "They're classists. They're racists. They have this warped view of the world; that everything revolves around them. That people are just too stupid to live unless being guided by them. Even a friend of mine is really into this thinking. I just….I mean it just gets so-"

"You find it difficult to stand them," the dragoness concluded. "The fact that they treat everyone who's not them like dirt makes you want to smack them right in the face, right? Wipe that smugness right of their faces?"

"More scream at them than actually hit them," I confessed.

Siristrasza took what I said in stride and smiled a bit. "It's probably better that way. You can't change a person biases, let alone a child's ones, by beating it out of them. Trust me, I've tried more than once."

"Wait, you mean to say you've beaten a child?"

"Look, if you're in the guise of a child yourself when you're trying to smack some sense into one of those pint-sized brats it's not as bad as an adult doing it," she defended herself. A little too quickly for my liking.

"Wait, so you actually-"

"Let us not get caught up in past," she dismissed my question. "Point is, I know what you mean. Spoiled blue bloods learn that kind of behavior from their parents. And when the children grow up and have children of their own, they pass on the same lessons they learned, and on and on it goes."

"So your saying its hopeless?" I gathered. "That they'll never learn?"

"Not exactly. Merely that any complaints coming from beyond the gilded bubble they live in will be dismissed without a second thought. 'What do the peasantry know about cultured ruling' and all that."

"Still sounds hopeless to me," I shook my head. "None of those blue bloods seem like they want to change the way they live. And none of their 'peers' would probably ever want to rock the boat too hard anyway."

"Syllia, dear," Siristrasza began. "You do remember you're going to Dath'Remar, correct?"

"Yeah…"

"Meaning you are one of their peers."

'Wait what?'

Before I could continue, Siristrasza gave an exasperated sigh.

"Sweetie, what do you think happens to most graduates?"

"I..ugh," the way she said that makjes me thing that this question is a lot more loaded then I think it is, "I guess, they become high ranking mages."

She chuckled a bit at my response. "Yes, they become 'high ranking mages' in the same way the king lives in a 'big house'. Technically correct, but vastly understating the magnitude of what it is."

She rubbed my shoulder before going on.

"Syllia, Dath'Remar Academy does not train mages; they train Magisters."

The implications of what she meant slowly sunk in.

"Within the year you graduate," she continued, "you will achieve the rank of arcanist; for no other reason than simply graduating from Dath'Remar. Oh the document you get will say it in prettier words, but a clerk in the Convocation will see you were a Dath'Remar graduate and simply stamped the approval on your documents without a glance at your actual capabilities."

"Months after that, you will be given some position of mid-level authority. Think garrison commander of a small city, a provincial governor's attaché, or even a clerk in the halls of the Convocation itself."

"Then, some years after that, as you have settled into your new, comfortable position, you will be invited to your first gala. Of course, that is an overestimation on my part. Graduates with friends get invited to these high society parties right out the gate but I've never heard of a graduate waiting more than a decade for their first high society invitation."

I never really thought of the school like that.

"By the time you're one-hundred, you'll ascended to the rank of senior arcanist and be working under the auspices of a senior magister at court. Once more because you are a graduate of Dath'Remar. At court, you will rub shoulders with some of the most powerful people in the Kingdom and interact with the highest circles of society."

'Most high elves will be dead in ten years,' I bit my lips to not share that bit of foreknowledge even as I felt light headed over what I was being told.

"Finally, at four-hundred, you will be granted the honor of ascending to the rank of a proper magister and be asked by the senior magisters to take a seat in the Convocation to help 'lead the Kingdom towards a brighter future'."

I was silent.

"Syllia, do you know how long it normally takes for someone to go from initiate to magister?"

"I don't know," I answered truthfully.

"Most lowborn mages will never reach a rank higher than senior arcanist," she explained. "And even for high born mages, it usually takes centuries to reach the rank of magister; sometimes more than a millennia. But for you, a Dath'Remar graduate? Four hundred years at most. With your innate skill and power, I'd wage three hundred years before becoming a proper Magistrix."

But why would a bunch of snobbish, rich classists, give a poor commoner a literal golden ticket to into their club?

It makes no sense.

Just like how Verana can talk about how she thinks to someone like-

And like that, a lightbulb flickered to life in my head.

I rattled off all the names of the students I knew in class, the people I brushed shoulders with daily. Sat next to Trained with. Learned with. Occasionally even talked with.

'Greatstar. Goldfire. Brightsun. Redburn….. they're all noble families.'

My mind wandered to the two people I was closest to at the Academy.

'Elsia Emberbirth, sister to a Senior Magister. Verana Coldwater, heir to a noble family and daughter of Senior Magisters.'

They're also both nobles.

Everyone I have interacted in with at the Academy is a noble and they….

'And they assume I'm a noble as well.'

"I know it might seem like a lot to take in," Siristrasza's voice broke me from my thoughts; the expression on my face must have clued her into my revelation. "But one day you will be one of the most powerful individuals in the kingdom; either magically from talent or politically from the nepotism the magisters show all Dath'Remar graduates."

The dragoness placed her hand on mine and gave me an impish smile. "So, when that time comes will you, as their peer, rock the boat?"

I didn't give her an answer.

How could I respond to that?

She dismissed me early; and her question rattled off in my mind for the rest of the evening. No matter how much I though it over, a soft voice in the back of my head kept repeating itself:

'What does it matter; nothing will be the same in ten years…'

--------------
-------------

Clang. Clang.

Despite how much I love her, I really do hate Mom sometimes.

Clang. Slash.

Not in the sense that I hate her, more in that I hate the things she drags me into.

Clang. Clang. Smack.

I still love her. But...

Smack.

"Fuck!"

Even love has its limits.

The limit for me was Mom deciding I needed to learn how to wield swords. And deciding to take a hands-on approach to it. A very painful hands-on approach.

So here I was, keeled over on the grass nursing yet another set of bruises on my sore body. While I was glad that none of her strikes broke the skin, it was hardly a tradeoff that my entire body was polka dotted in black and blues.

