Untitled Work

Zin-Azshari or 'The Glory of Azshara' was a grand metropolis of knowledge and hedonistic delights.  The noble-birthed Highborne of the Night-Elven society dwelt in this magnificent kingdom.  Here, they immersed themselves in the mysteries of the arcane.  The Well of Eternity welcomed their gluttonous desires for magic and knowledge.

The night air was crisp with the scent of the sea and the moist earthy aroma of freshly trimmed leaves. Each pristine white building that lined the walkway seemed to glow in the moonlight.  The soft twinkle of orbs that had been conjured illuminated the cobblestone streets.  The sleepy residents traveling wearily homeward were grateful for the light.
On this pleasant night, the cobblestone streets were empty and the city was shrouded in drowsy silence.  The hour wasn't particularly late; however the season for crickets had not yet arrived, which left the air silent of their usual chirping songs.  The only soul to be seen was a solitary scribe, scuttling awkwardly down the stone walkway.  He balanced several scrolls and books precariously in his arms, while craning his neck to the side, to see around the pile.

He was a bespectacled young man, his age well hidden by his ever-youthful appearance.  His brightly colored uniform robes were rumpled, pinched and wrinkled in several places, stained with inks of varying colors and singed from protective magic bindings that had not quite been properly disarmed on the first attempt. A large rip graced the left shoulder. The cause had been a rendezvous between the fabric and a door hinge when he had hastily made his exit for the night.

His long midnight-colored hair fell well past his shoulders, spilling nearly beyond his hips, and showing as much dishevelment as his robes.  To any other resident of the city, he might have received a glare or two of disdain and a snort of disapproval. Scruffiness of any sort was practically a crime (though if some of the residents had their way, it would have been a crime long ago!).

To avoid such scorn, he had waited longer tonight before departing from the Royal Ministry of Arcane Bibliographical Records, known in local shorthand as the Bibliostery.  For Talean Shadowglen had already spent the greater portion of his day translating disagreeable texts.  He stumbled forward suddenly, nearly tripping over a stone as he walked.  Cursing softly, he quickly shifted his position to ensure his 'precious' cargo of books did not suffer even the slightest dimpling.  Talean often took his work home with him, to continue deep into the evening, as he preferred to sleep in during the day.

Talean was not as tall as his comrades.  The average male exceeded seven feet. But Talean stood at six feet eight inches. Though muscular enough, he lacked the sturdy build the other men his age possessed, likely from his years of pouring over books on magic, strengthening his mind rather than his body. This would, at times, lead to some playful teasing from his fellow Bibliostery transcribes. Talean always maintained the upper hand during these taunts.  He would calmly chide them after a few moments and politely remind that books and spells did not translate themselves, nor did they disarm their own magical bindings.

Tonight, if he hurried he could perhaps manage to mend his robe.  Azshara herself had often beset him with translating texts for her delights, and he wasn't about to lose the privilege due to shoddy looking robes.  Service to the queen was a great honor and had afforded him favor, as well as a seat at the annual council meetings as the official record of events.

As he approached the front stoop of his quaint home, he slipped the key though the lock.  It clicked open and he pressed the oaken door in.  Once inside, he slumped the books gently over onto a desk and closed the door, heaving a relaxed sigh.  He rolled his shoulders and removed his robe, surveying the day's damages with disdain.  He was actually a tidy person, as was reflected in his well-kept home.

After a short meal of bread, cheese and fruit he went to work by lantern-light.  Only when the early morning sky pinked, did he finally set his quill aside and smile, closing the final book.  His work finished, he rose from his chair, stretching once more and grunting in surprise when his back popped pleasantly.  Drained from his endeavor, he was happy to retire for some well-deserved rest.

He awoke just after noon, his eyes fluttering open, before springing wide in surprise.  There, head through the window and grinning broadly, was the Minister of the Bibliostery and member of the Royal Advisory Council, Peroth'arn.

"Well well, it's good to see Talean has decided to join the waking world once more."  The sunshine-haired male chuckled, resting his chin in his hand, elbow leaning against the stone of the open window ledge. 

"Agh!  Pero, for the love of Elune herself, how many times have I told you not to do that?!"  Talean gasped startled.  He glowered as the Minister mouthed along to the chiding, word for word.

"Counting this one, I believe we're at four hundred seventy-two." Peroth'arn replied cheerily.  "As much fun as it is to toy with you when you're half-asleep, I've got big news. Lord Xavius is holding a special council in a few hours.  He asked I fetch a scribe with swift quill, and I know for a fact you'd be more suited than the other slackers at the Bibliostery." 

Talean looked confused as he recomposed himself.   "What?  But the monthly council has already passed…"  He pondered for a moment. What could possibly be so important that Lord Xavius would choose to break the meticulous schedule of events to hold an additional council?  

