...what we dream of...

(( did you miss the tormented parts? * evil grin* mwhaaaa))


It hurt from a hundred bleeding cuts on her exposed back.

The excruciating pain made her writhe, as she lay there, broken, her upper body sprawled on the metal table.

She could take no more, yet the blessed oblivion wouldn't come. She felt the man's hands wrapping around her neck while he torn her apart...she couldn't breathe, her lungs were burning and her mind started to clutter, as she desperately and uselessly fought for air...


Laandra jumped from her troubled sleep, raising instinctively her hands to her neck in a defensive gesture. She greedily gulped the fresh air of the night, her heartbeats erratic and fast, drumming in her head.

A nightmare. Nothing more than a nightmare.

Except it was the third night in a row.

Rolling on a side, she curled up, her back against the wall.

It was getting to her.

No, she shouldn't be thinking of that. With a sigh that rocked her entire frame, she slid a hand under her face, and forced her mind elsewhere, to the strange notes and scribblings she and Raene had managed to decipher during the late hours of the night.

It was an old version of Darnassian, probable the tongue of their ancestors, before the Sundering...Raene herself had been born only after the tragic event, but surely they could have found someone to help them with the translation, if that was the case.

Laandra herself was reduced to admiring the simple, flowing grace of the text as Raene read out loud, only a word or two sounding familiar to her ears. True, she was good with languages. She had managed to learn the Common within less than a year and a half and now she spoke it with ease, with only a slight accent. She had even gathered a few sentences in Darnassian and found them useful during her stay in Ashenvale.

The documents she and Daria had snatched from the camp at Ordil'Aran seemed to be addressed to an unknown 'master' somewhere in Darkshore. Frowning, Laandra had remembered some rumors she had heard only days before in Auberdine. There was indeed a darker power rising over the land and that should not...was not to be allowed...as if the demonic forces remaining in the south, at Fellfire Hill and the curse of Felwood weren't enough...

She loved this land. As much as she loved her own people and what had once been a city of light so far away, out here, Shattrah...when she was a child... Her duty, her oaths...to fight the Legion, the demons, the evil, the corruption...

The pain.

The humiliation, the fear, the agony, the torture that made her flinch even now, laying safe a few meters away from Raene, who was sound asleep.

Control it. It's a thing past. You are stronger.

But there was no reassurance in her own words. Chilled inside, she curled even tighter, her eyes closed, fighting the steaming wave of emotions and terror that wanted to burst free.

You only are defeated because you chose to be so.

It stung.

Again, she wrestled her mind from the recollection of those horrible moments after the crash, and the next thing she could think of was Eireannan.

He would drive that pain away, through his simple presence.

His warmth. His will.

He could do that for her. Yet not for himself. He was so hurt she could feel it through her skin when they touched. Light, he had endured so much more pain than someone, even the worst of beings, should have been through... And he's not fine, no matter how hard he tries to pretend. On the inside he's bleeding and broken, hanging only to bits and shreds of what his life has been. Allowing himself to feel just so much so as to remember he is still alive.

I love him. Light knows I do.

And I want to save him, from his nightmares and his suffering...

The darkness, the demons...

But now I am as hurt as he is. How's that doing any good to us, if he sees me in pain, crawling under the blankets because I am afraid to open my eyes and face my fear?

Sobs racked her body again, the effort to control them so as not to awaken Raene or anybody else requiring all her strength.

Then a warm hand settling on her cheek, brushing away the strands of blue, soft hair. Eyes still tightly shut, she felt the other being curling against her, in a deep, protective hug...inhaled her scent, the warm breath on her skin, then, with a twinge of acceptance, just stood there,silent allowing Daria to comfort her.

Spider webs

The scent of freshly torn grass rose in the air as Laandra crawled a little bit further, under the cover of the tick vegetation. Daria followed, moving as carefully as she had done, until they both stood flat on their bellies, the valley which nestled the ruins of Ordil'aran unfolding in front of their eyes.

And quite an activity was there, despite the twilight, Laandra thought, with a sharp breath, seeing the cottages and tents, built around a central altar in the middle of the ruins. The camp swarmed with people, again a very diverse mix, she noticed, undead, humans and even elves...Elves? that was strange, she mused, turning her head to look at Daria.

The human girl had insisted to join her on this attempt to find out more about the shadowy groups that seemed to have infested Ashenvale of late. They had spoken very little between themselves during the previous evening, even if the meal had proven to be quite an excitement. Half of Astranaar came by the Sentinels' house to join the fun and there had been some good laugh and stories being told around the fire until late after midnight...

It would have made her feel home, Laandra bitterly said to herself, hadn't it been for the secret she bore in herself...something that could not be shared with her Kaldorei friends, not even with Raene, no matter how fond of each other they had grown over the years.

