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Seeking - M,F,C- (An Order of Amber)
🕑 Added 2022-12-03 10:00:03 +0000 UTCMorgoth was hardly one to refuse to answer a call for aid, and though this time it had not been in the defence of innocents as he proudly declared to be his greatest calling being summoned to determine if an unknown wielder of magic touched upon things Forbidden was a worthwhile task.
Though Gilneas was renowned for its ill weather the skies had been fair and the day good as he journeyed out alongside his companions. The roads were well kept, even the dirt trail leading to their destination, though recent disuse marked its condition as worsening.
As the forest trail gave way to a clearing he stopped his mount. "Is this the place?" He asked, though in truth he already knew the answer. The burnt shell of a home, the broken doors and windows, refuse from a struggle to survive made that all too clear.
"It is." Darius Crowley, lord of these lands, answered. "By the story Lord Mistmantle was told the magic was worked on the trees in the centre of the green."
Though the Silver Hand taught its members to recognise magic, how best to combat and best the likes of Warlocks or even renegade Mages, there was a dearth of training on how to determine the nature of something. Always it was said that one would know the magic of Demons by feel, and in more hushed whispers the Shadow was spoken of as being both subtle and yet impossible to miss.
None of his lessons dealt with trees, for who would consider that which is used to burn in fires or cut to make furniture and homes a danger needing the attention of a Paladin? The best Morgoth could say from afar was that they were the most alivetrees he had ever witnessed, blooming with bright pink flowers even as they grew succulent fruits on the very same branches.
Magus Lottie Spellwaker, also called to perform this task, strode forward confidently. Where the skills of a Paladin fail a mage of Dalaran would succeed.
It was only through the Unity the Alliance of Lordaeron brought that Humanity and its friends could triumph against the evils that threatened the world.
Morgoth dismounted from his charger and marched forward, his heavy plate armour slowing him little as he caught up to the wizened mage. Even as he approached the trees he could feel a sense of Peace and Serenity emanating from them, and when he arrived and ran his steel covered fingers across the bark, over the roughly carved names cut into the wood, he almost heard a whisper of a song.
"May they rest in the kingdom of the Light." He murmured, eyes closed and straining. It was soft, but there was an echo there. A girl who felt true sorrow begging for those lost to be granted peace.
The muttered Arcane words spoken by Magus Spellwaker distracted him from his thoughts, some Arcane construct of blue lines and light drawing over the trees and examining them.
Drawing away he walked around the grove. The names had been carved in later, but strung on the tree, almost embedded into the bark, were possessions. A necklace, a button, a small toy. Possessions to mark whom the grave was for.
She, the girl, had not known their names and had done her best.
"There is no Fel magic here." Magus Spellwaker said after a few moments. "Do you sense anything amiss, Paladin?"
Morgoth shook his head. "Though there is a strangeness it is not foul. I would..." He said, pausing and trailing away. "Hmm, a moment."
Walking into the centre of the grove, amidst the grave-trees, and focused. No, it was not strongest here, he followed the faint resonance he could feel – that stirring of emotion – to three of the beautiful trees. Taking off his helmet he rested his head against it and breathed.
Light welled up within him, and in turn the fragment of Light within the tree itself sang out.
"Valour." He spoke as he pulled away, the word echoing with the power of the Light. "It is Valour I feel."
It was clear as he returned his helmet to his head that neither the mage nor the lord understood, but he did not expect them to. Nor was it his place to explain, he was not one to teach; such things were left in the hands of those more able.
"There is no evil here." Morgoth said with utmost certainty.
Evil had been done here, but what foul essence it might have left behind had been cleansed. No spirits stirred in restlessness, no regrets soured the sleep of the dead, no horrors formed to be smited. It was not a holy place – yet like so many places in the world where the Light had touched the land it could be, a place a chapel dedicated to the Light could be built.
He would speak of it to Lord Uther upon their next meeting.
"So the Witch caused no harm with her magics?" Lord Crowley asked.
"None that I can discern." Magus Spellwaker shook her head. "But what is here is like nothing I've seen before, I can hardly speak with any authority on the matter."
"There is no evil here." Morgoth repeated, more firmly this time. Why one with such compassion would call themselves Witch, like the foul Witch-Doctors of the trolls, he did not know. But they had not acted with evil in their hearts, nor was there any trace that would speak of them doing such elsewhere. "The souls of those who fell are at rest, and the child who gave them peace deserves praise not scorn."
Lord Crowley frowned for a moment before nodding his head. "Thank you Sir Morgoth, Lottie, I will have your compensation prepared."
Morgoth nodded. A squad of men, huntsmen who knew the land, to aid his hunt to find the source of the gnolls who burned this village would greatly aid his quest. The provisions would hardly go amiss either; one might sustain themselves solely with the Light but it became quite dull after a time.
"Don't be a stranger, Darius. We went through a lot together." Magus Spellwaker said, drawing a stone from here pocket. "When your daughter has her debut do send me an invite, my own girl would love to go to such a gala."
"Of course–" Lord Crowley started to reply, only to sigh as the mage vanished in a flash of blue light. "As always, Lottie, you are terrible at goodbyes." He murmured and shook his head.