Peroth'arn nodded.  "Just between you and I…" he leaned in closer.  "Trouble's stirring.  Xavius and I were discussing the situation over tea last night…war may soon be upon us.  The lower nation has reacted quite negatively in our latest arcane endeavors."  He whispered his face now more serious than Talean had seen it in years.  "He mentioned that the untalented are uprising against our attempts to bring the god Sargeras to this world.  Things could become hairy very soon."
 
Talean's eyes widened in alarm, and just as he was about to speak, Peroth'arn shushed him.  "You cannot breathe a word of this to the others.  The idea of war could cause a panic."
"Pero….War?  Here?  In Zin-Azshari?  We've not the forces to fight off all of them; they out-number us sixteen-to-one!  Surely you know this!  We'd be decimated within a month!  We've only a handful of…."

Again, Peroth'arn shushed Talean.  "Yes.  I know.  Xavius does as well.  That is why this council was called.  You needn't concern yourself with the finer details Talean. Your job is to record our words, and of course keep your vows of secrecy upon exit of the palace."
Talean frowned but slowly nodded, though he looked less than comfortable, now that the possibility of war lingered so close to the only home he'd ever known.

"Good."  Peroth'arn smirked and leaned on the window ledge again eyes turned upward in thought.  "It's funny really.  You must keep secrets, yet I can babble on and on about anything I wish to you."

Talean's expression flattened to one of mild irritation.  "You only say that when you are particularly proud of troubling me." 

"That would be correct."  Peroth'arn snickered and pulled himself from the window.  "The council is at sunset, don't be late!"  He called, and Talean could hear the soles of his friend's sandals padding against the cobblestone road as he walked away.

"War..." Talean mumbled softly, still shocked at the idea of conflict between Zin-Azshari and the other Night Elves.  What on Azeroth could have upset their non-magical brothers and sisters to the point of hostility?  Surely they understood that magic was a necessity...surely they could comprehend how valuable a tool of such power could be for not only their people, but for the greater good of all people.  He shook his head, banishing the thoughts as he got out of bed and began preparing his breakfast.  It was early in the day, and many of the Highborne were still sleeping.  Peroth'arn was frequently an early-bird, up during the brightest parts of the day and even more often startling Talean in one manner or another.

Though their normal tradition to take afternoon tea together and discuss everything from politics to the look of the nearby ocean had been neglected this 'morning', he assumed Peroth'arn, despite his cheery presentation, was troubled by the notion of conflict.  Talean sighed, finished his morning meal and dressed in his finest robes, which he reserved for council meetings only (preventing damage from at least one of his uniform robes.)

The robes hung loosely open and housed several small inner pockets for various instruments, such as spare quills, small 'emergency' vials of ink, a pocket knife to repair bent or broken quill tips, and a bar of wax (which was to be melted over important documentation and sealed with the crest of Zin-Azshari). Talean quickly began stocking those pockets, and setting to the task of gathering the proper parchment for a royal record.  

When the sun was beginning to set, he opened his front door, frowning at the slight squeal of the hinges and muttering a note to purchase some lubricant for them.  He clutched his tablet and parchment, setting off for the center of the city.

It was a glorious sight in the sunset…each white building a light-painted citrus, oranges, pinks and hues of red, glittering in the waning light.  The orb street lanterns wouldn't conjure until the last lights of day had vanished, but in the sun's dying rays the city was bathed in an almost tropical beauty.  In the distance, his ears could pick up the slightest sound of the sea, and he could smell the ever-present scent of salt water and freshly trimmed foliage.

He wasn't the only one to be found on the cobblestone roads now, many other Highborne were emerging from their homes; their gaudily colored robes homage to their luxuries.  It seemed, to Talean anyway, that the more clashing colors a robe featured the more money the wearer possessed.  The clatter of wooden trolleys against the stones woke Talean from his wandering thoughts.

He passed the great fountains, featuring golden depictions of the bathing sisters, pouring from their vases endless fresh water for the pools just beyond the well-tended plant barriers. The founts were of course, gender separated, surrounded by thick, blooming bushes and trees, and any mischievous onlookers would be disappointed to find themselves cast away from the 'wrong' bathing fountain's boundaries well before they ever laid eyes on the nude forms within.  Talean flushed and muttered an embarrassed curse…he too, had been one of those impish young men who had attempted a…curious peek, and found himself ass-over-tea kettle several yards away.  Needless to say, he never tried that particular venture again.

He quickened his pace, and finally reached the palace, now a faint coral pink ebbing into purple and a familiarly comforting blue at the uppermost spires.  Azshara's palace was situated in the precise center of the city, and from it laid into the very ground were the exact markings of ley-lines, which formed several runic protections around the city.  It seemed to relieve his thoughts, to remember that the city itself was erected within its own powerful protective magics.  With a quick breath and sigh, he began climbing the steps, his sandals slapping against the stones as he a kept brisk pace, to ensure no tardiness.