Thank God for blunted blades I guess.

Mom was insistent that I learn the same why her Mom, in other words my Grandmother, taught her. This meant a 'sink or swim' approach.

'Pain is the best teacher' she said grandmother told her.

"Come on sweetie!" I heard her cheering over the way. "I know I didn't raise a quitter. Come on! One more time and we'll call it a day!"

Using the blunt sword she gives me to train with as a crutch, I slowly worked my way back to my feet.

The usual pattern our sessions would go down would be me training to use a sword for a few hours. Learning the proper way to hold and swing it I mean. She would even allow me to swing at her to try and hit her, like she was some walking target dummy. I never actually hit her directly, but she did parry my strikes off and gave me feedback on my swordplay.

This was followed by some 'mock duels'. Though calling them duels implies a sense of equivalent power between both parties. I prefer the term 'mock slaughter'.

When we first started this, I ignored the sword she gave me and always tried to use my magic to even the playing field between us. I was planning on just zapping her a few times with some harmless magic, maybe knock her off her feet at worst, and I'd be able to show her my magic was enough to keep myself safe.

In that very same first bout, I had the air knocked out of me with a quick hit to the chest and found myself on my back in seconds. She then picked me up and, with that smug smile of hers, asked if I was ready for another round.

Now I knew Mom knew how to fight. Even before she pulled out a pistol she insisted I use it for the entrance exam. Rough upbringing. No necessarily on the 'right' side of the law. It's kind of a given she'd learn how to protect herself. But knowing how to fight, and the acrobatic bullshit she pulls off are two very different things.

The problem I soon ran into is that she's just too damn fast for me to hit with magic! No matter what spells I threw at her. No matter how fast I cast them. No matter how much I saturated the immediate area in magic, she just moves out of the way. Less a person and more the air flowing away from the spell as it passes where she stood. I've even seen her do flips and twist her body about mid air!

And this occurred for over an hour that day. Each bout lasted seconds at most; with me on my back or otherwise on the ground as a result. The worst part, for my pride, was that I knew she wasn't taking me seriously. She seemingly used the same move to throw me to the ground every time; almost like she was telling me "I'm doing the same thing again and you can't stop me".

And after every duel, she would rattle off everything I did wrong. My feet were not positioned right. I was holding my sword too tightly. Then I was holding it too loosely. And so on.

'Just one more beating and it'll be over,' I muse to myself.

She closed the distance between us in the blink of an eye. Impressive, given that even my short range teleport is slower than her natural movement.

Appearing right before me, sword ready to strike, she held her posture for several seconds. Her 'handicap' for me; slowing herself to let my reaction time and reflexes keep up with her. Otherwise, there would be literally no way for me to even keep track of her; let alone keep up with her.

When we first started, the small delay was just long enough for me to register that I was about to be hit. Now, after having strengthened myself and worked my nubile body to its breaking point, it was just enough time for me to almost block the strike.

Almost.

Her blunted blade effortlessly avoided mine, and struck my arm. A quick jab of her foot struck the bone of my ankle, causing me to lose balance. However, as I slid down, I was quickly scooped off my feet.

Instead of an ignoble landing on the grassy ground, Mom had seemingly caught me mid fall; holding me in a bridal style. She smiled, I groaned.

"You're improving," she told me. "Soon enough, you might be able to actually hold your ground against me. Remember, you don't need to stand still in a duel. Standing too still against a foe who relies on agility is not the wisest of moves."

"Yes Mom," I muttered. I was just glad it was over.

"Good! Now let's head home and see to your bruises. I know just the potion to make the soreness go away."

"Great so, could you put me down now?" I wriggled in her grasp.

"I could," she stated as she walked towards the city.

She didn't let me go until we were back home.

----------
---------
---------

"You know, I'm probably training more by healing you all the time than I am at the chapel," Cerra quipped as her glowing hands bathed my bruised body in healing light. "You're worse than some of the paladin initiates."

"I know."

Turns out having a priest in training as a friend is a really good thing when fate has seemingly conspired to make me get into physical activity on a regular basis. I mean, I'm going to be a Mage! In what world does it make sense of a mage to be trained in physical combat? Granted, it was mostly Mom doing it, but still!

Even the stuff Siristrasza puts me through doesn't leave me covered in black and blues!

I mean, it scars me in other ways, but never in the physical way.

"I still don't get why you're not wearing proper training gear," Cerra went on, her glowing hands moving from my arms to my sides. "The initiates may not wear all that much while training themselves, but even they wear a basic chest piece and protective gloves."

"I know," I groan as the soreness from before slowly disappears under the healing glow.

"And even then, why train a caster to be a warrior? Paladins might be able to wield the Light, but they are first and foremost melee fighters. The Light is to augment their capabilities rather than be a replacement to their weapon mastery and plate armor."

"I know."

"What your Mother is trying to do seems like the reverse; training a mage to be a warrior. Using a sword to augment your spellcasting. Which doesn't make much sense for a person being taught to be a dedicated ranged spellcaster. I mean, give me a staff and I'll rain the Light's wrath on the wicked. Give me a sword and tell me to charge the enemy, I'm just as liable to hurt myself as I am to actually hit them."

"I know."

As the last bits of soreness ebbed away under her healing hands, and the glow vanished, Cerra pulled away and huffed.

"Anyway that's just my opinion on the matter," she clarified. "Now, this is where I would normally tell someone to be more careful in the future. But because this is you, I expect you to come limping back in a week's time."

"I know, and thank you," I stood up, stretching out my newly healed limbs.

"Oh no need to thank me," Cerra deflected. "As a priestess, even one in training, it's my job to heal and care for all in need; no matter how injury prone they are."

No one so innocent and pure as Cerra should be capable of pulling off such a smug smile. I feel as if this is my fault. That interacting with me over the years has tainted her pure soul.

"I'm not injury prone," I tried to wave off her accusation. "It's just a coincidence."

"But of course," Cerra sounded sincere. But again, that smug smile hidden behind her hand.