Morgoth allowed him to smile beneath his helmet. He had put fears to rest this day and learned there were others who worked to bring peace and salvation to those who needed it most, a good day indeed.
-oOoOo-
Frazzle rubbed sleep from her eyes and let out a long yawn in the warm air of midsummer as she waited in her seat surrounded blooming roses. It was all well and good to wake up with the sun for classes, but when the days grew so long there was barely a night it became quite a bother! At least her long session of overnight enchanting had finally clicked, the gears meshing well and success achieved at last.
Adjusting the crown of flowers on her head, still smelling lovely even after months, she smiled. It had been a long and confusing road but she was sure she had it!
An enchantment not to place a flower in stasis, but to ensure its good health and nourishment for years to come!
It was hardly as elegant as the near effortless creation Miss Arevin had managed with the flowers she had gifted to all in the class who asked. Or even sold for a meagre price on the market. There was so much to learn from such a seemingly simple enchantment; why, she was sure there was a whole realm of new methods for preserving foodstuffs possible through it!
And she'd achieved the first step. She couldn't waitto show it to her favourite teaching assistant.
Never had she thought herself as special, the truly special ones were like Lady Jaina Proudmoore, personal apprentice to Archmage Antonidas himself, but meeting Miss Arevin, who had been offered an apprenticeship by Archmage Modera and turned it down, had shown just how great the gap could be.
Not that it dissuaded her in the slightest. No! Magic was so interesting, Frazzle was sure she could spend her entire life learning and never be fully satisfied. Always a new and intriguing puzzle to solve.
Magus Corrinth began her lesson, some methods she herself had adapted from what Miss Arevin made seem so easy. A way to push a plant to grow into a desired shape rather than forcibly warping it and deforming its spirit. There were still marks, a few cursory detection divinations made clear the Arcane fingerprints upon the plant, but they didn't alterit the way more drastic magics might. A wonderful proof of concept!
But Miss Arevin wasn't here to see them.
Curious.
Frazzle dutifully waited for the class to end before approaching their teacher.
"Magus Corrinth?" She asked, raising her voice. It was so easy for the big-folk to overlook them if they didn't speak up. "I couldn't help but notice Miss Arevin wasn't with us today. She said she would be back one last time to say goodbye?"
She'd known the friendly young girl – twelve! Twelve years old! Humans grew up and up so quickly! – was going to leave, she hardly kept it a secret, but she had wanted a chance to say goodbye. They had had such interesting conversations, and it was rare to find a human who understood the value in the correct application of leverage in a mechanical sense.
Most humans thought leverage was entirely social it seemed. Maybe Gilneans were different? They did make a lot of guns, even if they were rather dull and boring as guns went. No artistry to their work, it was like they wantedeach and every gun to be interchangeable!
Magus Corrinth looked down at Frazzle sadly, letting out a soft sigh. "Gwyneth has been expelled from Dalaran following the announcement of King Greymane's plans to depart the alliance." She said.
Frazzle furrowed her brow. That didn't make any sense at all!
"But Rodger is Gilnean too! And so is Therese, Zoe, and–" She protested. "–and... that's just absurd! Gilneas hasn't even gone through with leaving yet, what a preposterous notion!"
Magus Corrinth sighed again. "Yes, I know. It's an excuse. She attracted the ire of one of the Council somehow, her... stories about the Prince I suspect."
Crossing her arms Frazzle glowered. That just wasn't right! Certainly Miss Arevin's story of a horrible plague coming out of the Northlands and sweeping across the land, only to be investigated by the crown prince who would then perform heinous deeds was difficult to believe, but Dalaran had laws permitting free speech! Unless it was of taboo subjects or forbidden magic.
Advocating for Demon summoning was obviously not permissible.
"I only know as much as I do because Archmage Modera came to enquire herself. She was looking for the girl to speak with her, perhaps to chastise her for spreading rumours... yet she hadn't been aware of her expulsion." Magus Corrinth sighed, yet again. Was she suffering a respiratory problem? "All I had received was a notice saying she had been expelled from the city and would no longer be available to attend. My attempts to investigate were blocked by order of the Council."
"Drat." Frazzle muttered.
"I am sorry apprentice Tindersnap, I didn't get a chance to say goodbye either."
Frazzle shook her head, her pigtails bouncing wildly. "Not your fault, Magus. I just..." She pouted, she had spent so long finishing her enchantment and now she wouldn't even get to show it off! And she had never gotten around to showing her to the Wonderworks either! "Nevermind."
Magus Corrinth went on to handle other students while Frazzle sulked.
She didn't know how much of Miss Arevin's story could possibly be true, it was quite the thing. And horrifying if true. All mages had their oddities and eccentricities, the great ones most of all; it was a truth her grandfather had given her when she moved to Dalaran to live with him. She had intended to just let it be.
Plucking the crown of flowers off her head she held it close. She wasn't sure she had been friends with the human girl, but their conversations had been fun and Miss Arevin had never treated her differently for being small. Maybe if Frazzle had worked up the courage to ask if she wanted to spend some time in her family's workshop and learn finer points of engineering, maybe to create that 'pen' that she had thought up as a replacement to quills, they could have really been friends.