Once he'd passed the decorative pillars, faintly glowing blue from the runes carved into them, he sought out the Hall of Council, where Xavius would hold his meeting.  Talean carried himself high, correcting any falters in his gait, as he strode in.  The meeting wasn't due to start for a few more moments, which gave him time to take his seat in the far corner of the room, and set his tablet to the pedestal provided.  As he set up, he could hear the council members chatting as they approached.

The first to enter the room was Lord Xavius.  Talean never made eye-contact with the Queen's Regent…not that he could even if he so desired.  Lord Xavius had long since removed his own eyes, replacing them with onyx crystals which seemed to seethe with dark purple ether and slither with streaks of a sickly crimson.  Though Talean had every respect for Lord Xavius...he could not shake the ever-present feeling of distrust and of course fear.  The man was absurdly powerful, blessed by the god Sargeras himself, and born with an unfathomable wit which was only comparable to Azshara herself.  Lord Xavius had never reflected any bit of malice; however Talean still found a shiver running up his spine every time he came into the Regent's presence.

Next in, was Peroth'arn, who grinned at Talean and nodded in approval, before taking his seat near Xavius, who remained standing as the other council members slowly entered.  He nodded and smiled to the council.  "The daughter of the moon will be joining us shortly."  He stated simply.  "While we wait, I would like to thank all of you for arriving despite such short notice, and of course I want to extend personal thanks to Peroth'arn for the speedy delivery of the news of this meeting.  I'm glad to see your schedule has come to be of use."

Peroth'arn waved a dismissive hand as he laughed, though his cheeks pinked in embarrassment.  "It's hardly a trouble my lord, the kingdom laughs at my odd sleeping pattern I may as well put it to wise use."

"Ah yes, I would also like to thank our scribe, Talean I believe, for his services tonight.  I'm certain we've all become accustomed to his presence in our meetings.  The queen sends her gratitude for your fine services."  Xavius continued.  This time it was Talean's turn to flush and nod sheepishly.

"Any service to her highness is reward in itself, I'm glad my quill is of use to our beautiful queen."  He smiled bowing respectfully.  Just as he'd uttered these words, Azshara herself entered, and everyone stood in respect.  Her skin flawless, her smooth, silken moon-beam hair fell gracefully over her shoulders, silvery eyes surveyed the room from beneath her bangs.  She wore a long, form-fitting gown which slit open on the right; bearing nearly her entire side, save for the presence of a few gentle straps, keeping the gown closed neatly over her.

Talean swallowed and quickly buried himself in work, to prevent becoming too distracted with the queen to do his job properly. Truth be told, every male harbored a…secret desire regarding her majesty.

"Sargeras blesses you all."  Her voice seemed almost caught in a meditative dreamlike state.  "Please, take your seats." She added, as she moved across the room, her every movement was fluid and graceful, like a gentle wave on the sea. Once she had taken her seat, the meeting began.

"I will spare us all the mediocrity of an elusive speech this evening."  Xavius began.  "The untalented of our people have presented us an ultimatum, if you will."  The council, which before had been calm and pleasant had become tense, silent and alert.  Not a single soul dared peel their eyes from Xavius…it had been as Talean had expected.  The notion of a war between their 'brother' peoples was disturbing and something the council looked unprepared to face.

"Lord Xavius…we cannot possibly…"  Xavius nodded kindly to the elder who spoke up, but the man seemed unable to even finish the thought. 

"I understand your concerns councilman Rae'thar.  We Highborne are not skilled in matters of combat.  We forsook the ways of the hunt cast aside our knowledge of the sword and shield, in favor of peaceful scholarly pursuits.  However, I believe we've all forgotten what it is we have learned."  Xavius smirked, the crimson streaks in his eyes seeming to glint with particular malice and he held out his hand, conjuring a small ball of flame, which he held easily. 

Talean bit back a gasp as he penned deftly.  Was he mad!?  Using magic, against the low?  Unthinkable!

"My lord, they are uneducated!"  Another council member spoke up quickly, his eyes fixated on the flame Xavius had conjured.  "Do you not think it unethical to employ such tactics?"
Xavius clenched his hand closed, the fire extinguishing, the soft smoke escaping his fist and he bowed his head.  "This is true.  However it seems we are wasting effort, in attempting to convince our lowly brothers and sisters of the value of the arcane.  This declaration of war or compliance has openly expressed this.  We cease our services to the god Sargeras, or face their wrath."