I just huffed to myself. Cerra rolled her eyes. I could even tell she was thinking something along the lines of 'little girl' in her head despite us only being a few years apart in age.

"So Syllia, I have a question." Cerra changed the topic.

"Yeah?" I asked, happy for any new topic to discuss.

"How-" She hesitated for a moment, biting the bottom of her lip as she fiddled with her thumbs. "How...do you tell someone you enjoy their company?"

"In what sense?" Enjoy can have two very different meanings. I want to take her at face value and assume it's something wholesome. But…

"I mean..." she stopped short. She retreated her head into the relative cover of her hood. I heard her say something, but the fabric muffled her words.

Looking down, I could make out some of the redness on her face from the bits that her hoodie didn't cover.

Taking my seat next to her on the rock again, I weighed my options. She seemed quite embarrassed about this. Or self conscious. Best to use humor to diffuse the situation.

"You know you don't need to be so circumspect with me," I began. "I will gladly accept any confession you have for me! What renegades we are. A mage and a priest. Even if society frowns on it, I shall gladly take you as my wife and we shall live out our days in the peace and seclusion of the Eversong!"

Then I heard it. A girlish snort. Laughter held back by the hands. Her previous indecisiveness and embarrassment dissolved in a fit of giggles. After a minute, Cerra emerged from her hoodie-cocoon. Her face was still red, but she seemed more confident.

"I'm sorry Syllia but," her tone took a playfully serious note. A hand reached out for my shoulder. Cerra looked into my eyes with all the seriousness she could muster. "While I care for you as a friend, I don't see you in that light."

I 'recoil' in 'shock'. Hand clutches my heart as I fall backwards onto the rock. Cerra laughed.

"My heart is broken," I lamented. "I fear I shall never know true love again."

"Oh stop it," she managed to speak up between her laughter. A playful slap on my hand reaching out to the sky.

"Woe is me."

I started laughing at myself not long after.

Eventually, we managed to calm ourselves down enough to have a proper conversation.

"So, in all seriousness," I began, seeing her finally calming down as well. "What's this about?"

"It's a bit complicated," Cerra rang her fingers together as she looked for the right words. "At the chapel there's this boy. Solran. He's in my age group, but training to be a paladin rather than a priest. And..."

"And you like him?" I finished her sentence.

"We've been friends for years," she didn't answer, choosing to continue her story. "First time I met him, I thought he was an idiot." She smiled at the memory. "A dull brute even. I was sitting in the chapel learning my chants quietly, when this loudmouth barged in and started making all this noise. He wasn't yelling or anything, but when you're in a quiet room trying to read something, everything sounds louder than it really is. His constant desire to start a conversation with me or ambiently comment on the room was grating."

I raise my hands up defensively, "no need to explain that to me. Mage, remember?"

Thinking back, I do remember a similar situation occurring to me in the study hall of the Academy. Some boy was hitting on a servant girl. Making several inappropriate comments. Pretty sure there was something more going on in that corner of the hall to be honest.

Everyone was staring at them. They, in turn, seemed oblivious to all the annoyed eyes on them.

As the ire against them built up in the room, a flash of light enveloped them. When it disappeared, it became obvious that they were hit with a polymorph spell. Where a student and servant had sat, now two tiny dogs occupied the space.

Laughter broke out amongst everyone. The symbolism was obvious. The two were then promptly scooped up by the librarian by the scruffs of their polymorphed canine necks and taken out of the building.

Good times.

"I hissed at him to be quiet," Cerra continued her story. "When he kept talking regardless, I picked up my prayer book and walked out. Unlike most of us training at the chapel, he's an orphan so he also lives there. So for the next week I avoided the prayer room in an attempt to get away from him. But one day.."

She gripped her hands tighter together at the memory.

"One day, I was walking to the chapel and these older kids from the village surround and start heckling me. They said Quel'Thalas was no place for human lovers. That I should just move to Lordaeron if I wanted to be 'taken' by humans so badly. They used slightly more derogatory language and insulting slurs, but that was the gist of what they said."

You know that stuff doesn't even surprise me. I've found high elf culture as a whole has this tasteful mix of xenophobia and racial superiority. Even in my classes at Dath'Remar it was hammered into kids' minds, purity of the race, purity of the culture, purity of the blood. Quel'Thalas was the most civilized kingdom in the known world and its people were the most cultured and civilized race in the world.

And that was from the self-proclaimed 'most open minded' professor on campus. Hate to see what a close-minded teacher would tell their class.

"I was used to it at that point," she went on. "Despite how useful priests and the Church have been to the kingdom as a whole, no matter how much good we do, there will always be those who continue to see the Church as a human institution attempting to infiltrate society. My parents told me that it has gotten better since the Wars; but that close minded people will always find something to attack us for."

"I-" I didn't know what to say to that. I've never experienced anything like that. Then again, I'm a high elf going to school to become a mage. There is literally nothing more stereotypically high elven than that.

"But this time was different," she took a breath before continuing. "They didn't just use words to attack me. Said I should get 'proper' training if I wished to be a human's servant. They grabbed me, and I...I feared the worst."

Holy shit….

"Then I heard a voice call out to the attackers," she smiled. "It was Solran. It was providence that he was walking to the village that very morning to fix his practice sword. So seeing me in distress, he attacked the boys. It was over in seconds. They were a bunch of village misfits, Solran was a paladin in training; the result was obvious. Several broken bones and missing teeth later, the boys ran."

She looked up to the orange leaves of the Everson trees. "After that, we became fast friends."

"And you want to take the next step," I finished.

Cerra blushed and nodded, "yes."

"So what's the problem?" I asked.

"The problem is that Solran, while one of the friendliest people I know and with one of the biggest hearts in the kingdom, is a bit dim when it comes to women," she gave a nervous chuckle. "No fewer than two other girls, also friends of both him and I, have made no secret of their affection for him. Similar stories to myself, him being a galivanting hero in their times of need; then slowly falling for the dolt he is."