Something only Daria and her knew and as their eyes met, at times, she could see in the girl's face the longing, the questions she did not dare ask in front of the others, the name her lips silently formed.

Something deep inside her being - her love, at times so sweet, at others as painful as a scorpion sting, when she remembered her own betrayal...

...when the tiny drop of fel energy crawled through her veins, pulsating in the back of her head with every fire spell she cast...

...the yearning, the desire, the loneliness she felt without him...

Only late, after the fire had turned to ashes and everyone had said good night, did Daria and her find a moment to talk alone. Night elven houses and inns were much like those Draenei themselves preferred, with not so many walls, intimacy being a rare thing.

" Ei'an?"

The entire complexity of Daria's worries and feelings wrapped up in that simple utterance.

" He's fine", she had whispered, her words covered by the rippling of the lake water behind the Sentinel house.

"Why are you here?"

" Raene asked for my help. And I..."

She found no way to explain the turn of events, the brutal manner in which she had regained her memories, the ensuing mental torment, which had harmed them both..Eireannan and herself...

" What is Ei'an doing?"

"He went to Silvermoon", Laandra answered and Daria frowned, her expression clearly revealing her confusion. Then Raene had come in and they fell silent.

Daria returned her the concerned look, as she examined the valley, packed with cultists. If they were to find out anything about their true intentions, they had at least to take a closer look at what was going around in the camp.

Raising her hand, Daria pointed to a spot behind the tents, some fifty yards away.

"If we sneak through there, we may enter the camp unnoticed. They seem to be more preoccupied around the altar."

There was not the time, nor the place for detailed plans of action. Nodding their agreement, they started to crawl towards the breech in the tree wall, careful not to cause any unusual sound. A dry twig cracked under her weight and Laandra held her breath for a few seconds, until she realized that the sound hadn't escaped the confines of the forest. Still on their elbows and knees, they rolled through the brambles until they found themselves behind one of tents.

The sudden stir of movement had drawn the attention of one of the guards. a tuggish looking human. He drew closer, sword and dagger at the ready, to investigate the noise. The moment he saw them he opened his mouth, to give the alarm, but didn't have the time to, as, moving swiftly, Daria knocked him in the chest with the hilt of her own sword. The man fell to his knees, struggling to breathe, then, pulling himself back on his legs, attempted to run for help.

" So may Light forgive us", Laandra thought, raising her hands in front of her. The blast of fire hit the human in his back and he fell on the ground with a muffled thud.

Sneaking towards the body, Daria rolled it on his back and checked him for a pulse.

"Dead for good", she muttered, expertly digging into the man's pockets and belt. Another dagger, some bandages and a handful of bronze coins was all she found.

They huddled back behind the tent and Daria, using the knife she'd taken from the man started to cut down the material, to allow them in. It took some time and Laandra felt her articulations go numb from the awkward, crouched position, so uncomfortable for her tall frame. Daria, on the other hand, seemed totally at ease - her movements swift and soundless. The tent's thick cloth finally gave up and they were able to crawl in, only to find another cultist, this time a fair haired elf that was staring at them disbelievingly.

He didn't have the time to scream either, as Daria's dagger slid into his chest, straight for the heart. He fell on the ground, limbs twitching and Laandra could barely suppress a shiver as she noticed Daria's look.

Blank, devoid of all emotion, the same Eireannan had sometimes. As if body and spirit were utterly severed from each other, connected just by some residual physiological link.

She didn't however have the time to consider her own thoughts. Bending down, she started to fumble through the pile of things that lay inside the tent, finding some more weaponry, clothing, potions and a pack of scribbled notes. In the darkness inside she couldn't make out the words or the language in which they were written. She put them into her pocket and motioned for Daria to get out. It was only a matter of time until their presence was revealed.

As they struggled to get out of the tent through the narrow cut, angered cries burst out around them.

Something hit her in her back, sending rippling waves of pain through her body. She staggered, chocking on her own scream of agony as she surrounded herself in the glimmering magic shield that absorbed the next shadowbolt, sending little sparks all around.

"Go" she whispered to Daria, that lay curled, to avoid being hit.

"I dont let ya behind".

" I told you to go..." Laandra breathed. " Now!"

Hurried steps and barked orders in the dark dispelled all doubt concerning the number of their attackers. Understanding that arguing was useless and time consuming, Daria dashed for the nearest shrub and disappeared in the shadow. Laandra felt her shield starting to wane when two more bolts hit her straight in the chest. Knowing that she was running out of time, she mentally examined the odds, while muttering some spell words under her breath.

Perched under the trees, Daria heard the rumble of the fight behind her. She resisted the urge to just run back and drop into the middle of it...she was no coward to run away like that from a bunch of blood thirsty cultists. Just when she had started to crawl back down the slope, she felt a warm hand pressing against her mouth. Her exclamation of surprise came out muffled, and then she heard Laandra's soft laughter close to her ear.