Peroth'arn laid his chin in his hands, listening to each word interestedly.  "I think…that perhaps a better solution than to fight brother against brother is to ask our lord, for assistance."  He suggested after a moment.  "He has after all, sent many of his through the well to serve and assist us in opening the portal."

This notion was quickly accepted by the other councilmen, no one wanting to be the one to say the city would go up in arms. Azshara, who had been listening in quiet contemplation whilst examining her finger nails, spoke next. 

"I hardly think it a burden to ask our lord such a thing Xavius."  She stated simply.  "Every god enjoys flexing their powers."

Xavius contemplated their petition for a moment, nodding. "It is settled then.  We will request that our lord provide us the means of defense from this wretched attack."

"What if the lower race gathers allies?"  One member spoke up, looking still on edge.

 "There are others who may help."

Azshara lifted her chin, looking at the councilman with an air of conceit. "We will destroy them if we must, to protect our home and to ensure the services to our lord continues.  Neither man, nor beast will interfere, lest they wish to face the wrath of our god, and of us." 

"Well said my queen."  Xavius commented smiling at the uprising of clapping that had broken out in the council room. Azshara smiled curtly and gave a slight nod then stood to address the council respectfully.  "I will convene with Sargeras.  The things we've spoken of are not to leave this room, unless by Xavius' orders or by my own."  She then exited the room in graceful strides.  Despite her statement, and the clapping that had followed, some council members still appeared to be troubled, even fearful.  The concept of war was still knotting in their stomachs.

Xavius chuckled.  "Well, I believe we've lost the interest of our queen, however I've one more topic to cover before we adjourn."   He smiled.  "Peroth'arn, as you are the Minister of the Bibliostery, perhaps this would be best presented by you." 
Peroth'arn smiled warmly and stood, as Xavius took a seat, folding his hands in his lap and listening politely, though he already knew what would be said.

"In light of the recent threat, I feel that our records and ways may possibly be lost.  Granted of course, that somehow our lord's forces are defeated; however I feel it best we take precaution, should our ways be lost to the tides of time."  The sunny-haired Minister began.  "I move that we select two special groups of our own, and send them with record of our people.  One group will make its travel to Eldre'thalas; the other will take a route to the safety of Mount Hyjal.  The land there is sacred, and our untalented brothers wouldn't dare to attack and spill blood on that land.  They would begrudgingly, angrily perhaps even bitterly allow the group sanctuary, but they would permit it."

The council members looked thoughtful before one finally spoke "Brilliant idea as always Peroth'arn…should anything foul become of us, let future peoples know of what transpired here."  

"Then it is settled."  Peroth'arn announced looking pleased.  "Xavius and I will select among our most promising to make the journey.  With that, unless Xavius objects, our meeting has concluded."

Talean nodded, quickly rolling the scroll and melting the wax over the parchment, sealing it and placing a magical binding to prevent any unworthy eyes spying the contents.  When finished, he began packing away his ink and quill as the councilmen exited.  Once the room had emptied Peroth'arn approached his friend.

"Thanks for helping out Tal."  Peroth'arn grinned, leaning on the pedestal as Talean picked up the scroll. 

"It is always a pleasure to keep record of the meetings."  Talean replied, offering the scroll to his friend.

Peroth'arn took it, sliding it into a small case, and setting it aside.  "I'll see it properly stored."  He jammed his hands into his pockets, leaning his head back to look at the ceiling thoughtfully.  "I can tell the meeting's left you feeling uneasy." 
"I don't like the idea of turning aggression on them…"  Talean muttered, looking displeased.  "Our own magic, or the legions of our lord…it just seems wrong."

Peroth'arn nodded.  "I can't say I don't agree."  He mumbled, shaking his head.  "But sometimes a decision is already made, and you can only react accordingly."  He let out a slow sigh. "That's why I'm going to have you be in one of the groups we send away." 
There was a clatter, as Talean's tablet hit the smooth stone floors, his eyes wide, jaw agape in shock.  "Y-you're sending me away?!"  He gasped in horror.  "But Pero!  I couldn't possibly--" he stammered.

"Talean, we've been friends for years and years now." Peroth'arn interrupted simply, pulling his hands from his pockets and crossing his arms over his chest.  "You're one of the finest transcriptionists we've got, and whether you advertise it or not you've got a mastery over water and ice that is admirable."

Talean quickly stooped to pick up his tablet.  "Pero…you cannot be serious…" he mumbled, looking up from the floor.

"Don't be daft."  Peroth'arn rolled his eyes. "You're more than suited for the trip, you've the knowledge to survive and we both know it.  To be completely honest, Xavius, Azshara and I have already picked the members of the parties we're sending away."

Talean glowered, standing once more.  "You knew all along and you didn't tell me before…why on Azeroth not!?"