Oh I didn't need to hear anything else. I know what's wrong with this boy. Protagonist Syndrome. Big heart, dumb when it comes to obvious signs of affection. Oof. Bad luck Cerra.

Using my former male mind, and my knowledge and tropes, I should be able to help her out with this.

"Just be blunt with him," I told her. "He sounds like the type of guy who will just downplay or understate any subtle signs of affection as just being 'friendly' or him just misinterpreting it. So be as direct and blunt as possible to make sure he understands your feelings."

Cerra looked at me, owlishly blinking at my response. "I would like to argue that you're wrong about him but…"

"So it's decided," I stood up and pointed at her. "Next time you get a chance, you'll walk up and just tell him how you feel. No side stepping or round about talking. Walk straight up to him and just say 'I have a crush on you Solran, do you feel the same'."

"That's...actually what Priestess Vallan said to do when I asked her for advice," Cerra mulled over my words, finger playing with the sleeve of her robes.

"Trust me, with boys like him, being blunt is the best way to avoid any romantic tension," I nodded at my own wisdom.

I was confident that this thing between Solran and Cerra would work itself out. After getting it through his seemingly thick skull that Cerra was genuinely interested in him, two possibilities emerge; either he reciprocates, or he does not. Simple.

All I'm happy about is not being so blind to obvious affection. You think the signs of affection this blatant should be obvious enough to anyone with basic social awareness.

Wait… A thought just occurred to me!

Cerra said that her friend was a paladin in training?

As in someone who knows how to fight but who may not just utterly curb stomp me in a handful of seconds?

"Hey Cerra."

"Yeah?"

"Your friend, Solran," I started, "do you think you can introduce us?"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Another chapter is done.

Oh Sweet Syllia... just keep being the dense protagonist you are!

Also, we are nearing the start of Warcraft 3! Just a few more chapters!

 

[Midas_Man]

WOW this took a long time for me to get out!

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Halfway through my sixteenth year as an elf, I am becoming painfully aware of the slowly encroaching doom of the race I have been reborn into. Like a clock slowly ticking to midnight. Its slow. If you stare at it, it seems like the little arms aren't moving, but every now and then, it creeks forward. Even if only by a centimeter a tick, it moves onwards.

Now I may not have the exact date for Arthas's "genocide fun time" but I do know the rough chronological order certain events that precede it happen.

And the first one on the list kicked off a few months ago!

The Horde has reformed.

The various orcish internment camps scattered across the member states of the Alliance have been attacked. Supposedly led by Doomhammer himself. Hundreds of thousands of orcs have already been broken out of the camps by the resurgent Horde and have fled into the wilderness.

There, allegedly, they are readying themselves for a Third War. Afterall, bands of orcish raiders have already been spotted as far south as Stormwind, and dozens of isolated towns have been sacked; their populations cut down, enslaved, or sacrificed to demons according to reports from some paladins. What is this if not a prelude to open hostilities?

Even here in Silvermoon, the memory of the last war was still fresh. Even more so when for much of the population, something decades ago is considered 'very recent'. Some even wondered if the Horde would ally with the trolls once more and burn the kingdom again.

That Silvermoon itself would be put under siege once more they cried out.

I yawned.

Maybe I am being a bit unfair. No one else could know what I know. Maybe the Bronze Dragons, but that's a whole different can of worms to open.

The new Horde has no interest in wars or conquests. The orcish attacks on isolated settlements represents one to one and a half percent of the orcs freed from the camps. A fraction of a sliver of a minority who are venting their anger and rage at everything around them. The vast majority of the orcs just want to move on, who see the orcs raiding across the kingdoms as nothing more than fools who wish to repeat the failures of the past rather than build a future for themselves in this alien world.

As for the trolls? The current leader of the Amani hates the Horde now. Since they 'abandoned' the trolls who were on the cusp of 'victory'. Funny words. 'Abandoned' in the sense that Doomhammer didn't want his forces to be smashed between the pincer that was the combined might of the Alliance and Royal armies.

'Victory' in the sense that the Horde had beaten itself bloody against the magic shield over the city and had no means of breaching it.

Ah good old-fashioned bias.

Regardless, even when no orcish horde emerged from thin air to destroy civilization, the Kingdom still launched a series of punitive raids into Armani territory. You know, for good old times sake.

As for me.

My studies were accelerating. My grades were some of the best of my 'age' bracket (hehe). Even my magic expanding at a rapid pace. I can blow up big rocks with the power of my arcane magic! I was even one of the strongest people in class!

Not the strongest of course; Elsia held that title without any real completion. It's kind of funny, you'd never think someone so demure and cute would be so utterly terrifying to fight. I mean, her fire magic burns white hot and melts stone! Her grades were above average, even amongst the high standards of the Academy. But it was her magic that set her leagues above anything the rest of us could match. Hell, even the professors had a hard time keeping up with her magic.

Hate to have to be on the receiving end of her fire when she gets older and more experienced!

Assuming any of us make it that far…..

--
--

Cling.

Blink.

Cling.

Slash.

Cling.

Blink.

Clash.

Thump.

"Fuck," I hissed out as my ass hit the grass and my training sword landing somewhere behind me.

"Are you okay?"

"Don't worry, I'm fine," I waved off my training partner's concern. "Trust me, I've dealt with way worse."

"If you say so," a hand reached out to me, "let me help you up at least."

"Thanks," accepting the paladin in training's hand, I was quickly hoisted back to my feet.

I didn't know what to think of Sorlan before I met him. Sure, I had what Cerra told me, but she was hardly had an objective opinion. Oh, I remember her swooning about while waiting for him when Cerra said he agreed to meet with me. I could practically see the hearts in her eyes when she was talking. While her initial shyness on him was cute, I'd honesty rather deal with that then another tirade of her gushing on him.

Though I did get a jab in on her when I brought up if she followed my advice to be blunt with him.

That got her all quiet and blushing, mumbling something under her breath. So, mission accomplished on that front!

But sadly, I had to admit something when I met him.

