PT2 and really just beginning!

The magical, steel blue torchlight burned around him…tempting his austere, flavorless expression to slacken as he listened to the verdicts of his ‘peers’. He had seen this played out many times before but the words rang out with the harsh clarity of a fresh experience as if he were a young elf again….scolded by his mother for doing what he knew he should not have.

“You have desecrated the sacred teachings of our fathers...” “…introduced vial evil…” “You are banished forthwith!!!” The words lifted into a crescendo of segmented shouts, only ending as a gavel struck its course…the final nail in the coffin of an already steal ridden box.

It was always then that he woke up, cold and clammy from the reoccurring vision of the past; not even his…. The hearth still offered defiant warmth against Winterspring’s unending chill. It mattered little. The wind blew where it willed and closed doors or bright flames never seemed to hinder its path. He sat there for a moment, recounting and recollecting his scattered thoughts.

‘Hundreds of miles from home and the ghosts of it still find me’, he thought to himself. He lifted himself from his bed, brushing aside the coverings that kept him warm. He dressed himself slowly for the day to come. It was hours before the siege of night would be broken.

A knock broke him from his tired trance. He opened the door to a small dwarven woman looking up at him with impatience in her gaze. She wore her fiery red hair in a bun, always. With a brief smile she invited herself into the room, carrying the day’s provisions as well as a hefty breakfast. “I was just ‘bout t’wonder if ye’d be getting ‘round t’day or not”, she said in her thick accent as she placed the food on the parchment riddled table. She glared at the young elf for a moment, “I thought I told ye t’clean up ‘round here?” She huffed. Not waiting for an answer she went about collecting all the papers and scrapings from the elf’s various note taking sessions.

“Please…”, was all he managed to get out before wisdom told him to just shut up and let the woman go. She didn’t take long, all the while threatening to use the stray papers she found next time as kindling.

By the time he managed out of the small building it was nearly dawn. He was still far too inexperienced for this place…but what secrets he had found were well worth the danger. Today was the day. He felt it within him…on the air…in the ground beneath his feet. Something big was going to happen. Leaving light footprints behind him in the crystalline snow, he began off.

He had taken the path to the owlkins many times before. With each day he learned to disguise his presence…even shifting forms and stalking very near them. It was on the eve before last that he had stumbled upon ruins and a giant azure crystal. ‘These were secrets…powerful secrets’ he told himself, recalling the sketches he had made almost every hour afterwards.

‘It was just over this ridge,’ continuing with his thoughts. He stalked towards the ruins in his recently learned cat form. Greeting him at the crest of the snowy ridge was a chilling display. A troll had stumbled into the owlkin encampment and, by the looks of the encounter, stirred the entire area. Owlkins scrambled towards the unfortunate troll, calling down celestial beams of powerful light. Each beam slammed down upon the wary troll, finally bringing him to his knees before the crowd of angry creatures tore him limb from limb.

Mohryn set his jaw tightly, watching with morbid horror at the gruesome scene that continued to unfold. He was unaware, in his shock, of the presence behind him. It wasn’t until the melodic voice echoed in his mind that he realized…

“It is not your time, little one, to learn all that there is here. Go now, and follow the voice of the wind…”

The presence passed over him like the tide of the sea. It washed over his body and through it until it completely engulfed him and the owlkins. It was the embodiment of peace that allowed him to escape back to the small roadway south. It was not until years after that he heard that voice again…

“Follow the voice of the wind….?” He asked himself in disbelief. It was there amidst the graceful yet chilling breeze of Winterspring that he heard his answer.

“Yes, I know what the hell I’m doing!! What do you take me for, a witless child?!” It was a voice very unfamiliar and distant but held the melodic tones of a woman. Still in cat form he looked about for the woman but found nothing but drifting snow.

“There’s no use of destructive magic within the gates of Stormwind, Miss…” More voices melded within the bellow of the now constant breeze. Where were these voices coming from??? He franticly looked around, trying to grasp unto anything real…”Unhand me! It’s not destructive…it’s just…a new spell.”

He changed forms and looked back to the owlkin encampment…now at peace. The voices fell with the calming of the wind but it did little to stem his confusion. He ran back to his small lodging all the while recounting what he had heard.

“Stormwind….magic. What is all this?” He had half a notion to check what the dwarven woman packed, fearing poison as retribution for his mess making. He unfurled a map once in his room and found the word Stormwind. He tapped the map in rhythmic thought. ‘Follow the voice of the wind….’ What a crazed thought. Stormwind was a big place and what would he find…anything? Why should he go in the first place? With little to nothing to gain or lose he made ready for the long journey ahead…for better or worse he would follow his fate.