"I like to keep the surprise in our friendship.  A little shock every now and again keeps things exciting."  Pero smirked and chuckled.  "Besides, your group is heading to Hyjal.  You'll be the first back, once the conflict has ended."

"I still don't--" Talean began to argue, but was cut off once more by his sunny-haired friend.       

"Do it grudgingly if you must, but I chose you not only for your talent, but because we're friends.  The idea of losing my tea company in conflict leaves a rather sour taste in my mouth. Just do it for me…alright?"

Talean paused, and then heaved a sigh.  "…Alright."  He muttered though he had a mutinous glare.  "I'm not going to forget this Pero.  I'll grudge you for a good, long while."
Peroth'arn smiled.  "I'll make it up to you when all this is over.  We can try that exotic tea that's all the rage.  I heard they found the leaves out in the sun parched desert.  Can you imagine anything growing in such a place?"  He chuckled. "And at a ghastly thirty gold a pot…"

"Now you're just trying to butter me up so I don't curse you."  Talean snorted and began walking away.  "…Add crumpets and jam, and I'll forgive you."

"Tart apple jam it is then."  Peroth'arn agreed smiling. "Pack your things...the groups are announced tomorrow…you're expected to leave within the week."

"Straw-colored mop-headed devious little…"  Talean muttered just loud enough for Peroth'arn to hear his displeasure as he walked away.

"You forgot 'smug, self-centered best friend'!"  Peroth'arn called cheerily after him.
The following week was chaotic…the announcement had been made to the city, its residents fearful, yet fiercely supportive of the decision to protect their home from the lower nation. Talean spent much of his time preparing a pack for the journey. Peroth'arn had granted him leave from the Bibliostery and hand-picked several tomes and scrolls which were to be taken.  The most notable occurrence was the clear advancement of their lower-brothers.  The troops easily spotted on the horizon by the archers from their towers.  
Those sent to Dire Maul were exiting Zin-Azshari by ship; however Talean and his band were to set off on foot to avoid detection.

"Now remember," Peroth'arn instructed the band of elves that bore packs on their backs and at their sides.  "Your safety and the knowledge you carry with you is top priority.  Do not return to Azshara, until you receive word, no matter what the temptation!"  He stated firmly.  "During your travels, Talean will be in charge.  Listen to him; he has my full confidence--he won't lead you astray.  He knows the route by heart."  At that, Peroth'arn patted Talean's shoulder.  "Travel with the blessing of Sargeras; may you be safe."
Talean nodded.  "Blessings to you too Pero…be safe."

Travel by foot was exceedingly difficult, and the number of troops arriving to lay siege to Zin-Azshari was highly underestimated.  Thousands of low-born elves had arrived…hundreds of thousands.  The untalented elves had blocked nearly every possible exit from the Azsharan lands. 

Talean and his party were further delayed when they had been spotted and attacked as they attempted to make their escape. The conflict ended with most of Talean's group severely wounded (but at least alive).  The temptation to return to Zin-Azshari was great, but the group agreed to proceed on.  

They managed to cross into the forest of Ashenvale before the scent of their wounds attracted the beasts that dwelled within. Finally forced to cease their pursuits, Talean's group found a secluded area in the northern border of the forest, at the base of Mount Hyjal, to nurse their wounded until they could continue.
The few who had suffered the least wounding were set to building a temporary shelter from the elements.  Thankfully their magic was able to be used to construct shoddy, but suitable homes of mud and grasses. 

They stayed in those huts, healing over the days and nights.  It became slowly apparent that they truly had lost their elven ways when they began to run out of food, and despite all the knowledge they possessed…they hadn't the faintest idea which berries, roots, and fungi were edible.

Hunger set in, weeks passing slowly.  Their ineptitude at hunting and fishing a testament to mistakes they had made. Talean felt deep remorse that he had ever thought himself better than the untalented, which were quite skilled in survival. Especially so, when he would pull in empty hand-woven fish nets, or discover their crudely made traps had been bested by the animals they sought to out-wit.  They managed to procure just enough to barely cling to life. 

Just as Talean was gathering his things, his injuries finally healed enough to proceed; the ground trembled violently, toppling him to the dirt.  He gasped in shock and quickly scrambled beneath a table as the tremors increased in violence, and the hut gave in, collapsing around him.  The small encampment was filled with screams of fright as each tiny shelter toppled and the world continued to shake.  

Talean was trembling his hearing far more acute than he'd ever remembered as he listened to the trees snapping, the roaring of their falls, and realizing that he may well be crushed beneath a tree himself; he'd never felt the earth beneath him filled with such…rage.  It shook, rumbled, jutted upwards, stones toppling downwards.  He was buried, unable to see what was coming and feeling helpless as the world around him was ravaged. 