He was hot!

He was well built. Unlike most elf men who are warriors, he had muscles. Not the lean, slim, muscles that are common. No! He was CUT! While not 'bodybuilder' levels of muscle, it was far more than I have ever seen on the elven form.

Add in the fact that his eyes seemed to sparkle like sapphires, his wavy blonde hair blew in the breeze, and his voice was full of warmth made it no wonder why so many girls were throwing themselves at him. I wanted to throw myself at him! He looked like a literal harem protagonist who grew up from his teenage years!

Hell, even if I WAS a guy still, I'd probably throw myself at him as well!

But there was one thing that stood out even amongst his handsome features: Sorlan was a half elf.

Beyond the bulkier than normal frame, or his greater than average height, or his shorter eyebrows, it was his eyes that gave him away. While they did shine, it was in the metaphorical sense than a literal one. No glow or light of any kind emanated from his eyes. His eyes were that of a normal human. While they held a shade of blue I have never seen in a human before, closer to cyan than a regular blue, they still human eyes all the same.

Kind of puts it in perspective why he was an orphan. Despite their elven heritage, half elves are not considered 'true' elves. At best, they are 'half-humans'; with great emphases on the 'human' part. At worst, and from what I have seen in the Academy, they might as well be some kind of chimera creature. I've even read some books that describe them more like animals than people. Having bodies too bulky to be an on an elf, but also too slender to be a human. Eyes with shades unknown to normal humans, but too dull to be elven. They live long lives by human standards, but pitifully short by proper elven standards.

One book in particular, that was disavowed by even the blue-blooded isolationists, said that the half elves are an attempt by human kingdoms to 'replace' proper elves with 'half humans'; to 'breed' the elven race to extinction.

Of course, it's not just elves who are standoffish to half elves; they get properly shafted by the human half also. A number of humans were fearful of half elves for a time and even believed them to be attempt by elves to 'replace' humanity by 'breeding it out of existence with their hybrids'.

Nowadays, most half elves live in the human kingdoms; mostly Dalaran, Lordaeron, and Stormwind. It's beyond unusual for a half-elf to be found in Quel'Thalas proper.

"Ready for another go?" He asked as I picked up the practice sword.

"Sure," I agreed, stretching my arms out and shifting beneath the practice armor he lends me during out little matches. "Probably the last one for the day. I'm starting to feel soreness in my arms."

As we readied ourselves for our last bout for the day, I mused about the situation.

He wasn't just a pretty face, he was also a damn good swordsman, or paladin in this case. While he had none of the speed that Mom had, he was seemingly far more durable than she was. Even with a two-handed sword, he could swing and deflect faster than I anticipated.

It's kind of funny. I am so used to being the 'slow' one in practice fights thanks to Mom's bullshit agility and speed that it's weird for me to play the role of the 'speedster'. Not that the agility difference between us was that great. My 'speed' came from magic rather than physical conditioning.

Both hands on my sword, I charged Sorlan. He in turn prepared to parry my blow and counterattack. Our practice blades collided. The paladin in training used his superior strength to shove me back, breaking my form. He readied for a horizontal slash to end our match. If I had been just another trainee this probably would have been the end.

Except I wasn't just trainee. I was a mage.

As he swept the blade across, I blinked away. His blade met only air as I reappeared behind him. To his credit, he used the momentum of the swing to whirl himself around to face me. I managed to get two quick hits on his training armor before our blades met once more.

Then I blinked away to his blind spot resume my frenzied hacking.

I remember a time when I was utter trash at Blink. Use to get my feet stuck in the ground when I 'reappeared' or arrived at a point several feet off the ground. It's a spell that really screws with your spatial awareness if you're not careful. A spell requiring both awareness of your current surroundings and an awareness of the surroundings that you will be appearing in.

But now years after my first disastrous blink, where I ended up waist deep in the ground, I was very competent in it. I might screw up a bit in longer blinks, such as twenty to thirty feet at a time. But merely blinking one to two feet at a time to avoid a sword strike?

Child's play.

And so, like always, a stalemate ensued. Sorlan lacked the speed necessary to hit me before I blinked away, but I lacked the outright strength to make use of it. With the sword I mean. If I was really fighting for my life, I'd probably use my magic to blast him away when I got behind him before setting him on fire. Of course, this is practice for my swordsmanship so of course I'm not going to do that! And it wasn't like he was giving it his all either. I've seen what kind of damage his Light magic can do to practice dummies.

Sadly, that good sportsmanship on our parts does leave me more at a disadvantage than him.

And eventually, he got the better of me.

After blinking behind him for the umpteenth time, I was greeted by his elbow jabbing itself into my ribs. I then realized that I had blinked in too close. I reflexively moved to cradle the impact site, giving him all the time he needed to swing around and punt me in the chest with his pommel.

Crumpling onto my knees, I coughed as all the air in me was pushed out. I dropped my sword and clutched my chest. Wheezing as I tried to fill my empty lungs with air. As I struggled to take in oxygen, I felt a warmth overtake me. The pain dulled as the seconds ticked by.

"Sorry about that," Sorlan apologized, his outreached hand radiating light onto me. "Got carried away."

"It's…fine. Don't worry…about it," I waved off his concerns while still catching my breath; feeling the effects of his healing quickly take hold. "But I think I'm done for the day."

"Well at least let me help you up," he quickly scooped me off the ground and back onto my feet.

With a quick thanks on my part, we walked back to the training yard to return our armor.

Doing so, I tried to ignore the feelings in my body.

The worst thing I found about training with someone I find physically attractive, was how it made me feel later. Strong, attractive, kind, maybe a bit dim in some respects, but a great guy overall. All the things a girl could want; so I'm told. Some lingering part of me feels strange that I can even get these feelings from a guy at all. Afterall, I use to be a straight guy myself. At least I think I was.

But it's not like my tastes changed completely, since I am still attracted to women like I was before; oh boy am I still attracted to them. But now my eyes, and mind, drifted to men just as often as to women.