"Drat." She muttered again. Sometimes being one of a few gnomes in a world of big folk could be terribly lonely.
-oOoOo-
A small figure, less than the height of a child yet shaped wrongly to fit that mold, stepped out from behind a silver barked tree; as if they had always been there. Yet if any had been watching they would attest the figure could not have hidden behind it. But none were, exactly as she had expected.
Frowning in irritation she made her way up to the house itself. It had taken weeksto determine exactly where the disturbances had started, the mess that had caused so many things to go awry.
Here, it seemed, was the spot.
And yet, just as it should be, there were no lights, no signs of habitation. With a snap of her fingers the door clicked, unlocking itself, and swung open. There were signs of disturbed dust on the floor, someone passing through more recently than they should have... but no one present. Stepping inside fully she looked around, glancing over everything; here and there were more signs of disturbance. Of something ever so slightly off.
But not so much to be the cause.
Clambering onto one of the chairs she got her first proper view of the table, immediately seeing the white envelope and letter within.
"And where did youcome from..." She muttered, deftly picking up the letter and breaking the seal. Addressed to Rhonin, just as the mage had said it was before his untimely demise. Krasus had been furious his favourite human had died, and she herself had been quite saddened.
The twins were quite adorable before they ceased to exist.
Infuriating.
Reading through the letter she honestly wondered who could possibly have written it. Some of it, well, truly muchof it she already knew – but none save her own people should have been able to know a tenth of what was written here.
"Faulty memory, I think." She said, a finger underlying where the mysterious writer got things wrong in places.
It was a simple solution, to take the letter and remove it, to let things take their proper course. And yet... the changes wouldn't go away entirely. The causewas still out there, somewhere, and she hadn't tracked it down. Couldn'ttrack it down. This was the first truly tangiblepiece of evidence they had found.
A whirl of sand spun around the letter, then the table, then the gnome as well; it kept growing until it swallowed the entire room.
Yet no answers were forthcoming. The origin of the letter was that it had been written. The ink bought from a store that had never sold it, the feather from a bird that still wore it, the paper from a store that sold it to a mage who turned it into a scroll. And yet, here in front of her, the letter existed.
The sands vanished in an instant, all trace of them gone from the house.
"After Lady Alex was freed these troubles were supposed to stop!" She grumbled, her face screwing up into a pout. "And yet, they aren't wrong."
Such impossibilities were supposed to reek. A distortion or disturbance rippling out and being easy to find. Or at least notice. And yet, in the most troubling of conundrums, not only were their no such ripples the letter felt more real,more proper, than any change she herself had had to make to fix things in the past. As if it was the trueway things were supposed to happen, despite her knowing factually it wasn't. She remembered how things were supposed to go, gruesome as they were.
It was almost as if their ancient patron himself had intervened, taking a hand in things and making changes. For who else could use their own powers in such a way as to defy the Order they had been granted by him so long ago? Well, besides the Demons of the Twisting Nether. Or the Old Gods. Those alwaysmade things a messy blur that had to be untangled ever so carefully.
Sometimes it was hard to tell if they put things right the last time. Even dragons argued over details from their memories on occasion.
Their touch was detectable in other ways, none of which found anythingwrong with the letter. If she followed doctrine she would simply destroy the letter, put things back on track. But...
"No, no." She shook her head, sandy blonde hair bouncing gently as she discarded the idea. "We should have done more in the first place." It wasn't theirplace. But it hadn't been their place ten thousand years ago either, and very little could have gone worse. Neltharion's fall had been inevitable but it wasn't meant to have happened then, nor had the Dragon Soul or... The Titanbeen foreseen in full. None of them had seen the truth behind what was coming until after it had happened and by that point changing it would have been a Paradox that wasn't at all in their favour.
The sand-blasted Nether and its wishy-washy relationship with Time made things so very difficult at times.
By the technicality that the letter wasn'ta change, not so far as she could perceive, so she didn't haveto destroy it. But with what would come of it she couldn't leave it alone either... slowly and carefully she ran a finger along the words. Rearranging some of them, separating and discarding others.
A swirl of sand rose up around the letter, the figure closing their eyes and focusing. After a moment that stretched on for weeks the sand dissipated once more.
The information was still there, but it wouldn't reach the wrong ears too soon this way.
Satisfied with her work she nodded, a snap of her fingers sealing the letter back up and returning it to the table as if it had never left.
Retracing her steps she left the house, her footsteps creating in tiny puffs of sand that settled back in place as dust to cover up her passage. Once outside she stepped behind the tree again, and was gone.
Comments
Guildstern
So it really wasn't Modera. Antonidas is the only one that would make sense then as far as I remember. Oh man, imagine how he will feel when Arthas makes his way to Dalaran during the third war. I wonder if he'll mention it to Jaina? It would influence how seriously she takes whatever warnings Gwen sends her way. A nice little twist, this kind of irony can only be appreciated with knowledge of the future, so fanfiction is one of the only places it can happen. Assuming I'm correct of course.