The shaking and rumbling went on for endless hours, while Talean remained buried beneath the ruins of what used to be his dwelling.  He didn't dare to move, he just waited…waited in the muddy darkness for the fierce shaking to stop, for the sounds of sharp wooden cracking, and the crashes of trees to end.

Finally…the rumbling ceased, and Talean pulled himself from the muddy wreckage to survey the damage.  His ears fell back in absolute awe.  The forest was in shambles.  Many trees had fallen, though countless others thankfully remained standing.  It was in this moment that he most desired to return to Zin-Azshari, but he quickly banished the thought and made his way to the other muddy piles to begin digging out survivors. 

Aching, terrified, having again lost what meager food they'd managed to gather; wounded, and without homes, the elves huddled around the fire they'd managed to build, their spirits thoroughly crushed. 

"You know what that was."  One said.  "That was the well of eternity, it had to have been.  That's the only explanation!" 

The others gasped, realization dawning across their paled faces. Talean winced and looked away from the fire.  "It can't be…" he said softly.  "You're implying that the magic bindings gave away, that the well's power erupted into chaos…if that were true…" 
"Well how else would the land react in such a way?!" another protested, looking tearful.  "My family…I never should have left!"  He buried his face into his muddy hands, breaking down into sobs. 

Talean bit back a sob of his own.  If what they were thinking was true…  "N-no…Zin-Azshari…" he breathed.  In one fell swoop, he'd lost his home, his friends, his family…his life.  It took no genius to see what they were thinking was true however; the ravaged land seemed to worsen in the direction of Zin-Azshari.

"W-what should we do…?"  A young silver-haired female asked wringing her hands.  "We can't go back…" 

An older male snorted.  "There's nothing to go back to."  He mumbled, cutting her off.
Talean sighed.  "Well…I was put in charge."  He said softly.  "But at this point, I think it best we do things more…electively.  There may well be only us, who remain of our once great city."  He wiped the muddy tear streaks from his face.  "We have three options.  Return to Zin-Azshari, and face our lower brothers and what has become of our home, continue to Hyjal and live amongst the catacombs for the remainder of our lifetimes, or make our home in this forest undetected and continue on as best we can."  He looked at the others, they numbered no more than twenty, and they varied in ages from just having hit adulthood all the way to being well into their first millennium. 

"I say we stay here." The silver-haired female said softly. "We've just managed to get a feel for the land once more, it will feel of home eventually and I'd rather take my chances and live, than return home to die, or live underground like a kobold the remainder of my days."

The other elves each considered in turn, and spoke their thought.  In the end, it was decided.  Ashenvale would serve as their new home.  Heavy hearted they stayed by the firelight, lulled to sleep by the calm of the forest during a time they'd normally be wide awake. 

In the weeks that followed, they rebuilt their homes, stronger this time, using the fallen trees for strong wooden planks, and using magic to bore into the jutting earthy walls for caves to serve as homes, and storage.  It took nearly two years, but they managed to claim their nook in the forest.  The river from Mount Hyjal running near their camp, providing fresh water and a source of food in fish, the forest re-grew, and they confidently began planting crops such as berry bushes, spring onions, mushrooms, herbs and other vegetables they found.

Their luck had finally taken a turn for the better, and they gave their thanks each day for the blessings they had somehow been granted.  Nets filled with fish, successful hunts, and their first successful harvest.  It looked as though despite all they'd been through, they'd make it.  

Again however, their luck took a turn for the worse.  Talean shivered as he ground herbs into ink and he looked up. He set his mortar and pestle aside, walking to the entrance to his cave-home. 

"Cold…?  But…it's the middle of summer."  He mumbled, spotting several other elves running to his cave. 

"Talean!  The wind is picking up; we're trying to get the fishing nets in before they're damaged."  Cried the silver-haired woman, Talean had come to know as Lan'eira.  
Talean nodded and quickly took off with them to begin pulling in the nets.  They had just managed to drag the nets into storage when there was a crack of thunder and several flashes of lightning.  It was then they realized that this storm was not natural.  "W-what on Azeroth...?"  Talean gaped, before quickly running from home to home, urging those who lived in huts to take shelter in the caves until the winds died down.

He barely made it into the caves himself before the wind knocked branches from the trees and swirled dangerously, mixing magic and rain as the storm seemed to devour the entire woods. Talean stared out of the cave, as Lan'eira draped one of the many hand-woven blankets over his shoulders.  "That's arcane..." he said angrily, she nodded looking out at the storm as well.  

"Why?!"  He cried.  "If there were survivors other than us...why?!"  He threw his hands up.  The other Highborne remained silent, looking sorrowful.  Talean sighed, leaning against the smoothed stone wall, sliding down it until his backside touched the cool earth.  
Again the huts were destroyed the creaks and whines of the wood signaling each home in turn, before the gale swept them away.  Talean could only curse as their hard work; their hopes were dashed away.  They remained, huddled within the cave for weeks, their supplies of food beginning to dwindle with no lapse in the storm's ferocity.   Finally, they agreed that the only hope was to venture out into the unforgiving wind to hunt.