Did that make me straight? Gay? Bi? Something else entirely.

My body's hormones did nothing to alleviate the situation! Though part of me wishes that I was-

"You okay Syllia?"

Sorlan's words broke me out of my thoughts. Blinking, I looked around and saw we had reached the shed holding the armors and Sorland was holding out his hand to take my armor.

"Yes," I quipped back, clumsily unhooking the chest piece and handing it to him. "I'm fine."

"You sure? Your face looks a bit red. Maybe a fever-"

"No. it's just the heat," I shot back, hoping to stop any further shonen misunderstandings to occur. "I'm just going to go home and take it easy!" Spinning on my heel, I immediately starting walking back in the direction of home.

"Well okay then," I heard him call back to me. "Just make sure to hydrate yourself!"

"I will," I reply without looking back. With the burning sensation across my cheeks, I had no intention on digging myself a deeper grave by turning around.

…

Damn it.

--
--

God fucking damn it all!

Say what you will about humans and their short lives, at least their bodies leave puberty at the fifteen-to-sixteen-year range. Elves though? It's weird, like everything that involves ageing and time. The normal end to puberty for elves is nineteen to twenty years old according to heath class.

Of course, that does not mean I will be an 'adult' yet. I merely will have reached 'physical maturity'. I'll have to wait until I crack sixty to be considered a 'young' adult. And if Mom is anything to go by, I'll still get the "not now kid" treatment into the first half of my second century.

That does not mean elves mature mentally at a slower rate. A high elf at age forty is not going to be a man child with the maturity of a fourteen-year-old. It is just hard for people who are hundreds, or even thousands, of years old to take someone who is less than a century old seriously.

Basically, it's a matter of life experience, not cognitive maturity.

For example, if it turns out an elf is smarter than the rest of his fellow eighty-year-old colleagues; splendid! He can start working towards his life goals sooner and have an edge over his compatriots.

If not? No worries! After all, he's "only in his eighties", he has his whole life ahead of him. At least, that is what standard wisdom holds.

But where was I? Ah yes! Puberty!

Fuck puberty!

But to be fair, I seemingly got off well in the physical department. No acne. No scratchy voice. My baby fat burned away very smoothly, and I was no longer some androgynous blob thing. I'd actually like to think my shape was very healthy for my age.

Of course, things could be better.

For example, I was cute.

Not sexy.

Not hot.

Just cute.

In Mom's words, I had a 'youthful charm' about myself. Less one thing and more an amalgamation of traits coming together. My frame was slim, my breasts (I still remember going "holy shit I have tits" for quite some time when they grew in properly) were average in size. I was not flat, but neither did my breasts become gigantic udders that I remember seeing on fictional female characters in my past life. Along with a bunch of other minor things going from the exact shade of blond my hair was, my soothing voice, to the brightness of my eyes, to even my cheek bones, I was "cute as a button".

But no use worrying about such things. I was just grateful I transitioned out of 'pubescence' without any major hiccups.

More importantly right now I had more immediate 'issues' to deal with. One of the biggest downsides of being a teenager again was the perpetual hormonal soup I was drowning in. I had…feelings that were somewhat annoying to deal with on 'my own'. But imagination can only carry one so far. I blame a lifetime of access to the dark, debauch, underbelly of the web for my issues right now with filling my head with filth.

Thankfully, I have recently acquired certain 'literature' to help me through is trying time.

And who do you think gave me such filth to read in the first place?

--
--

Thunk.

"So, are you enjoying the books Silly?"

Thunk.

"Well, are ya?"

Thunk.

"Well?"

Thunk.

"Are ya-"

"You're a pervert."

Thunk.

I'd like to say that 'never did I think Noly would grow up to be an unabashed pervert and share her porn with me' but here we are.

She didn't even have the decency to look ashamed of my accusation. All the redhead did was snicker at me as she let loose another arrow downrange. It pierced the bags arrayed into the shape of a humanoid figure, propped up by a skeletal frame of wood, with a satisfying thunk. Little bullseyes were painted all over it to indicated vital placed to hit. Red sand slowly poured out of the holes to simulate a sense of 'realism'.

Already ten minutes on, and the dummy man looked like a porcupine with all the arrows stuck in it. Lots around the chest. A few right between the eyes.

Ever since she joined up with the rangers, we didn't see each other nearly as much as we use to. That's not to say we don't see each other anymore or aren't in contact. It's just the Rangers do their things out in the Eversong Forest, and I'm here in Silvermoon doing my own stuff. Sometimes she's gone for weeks at a time, maybe even months on occasions. In the letters she sends back she tells me what she's allowed to, given she was told to keep some things secret. But from her descriptions it sounds like some extreme survival training mixed in with archery, martial arts, and team building exercises.

When she does come back from these training seminars, she spends the first few days in her bed sleeping away the muscle soreness. Then, she latches onto me, and we spend time with one another. Mostly just talking. Sometimes other stuff, like going to a local archery range so she can show off her archery skills.

Say what I will about her taste in literature, but Noly was turning out to be a crack shot with the bow.

We weren't the only two out here on this field, half a dozen other archers practiced down the lanes; separated by white chalk lines on the ground. Couldn't tell if they were rangers or not. Probably not, given none of them looked dressed for the part. No one besides Noly was dressed in the earthy greens and browns associated with the Rangers, her leaving her midriff completely exposed. Everyone else was dressed in a mishmash of colors and attire. A mixture of regular archers and amateurs I'd guess.

Then again they could just be in regular clothes…

Seeing her quiver out of arrows, she put her bow down and tracked across the field to pluck out her arrows.

I will be the first one to admit that Noly was hot. All her baby fat was gone, replaced with lean muscle gained from nonstop training. Her skin held a healthy tan to it, having none of paleness that I, and other mages, had. Probably from all the time she spends outdoors.

Did I mention I think she's hot?

"So Noly," I asked as she returned to her place, arrows in hand. "I was wondering…."

"Yes?" she pressed me as I trailed off, trying to find the right words for her.