" Come on", she said. "Let's go, before they catch our trace."

"I thought..." Drawing in a sharp breath, Daria stammered with her words, as they made their way through the engulfing darkness, shrubs and thorns clinging to their clothing, leaving shallow scratches on their arms and faces. "What the hell was on your mind?"

"Sheepin'...freezin', blinkin'". Laandra smiled to the night, knowing that Daria could not see her expression, as they made it to the road and stopped to catch their breath. " Now how the hell do you imagine I survived this long?"

She felt her pocket for the roll of documents she had picked from the tent...it was quite sizable and she dearly hoped it could offer them some answers to start with. Why did she have the unsettling feeling that it was going to be a long and restless night?

Doubt

" We have to withdraw and leave the humans to their own business". The Ranger tucked away the piece of parchment, a look of concern washing over his features as he straightened his back and signaled to one of his men. " The order was given three days ago by the Convocation of Silvermoon. We are leaving."

" I'm not."

He looked over his shoulder to see who had spoken, then let out a sigh, meeting the stern gaze of Eireannan Saralonde. The younger man seemed tired, weariness visible in the contorted expression of his face, in the veil that covered the green emerald eyes, so unusual for an elf, dulling their brightness. His clothes were torn and stained with blood and God knew what other fluids, the black hair carelessly braided to the back of his head, so as not to bother him while working.

"It's an order", the Ranger repeated and sighed again, remembering the devastation they had encountered in the Plague touched villages.

" Your orders, not mine." Eireannan shrugged, his absent minded look sweeping over the purple sunset sky. " These people need our help. There are already too few to fight...and the Plague is spreading fast."

" We must ALL retreat to elven teritory at once". How in the name of Light did the spoiled insolent brat think he was going back to the ruling Council to explain to Andarien Saralonde that his only son had chosen to stay behind in the plague ravaged Lordaeron?

"Then you should leave at once, my lord".

"It's an order from the High Council! Even if you are not bound by the rules of the Rangers corps, punishment is still to be enforced against all those that disobey the decisions of..."

" So we abandon our allies and stick our heads up our asses hoping that this horror will never reach Quel'Thalas?" Eireannan's voice was mocking and full of anger when he answered, not bothering any more with the choice of words. It fell heavily in the silence between them and he didn't wait for an answer. With a swirling move, he turned on the spot and walked towards the edge of the camp, ignoring the other man's protests.

Oh, they would make him pay, he could be sure of that. His own father would have been more than delighted to teach him a lesson in obedience.

That was something to worry about later on, Eireannan said to himself bitterly. Under the circumstances, it required that he would return safe and sound from this battle...which, taking the current odds into consideration, was more than he could hope for.

" I thought you would be preparing to leave by now".

The voice almost made him jump, so engrossed in his own thoughts he had been. Lifting his head, he met the inquisitive look of the human, and smiled.

" I'm not going anywhere, your Highness."

" That man was muttering something about orders."

Eireannan shrugged again, indifferently.

" I told him what to do with his orders, for what I am concerned." Tilting his head to the side, as he considered his words, prince Arthas Menethil returned him something like a grim smile, that darkened his features.

" Why do I have the feeling we're being abandoned?"

" They'll regret it", Eireannan softly said, placing briefly his hand on the other man's shoulder and squeezing it a little. "Come on, we have to get to Andorhal by nightfall."


-----

He woke up screaming again.

He had dreamed he was one of the walking dead.

Of all the gruesome possibilities, this one frightened him the most - to lose his will.

In the darkness of the room, his hands had instinctively searched for her, before remembering she had left, days before.

And there was loneliness, chilling his soul even more, as he rolled on his back to stare blindly at the ceiling. The scents of Silvermoon freely entered through the open window: flowers and decadent perfumes and the rich mana flavour.

Soothing, softening, luring...Addictive. Reaching straight to his core, a thousand whispers of the nether itself...

He had to leave.

As he rose from the bed in the dead of the night to pack up his few possessions, he remembered some words of wisdom he had heard years before, when he was still struggling with the dark ways of a warlock. "Only the weak are corrupted".

Well, Eireannan thought, listening to the quiet whispers of the Silvermoon night around himself while he crossed Murder Row, heading for the gates, it was a lie...The strongest were always the first to fall...

Some encounters and some bad news...

"Raene!"

The Kaldorei rose in a single move, almost scared at the sound of the voice that seemed to come out of nowhere, brutally interfering in her meditation. Her wolf growled, and she put instinctively a protective hand on his head, to soothe him.

She recognized almost instantly the silhouette standing in front of her. Quite short for one of her people, that usually had massive, tall frames, slender and gracious in a pair of green woven pants and a white shirt, the blue hair ruffled and tangled, hands on her hips and a beaming smile on her face...