"Our women are superior hunters yes, but your bodies are light…" Talean said slowly.  "The wind would easily sweep you away."  He said with a shake of his head.  "I don't want to risk more lives than I must…that's why I propose that only our sturdiest men take on the endeavor of hunting during this storm." 

"Talean…you cannot expect us merely sit by."  Lan'eira said crossing her arms.  "We wish to be of use."

Talean nodded and smiled.  "Of course, I would never dream of you strong-willed women to ever settle for less than equality.  Those of you who wish to help can help by stoking the fires, skinning whatever is brought back, cooking…" he laughed awkwardly.  "Forgive me..." he offered slowly.  "I know this time is terribly against you, but please."

Lan'eira rolled her eyes.  "Fine…" she snorted.  "We'll play the role of little women until the storm lets up."  She smirked.  "But once the storm is gone, you men had better leave the hunting to those who can do it properly.  Go back to your fishing poles, and farming."  The women laughed quietly at the embarrassment creeping onto Talean's face.
"But of course…" he said with a cough.  This time the men chuckled as well.  "Better watch it Talean, Lan'eira may well skin you." 

The storm, carried on for nearly a century, though with each decade it greatly lessened in strength.  When finally the winds died, leaving the land humming with the arcane residue they all emerged from the caverns, glad to feel grass beneath their feet, and the fresh air as it blew over them seeming to dust away the cramped feeling of the cavern. 
They rebuilt their floundering settlement, and the women who had resumed the hunt had to travel further to find suitable game, their hundred year contained hunting had driven the animals from the area.  Again they faced hunger, with crops needing time to grow, hope was dim.  Talean felt this would likely mark the end of them, though he did what he could to keep their spirits up.

It was late one evening, as Talean made his walk to the river, that he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.  Dropping the bucket he was carrying, he glared into the forest, ready to defend himself, and slightly hopeful that the evil he was sensing was some manner of beast that his village could skin and eat. 

"Fetching water…why waste effort, when soon you will starve?"  A familiar voice purred from the darkness.  "How fortunate it is that I've found you."  Talean tensed, scanning the forest for the source of the voice.  The darkness stirred, and Talean backed up.  "Do you mean to harm us?!"  He cried, ready to call the last recesses of magic in him to defend the lives he'd been entrusted with.

"Don't be daft…" the voice said smoothly.  "I've come with what will save you all from certain doom...I've been watching you"

"Save us…?"  Talean relaxed slightly.  "How could you save us?  Have you a source of food we can survive on?"

There was a rustling of leaves, and rising from the darkness itself, as if it had once been a part of the serene night was a creature easily standing at ten feet in height.  Talean's eyes widened as they fell over the shadowy image of a beast.  It had sturdy cloven hooves, shaggy goat-like haunches; a long leonine tail tipped in a tuft.  Blackened fur covered the legs, and at the waist the creature seemed to become more elf than beast.  It had a muscular chest, strong arms which also bore some of the inky fur and sharp deadly claws.
 
"W-what manner of…"  Talean breathed, as his eyes continued to take in the creature.  It wasn't until they fell upon the beast's face that he recognized it.  "Lord Xavius!"  He gasped, a hand quickly covering his mouth as if denying the words would banish it.

"That is correct."  Xavius said, his eerie crimson-streaked crystalline eyes glinting in the darkness.  Talean shuddered; he couldn't prevent the notion that finally the Regent's appearance matched the wickedness his eyes had long portrayed.

"I know you and your village are soon to perish."  Xavius said with a wicked serpentine smile.  "I can offer you salvation…for a price."

"…what price?"  Talean found himself asking, despite his senses screaming to flee.
Xavius smiled and reached to a small pouch which he wore at his side.  He produced a curved dagger, still coated in dried blood.  "You will live.  You will know strength and speed the likes of which you've never known; all blessings of Sargeras."  He said simply.  "The price is that you receive his blessing, and serve his will."

Talean nodded slowly.  "…I cannot make this decision for my people alone."  He said quickly.  "I…will speak with them of your offer.  Please, return to the village tomorrow night, and we will meet you with our decision."

"Diplomatic…what a fine evolution of service you've undertaken."  Xavius said smirking.  "Fine, I will return tomorrow night, to the center of your village."  He added flicking an ear.  "Consider your options well, scribe."

The next day, Talean called the village to a meeting.  "I cannot make a choice which affects all of us based on my opinions alone.  We will put it to a vote.  Majority will rule I urge you each to remember that this may be a terrible mistake in guise of a wonderful solution." He added warily. 