Mohryn's Tale

Fwew!!!! Man!! It's been a very long time but now I'm finally in a new place/home. I'm going to grad school for paleontology and teaching mineralogy and sed labs at the local university. It's weird to be grading...very weird but all in all it's been pretty fun. Well...here's the new site...a repository for old...new...good stories? Post your own in the comments if you like...I'm a fantasy nut as well as WOW but not a lot of time to read or do either at the moment! This story is the present looking back whereas the story will start near the beginning. Enjoy.

The candlelight dimmed further into the waning hours of another fruitless night. Many moments had passed since the last question had been answered. He had half hoped that would be the last account of an already old story. The wizened faces that greeted his wary gaze told enough not to keep his hopes up.

By the time his haggard footfalls carried him back to his room it was nearly sunrise. His room was plush…too plush… complete with its bookcases full of empty, vain knowledge to the half-heartedly made shrine to Cenarius. There was little left to do but to deny the comforts and unfurl the bedroll…to which he laid his staff beside.

“I see the council kept you late again.” called familiar voice from an equally travel worn elf in the room’s only chair. His green hair was fresh with the various leaves of the forest’s trees…still firmly planted between the threads of his matted hair.

‘If not on twigs they had at least found an equally earthy home…both rarely get a bath near enough to wash the dirt away’ thought Mohryn.

“They can never get around to the point of things can they? I have seen human women grow beards faster than they make decisions.” Quintis Jonespyre was always an elf quick with words and quicker with actions. It was a trait Mohryn found refreshing…

“There are matters still yet to be discussed. Evidently my story has not settled well with many of them…nor have my accusations.” Mohryn commented as he lit a fresh candle, snuffing the waxless wick out with a wetted finger.

Quintis yawned, standing slowly as to stretch out his tired muscles. “Well at any rate, Stonetalon hasn’t changed much…neither has the orc encampment to the south.” No sooner had he cracked most of the bones in his body than did he plop down on the plush bed.

Mohryn shook his head slowly, walking to the balcony of their room. “No…not much has changed…” He looked back to find Quintis already breathing rhythmically, deep in the throes of sleep. “No…not at all.” He walked back into the room and to his pack, withdrawing a small leather-bound journal worn with the passage of time. The pages fluttered through his searching fingers finally stopping on one of the last pages. His tired gaze passed along many of the words as they had so many times before. ‘Beware the complacency of knowledge…of power that becomes stagnant through fear of use.’ Heresy some had called those words…traitorous teachings is what it had eventually been termed.

He sighed, setting both his book and his body down. It was the same words waiting in the throats of those in today’s council. Would he too follow the path his father took? Branded as a traitor for sound teachings… cast to the outlands to save his family and his house.

‘No…not this time.’ The house of Moonstar had fallen long ago, soon after his father had disappeared. There would be no one to sacrifice for…no honor to lose.

Quintis’ snoring became too much. Mohryn, with a quick jab to Quintis’ side abruptly stopped a long, obnoxious snore…sending him into a series of snorts and mumbles of not wanting to get up just yet. He eyed the journal for a moment before taking it back into his hands.

“Just enough room for another story…” He said to himself. The nearby quill and ink was taken up and served its purpose. In the early moments of sunrise he began the story told to the council once again…

I am Evensong Moonstar, first and only son of the house of Moonstar. Here I write my story; next to my father’s…here I recount the betrayal of my family and the lie I now live…

He wrote for another two hours, recounting his tutoring under the Talon Den’s druid council and Rynthariel the Keymaster after his father’s banishment from Teldrassil. He wrote of how his father was betrayed and why… He wrote of his mother covering their trail from Darnassus to Stonetalon…of her death at the hand of orcs soon after. He wrote of changing his name from Evensong to ‘mourn’ and of remembering his father’s teachings of magic…forbidden. The words told of his path from the secrecy of the Talon Den to Feathermoon where he met Quintis…to Winterspring where the secrets of the Owlkin were found and to Azeroth where his alliances now stood.

He stopped with his friends…with the mention of Ascension’s guildhall. The path forked here. At the impasse of the present there were but two choices, his friends or his past. The last words he wrote stung him.

“I am Evensong Moonstar and though my story will not be told while I yet breath I carry the honor of my father and the memory of my mother…now long since forgotten.”

A separate note was written and tied to the journal that stated that it was not to be opened until his death. It gave an address in Darnassus to which it was to be sent. He bade Quintis a fare journey back to Feathermoon in between his now resurgent snores and began the long ride back home…his past behind him, his friends before.