"I was wondering….," I repeated before trying a different angle. "You remember those books you sent me a month ago?"

"You mean the 'Ranger Chronicles'?" She questioned before letting loose an arrow.

"Yeah, those," I could feel the hit raising to my cheeks and the tips of my ears. "Do you happen to have any others in the series?"

"I might," Thunk. "Why?"

"I'm just curious how the… 'plot' ends.," I mumbled the last part out in some vain attempt to make the situation a little less embarrassing, averting my eyes from her gleeful expression. For whatever reason, outright saying I liked to read that kind of stuff was just so damn hard to say. Maybe it was because we were out in public?

"The plot?" she snickered at my terminology, knowing full well what I was talking about. "Funny way to refer to a story about a girl who-"

"Yes that," I hissed at her to shut up. While I might be okay with that kind of stuff, I'd rather someone didn't say what my kinks were out in public! "You don't need to say anything else aloud."

"Okay, Okay," she laughed at my response. "Sorry, won't say anything else."

I might have gotten a bit embarrassed by her giggles, even if nothing was spoken. "Why do you even have books like that?"

"I won them in a bet," she stated proudly. "Top place in an novice archer competition with the other trainees. I put my own 'Princess and the Hero' series up as my bet. As for why? Well why not? It's just a book. No one is actually getting hurt or anything, so why would I have a problem with it?"

"So could you give me the series to me?" I bluntly asked to get to the point, like ripping off a band aid. "If you want, I could pay you for them."

This seemed to intrigue her, since she set her bow aside and took a thinking position, her eyes going off to the side.

"Hmmmm, well since I have the collector's edition with all the illustrations, it's worth about fifty gold," Noly mused aloud.

Fuck. That's a lot for someone like me. Maybe for the other kids at the Academy fifty gold was nothing. But Mom gave me a very small allowance to do with as I will, a few silver, and I didn't really want to ask her for more given how she earned her money.

That's not to say I didn't have some gold stashed away; I do occasionally find the odd gold coin on the ground at the Academy that some noble kid dropped and dint care to pick up. After all its ONLY one gold coin, not like it can feed a poor family of four for a week or anything.

It might dig into my personal stash of money for other things, but for-

"But for you," she went on, "all I will ask for a kiss."

"What…" did I hear her right?

She huffed at my confusion. "I've told you so many times Silly, a fair maiden's kiss is worth more than all the gold in the world!" I swear I saw little sparkles in her blue eyes; and not the ones that came from our magical environment.

What is with this girl and her fervent romanticism? And a kiss of all things? From another girl? I mean I'm all fine with something like it, but is she? Looking at her slowly reddening cheeks, looks like she might be a tad embarrassed about what she just said. Maybe not thinking things through; like usual.

"But not like that," Noly sputtered out after seeing my silence expression; whatever suave bravado she was working with earlier seemingly evaporating. "It's not like I…. What I mean to say that it's like…practice…for later in life. You know?"

"Practice?" I replied.

"Yeah, practice," she repeated, looking around her as if she was seeing if someone was watching us along the line up of people. "You know two of the older trainees in my group are together and- I mean not together like us, here, but 'together-together'. And when they were taking about their relationship stuff they mentioned how it was awkward in the beginning and…well he kind of said they were both nervous before she just…..Look I'm just saying I don't want to be awkward and I trust you more than anyone, besides my Mom and Dad of course, so I was just-"

Noly's words soon became a circular argument with herself as she continued to 'explain' what she meant, becoming little more than a sea of incoherent words slurring together. It was kind of cute to see her all flustered like this, her face slowly becoming as red as her hair.

But cute as it is, however, I can't stand to see her brain fry itself like this for much longer; cuteness overload and all that.

"Okay," I interrupt her nervous explanations.

"-and I wouldn't of course. Not because…. I mean- Wait what?" she stopped mid rant to look at me.

"I said okay," I reiterated. It's just one kiss, and clearly, it's something she wants to try and not be taken the wrong way. After all, who was I to say no to a kiss from a cute red head?

"Are you sure-"

"Yes, Noly. I am sure," I rolled my eyes at her embarrassment and worry. Did she think I was going to judge her or anything?

She blinked a few times, inhaled a deep breath, and walked over to me.

We stand before one another, noses almost touching. Being so close to her face, I can feel my own cheeks heating up like her's are. But for almost a minute, all we did was just stand there. Neither of us wanting to make the first move. As I was preparing to end this stand off and get on with it, Noly took the initiative.

Eyes closed she pressed her lips against mine. All she did was keep her lips in chaste contact with my own, all the while I could feel her labored breathing through her nose as the seconds ticked by. Eyes still slammed shut, the tips of her ears now reddening like her cheeks. I will admit, even my breathing hitched from the contact and my own face felt warmer; so who was I to say anything.

I heard her fingers drum against her sides, as if she were venting nervous energy from them; had to stop myself from reaching out and grabbing them as a way to calm her a little bit. Mostly because I was worried, she might take it as me trying to hold her in place than offering a comforting hand. She was nervous enough as it was, no need to add anything else to that.

So, there we stood there.

One second.

Three seconds.

Seven seconds.

As we passed the twelve second mark, Noly's eyes shot open, she gazed into my own for one last second, then pulled back. With how heavy her breathing was, a person would be forgiven from thinking that our kiss had been far more intense than what it in fact was.

"Are you okay?" I ask her, poor girl looked like she was going to melt away with how red her face was. Was she worried what I would say, this being a first kiss and everything?

"…what?" Noly replied, seemingly now coming back to her senses, a finger tracing just below her lip.

"I said are you okay. You looked a bit flustered."

"No I- I'm fine Silly," she told me. Looking around, she scratched the back of her neck. "And thanks for…helping me with that."

"It's no problem," I smile, waving off her concerns. "And I'm fine for more if you want," which was swiftly followed by me mentally kicking myself for the second comment. That came out so wrong. Geeze, I sound like a creep saying something like that.