Once the discussion ended, the vote was taken and to Talean's deep dismay the majority ruled in favor of Xavius' offer.  The beast arrived at sunset and was greeted by the villagers. 

"I've returned Talean…what is your answer?"  He said, his long slender tail swishing against the grass.

"…The vote was taken, and we humbly accept your offer.  We wish to live, rather than die starving in a forest." Talean said though he hated to accept the offer, when he felt something was off about it.

"I see.  A wise choice, please go to your homes.  I will visit each home in turn and bless you."  The Satyr smirked.  Talean frowned, but the villagers obeyed the request.  He however rushed to his cave, pulling down the sturdiest parchment he could.  "Help me…" he breathed, calling up every remaining ounce of magic in him, he then pierced his finger pressing it to the paper, hissing as it was absorbed by the parchment. He winced at the terrible pain that filled him which was just as suddenly gone.  He held his head but quickly rolled the scroll and looked around his cave for a suitable place to hide it.
 
"Anywhere!"  He gasped, finding a rocky nook and cramming the record of everything he had ever seen, known, felt…of his entire history written in his own spirit and blood.  He heard the hooves against the grass, and slammed down on the rocks, effectively burying and hiding the scroll.

Talean had just managed to pull away from the wall and stand when the Satyr entered.  "Xavius…" he said slowly.

"You seem winded." 

Talean nodded.  "I was cleaning a bit…I couldn't bear to have the grand advisor to our queen observing my home in a state of disarray."

"I see…"  Xavius approached, eyeing over the pristine cave.  "…you work quickly."

"Thus I am winded."  Talean countered.

Xavius chuckled.  "I've blessed everyone now…but you." 

"I see…"  Talean mumbled.

Xavius smirked.  "You seem…frightened." 

Talean backed up a bit eyes catching those crimson-streaked crystals.  It was almost hypnotic…

"You'll learn to love serving Sargeras."  Xavius purred, and before Talean could even blink away from the eyes he gasped as the sharp pain of the dagger pierced his chest.
When dawn arrived, he woke, holding his head with a wince.  His cat-eyes scanned the cave, glowing slightly in the darkness.

"Good morning Talice."  Xavius purred to the newly formed Satyr.  
Talice slowly forced himself to stand on strong ebon hooves; his fur resembling the midnight sky.  He flicked an ear, glancing at Xavius; confusion fading into vague understanding.

"Serve well, lead your village for the glory of the Burning Legion." Xavius hissed departing, leaving behind the Satyrs he'd created, a bloodied dagger, and the neatly hidden scroll.

Talice watched the figure vanish into the light and stooped, picking up the dagger.  He snorted and tied it to the tattered remains of his robes, before stepping into the morning's light.  He didn't know where he was, nor did he care. Outside Satyr males were fighting for dominance in delicious chaos, their frenzied bleating echoing through the forest in eerie chorus.

Talice watched for a moment, his tail lashing.  Xavius had left him this land…this was his home…and anyone who dared stand against him, would die.
The village, under Talice's leadership, served the dark lord for thousands of years.   The scroll remained undiscovered, its texts surviving by absorbing arcane remnants from the storm.  It wasn't until one 'fortunate' enraged fit in his cave that Talice's frenzied bucking and clawing at the walls, revealed the record.

He had been ready to destroy it, to watch it burn, but the instant his fingers touched the parchment; he was bowled back into the stony walls.  Talice's mind reeled as a swirling light circled him, a fog lifting from his mind.  He held his head, as the world slowly refocused. 

"Andu-falah-dor!"  He heard a familiar voice whisper.  His eyes widened.  "Let balance be restored…" he breathed in translation.  He scooped up the scroll in awe.  "You…I…" he shook his head. " We…"

"We are one and the same."  The voice said somberly, an image of a young, sturdy Highborne appearing before the Satyr.  "Do not forget who you were.  I have removed that which prevents you from remembering yourself, from remembering me.  Xavius cannot enslave your mind further.  Please remove the curse from the minds of our fellows." 
Talice nodded quickly.  "What about…" he let the sentence hang, holding his breath almost fearing the answer.

"Your wicked forms are your burdens to bear.  I cannot remove the curse of the beast; I can only cleanse your mind of its wickedness." The ghostly image said looking over the demon before it.  "Someday…perhaps you will return to our people with pride.  That day is not now."

The image faded as Talice held the scroll, and he felt something warm dripping down his cheeks.  What had he allowed…?  His legs faltered and he fell to the floor, clutching his redemption, tears streaking his muddy cheeks as he mourned all the evils he'd done.  
He slowly forced himself to his hooves, wiping his tears away with his free hand his heart now filled with resolve, with new purpose.

"Gods…grant me the strength to mend what has been broken…"