"Really?" She quickly asked, I subtly heard her take a sharp breath.

"Yes, really."

"Really?" she repeated.

"Noly, are you okay-"

"I mean yes," she interrupted me. "I mean, sure. Yes…..I'm completely…… Yes I would lo…. Yes Silly that would be fine. But….I have to go now though," she rambled out, wringing her hands as she spoke. "I have this…thing I forgot about at home….and you know how it is….when you forget about your thing…..I have that thing at the lodge and I need to bring it home."

'But you just said it was at your home' would be my first response to her contradicting statements, but even I'm not cruel enough to keep this stuttering mess of an elf here longer than she wants to be. First kisses can be nerve wracking and all that.

"Well okay then Noly, I won't keep you any longer if it's that important," I gave her the out she was looking for.

"I mean if you….. No you're right," she nodded with herself, "I have to go to the thing at the store." Now it's the store? "Thank you Silly," all her nervous energy momentarily suppressed, "see you around."

She waved to me as she jogged off towards the city center, sparing a moment to shoot a glare towards the lineup of archers, with an accusatory finger and a string of silent curses sent their way, before leaving the range.

I roll my eyes at her actions. Yeah, I can see who she was glaring at, a pair of kids about our age at the far end of the range doing their best to look the complete opposite direction from where we were. Why do teens blow stuff out of proportions? Who cares if some random people saw us? Not like in a city of millions you'll see them again.

--
--

The next day I had a package containing the rest of the books in the series Noly had promised me from our deal; to be honest I had genuinely forgot about the whole 'deal' thing we worked out. In the letter attached, she mentioned how she was 'called back' early to training but would be open for more 'practice' at a later date.

I really hope I didn't scare her off or make things awkward between us with the kiss thing.

Sadly, potential friendship awkwardness aside, that wasn't the only bad thing to happen to me that day.

You see, since I'm at Dath'Remar most of the day, that means I am not home when the post arrives. But you know who IS home most of the day recently?

Mom.

Maybe its just me, but I can think of no worse fate to inflict upon my enemies than to have them be cornered by their parents over their selection in 'literature'. It has led to the most difficult trial I have dealt with in this life so far. Greater than even the Old Gods taking an interest in me or the imminent genocide of my new race: trying to not die of embarrassment as Mom asks questions about subjects I would rather not answer her about.

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Remember readers, in terms of density, it goes Iridium, Osmium, then Syllia.

Also, sorry for the delay, had a bunch of stuff on the docket, but I think I have everything under control now.

So yes, a very fluffy chapter. Tried my best to capture that uncomfortable feeling found in puberty and young love with all the awkwardness you'd expect. I think you can already imagine what the "other" version explained in a bit more detail then I can do in a SFW environment.

Anyway, next chapter will probably be about school life, followed by one one interlude, and THEN events of Warcraft 3 begins (or at the very least the events are beginning to occur off screen)

 

[Midas_Man]

[Note: timeline uses the Opening of the Dark Portal as Year 0]

-1 : Syllia is found by Ameria in the Eversong Woods and is taken in as her daughter.

0: Dark Portal Opens, First War begins

3: Stormwind is sacked. First War Ends in Horde Victory. Syllia is 4 years old.

4: Second War Begins.

5: Horde Siege of Silvermoon. Orgim Doomhammer forced to withdraw to escape encirclement by Alliance forces. Amani forces routed. Quel'Thalas joins the Alliance. Battle of Lordaeron begins.

6: Second War ends in Alliance victory. Orcish Interment begins. Syllia is 7 years old.

8: Events of Beyond the Dark Portal occur; Dark Portal reopens due to actions of Ner'zul, Alliance forces launch counter invasion to Orc homworld, Dark Portal is sealed by Alliance forces on the far side of the portal as Draenor is torn apart by magic, Alliance expedition assumed lost.

9: The Alliance splinters; the Kingdoms of Gilneas, Stromgarde, and Quel'Thalas leave the Alliance over disputes for the payment of Orcish interment.

10: Events of Day of the Dragon occur; Alexstrasza freed from control of the Dragon Maw Orcs and returns to Wyrmrest to recover. Syllia Dawnguard is accepted into Dath'Remar Academy.

11: Syllia Dawnguard becomes the apprentice to the red dragon Siristrasza; Syllia Dawnguard is approximately 12 - 13 years old.

12 - 19: Orcish liberation from Interment camps. Thrall declared Warcheif of the new Horde. Cult of the Damned formed by former Kirin Tor Arch Mage Kel'thuzad.

20: Events of Reign of Chaos begin. Syllia Dawnguard is 21 years old.

 

[Midas_Man]

Quick Story update!

First, the story is not dead.

Second, and more importantly, apologies for the lack of updates. I've had a bit of a writers block kind of situation regarding this story. Not in a "I don't know what I want from the story" but in the "how do I GET to that point in a (mostly) seamless way". Looking back at what I have, and comparing it to my rough outline for where I want to story to go, I feel like saying "how the hell did I think this was any good!".

To be honest, I've kind of been siting on my hands regarding updating Child of Noble Birth for a while. Add in the unexpected success of some of my other stories (both here and on other sites) and I've kind of been stumped on what to do.

So, in my spare time, I started to tinker with the story. Then I tinkered some more. Before I knew it, I had two entire arcs rewritten. And by now I have around 100k written in the rewrite of the story.

So that's what I've been doing for the past few months, rewriting the story. However, the rewritten story does change the plot progression quite a bit (but the overall story is still the same) I've been procrastinating actually updating. So after much internal debate, I've decided against making a whole new thread (and likely loose some readers) or just reediting the chapters (since people coming back to the new chapters will be confused about the difference in events) and have decided to simply move all the previous chapters to the "Apocrypha" threadmark while adding the new chapters as normal.

TLDR: Rewrote the story, adding in new chapters to replace old ones.

Naturally I will be happy to answer any questions anyone may have if none of this makes any sense or comes off as disjointed or ramblly. The first chapter has already been reedited (not removing that one for practical reasons)