"Laan!"

They hugged enthusiastically. Although , like all Kaldorei Raene was secretive and unwilling to mix with the strangers, be them their own allies, she had found herself become very fond of the Draenei, and especially Laandra.

" I thought you weren't coming...", Raene said, after a while when they sat together on the porch in the Sentinel's headquarters. Laandra held the mug of water she had asked for in both hands, drinking greedily as she was trying to catch her breath. She gave her a half smile, her eyes suddenly darkening under the rush of memories.

"I was having some business in the Plaguelands of Lordaeron. But I guess I just needed a breath of fresh air. Your letter had me worried though. What's going on?"

Raene sighed.

"Sightings of worgen again. This time more ferocious than ever. I fear it's the taint of Felwood that's slowly spreading to our homeland..."

Laandra shrugged, something like an annoyed, frustrated expression spreading on her face.

"Apparently the worgen are only one of your problems, right now. There's a lot going on in Darkshore and Ashenvale of late, it seems. On my way here I bumped into sort of a shadowy cult at Master's Glaive. Then I got ambushed by some others near the ruins of Ordil'Aran. Humans and Forsaken. Barely made it out. The roads are not safe anymore."

"Are you injured?" Raene asked, worried, her gaze trailing over Laandra's clothes to see tell-tale signs of wounds. But Laandra shook her head, dismissing her concerns.

"No. Only some shallow cuts and a head ache."

"The news you bring is troublesome", Raene said, quietly, bowing her head. " I've been suspecting for months that there are some demonic cults that have hidden themselves in our forests to plot their schemes. The return of the Legion to this world, that is", she continued, suddenly in a violent tone. "Damn reckless users of magic and corruption!"

"I'm sorry"...she added, side glancing towards Laandra and drawing in a deep breath. "It's just that..."

"Magic IS dangerous and addictive", Laandra said, putting the mug aside and patting her arm. She had traveled enough in those last years to know at least, if not completely understand, the views of their allies. For herself, magic had been a tool, most of the time. Until recently, she mused, silently knowing that Eireannan had unwillingly changed that too. Knowing that, in that night, in Duskwood, near Addle's Stead, she had taken in not only his essence, but also a small fragment of the fel energy that was embedded in his blood. And she could feel it, she thought, with a shiver, slowly working its way into her own being.

The nether whisper.

Raene drew in another sharp breath and looked at her friend, rather impressed by her calm.

"We'll find a way to stop them", Laandra said, convincingly. "That's why I am here, no?"

"Yeah, Laan-I-saved-the-world-again-today", Raene half mocked her, smiling.

"And what is wrong with that?"

They both rose their heads in surprise to see Faldreas Goeth'Shael who had just approached the Sentinel's Headquarters. The druid was smiling too, as he greeted Laandra warmly, and then, from behind him, another figure emerged, this time a short, fragile looking human, that rushed into her arms.

Laandra had hardly the time to catch her before Daria's weight and sudden movement sent them both to the ground, despite her more massive frame.

Well, she didn't actually know they were on such friendly terms, but the simple memory of what Eireannan had told her about the young human's past and her traumas, made Laandra shiver, wrapping her arms around the girl's shoulders in a protective gesture.

"Well, now that everyone is here, maybe we can have dinner. I'm like a starving bear, Faldreas said in a funny, hope-filled tone and they all laughed at this.

The serious matters could wait for another evening, Laandra sighed to herself, as she turned her head, absently studying the sunset sky...

Onwards to Ashenvale

Stripes, the mist saber sprang forward, as if glad to find herself at last back to her lands, far from the desolated,dead quiet fields of the Plaguelands.

Laandra patted the big cat's head with affection. She was a gift from Raene Wolfrunner herself and had proved a loyal and trustworthy companion in many difficult situations. Leaning against the furry back of the panther, Laandra allowed her to chose her own way through the dense forests of Darkshore, enjoying the ride, the wind that brushed through her untied hair.

The feeling of freedom that had followed during the last few days was tinged with guilt.

Oooh, she missed Eireannan...not his overprotectiveness.

A strange rustle of sound to her right suddenly caught her attention. She took hold of the reins to make Stripes stop, then quickly dismounted, leading her towards the thick overgrown bushes.

"You stay here", she whispered, and the huge panther lay down in the soft grass, with something like a satisfied purr.

Laandra allowed herself half a smile, before sliding further, through the thorny bushes, to the place from where the sound had come. She wore some plain hunter outfit, her mage robes packed away with the rest of her possessions. She would do that whenever she could, enjoying the simplicity of Kaldorei clothing.

The sounds were now louder...an incantation, maybe? she wondered, as she perched under some branches, on a small mound of earth, to look over.

Right in front of her, the awe inspiring look of Master's Glaive, as she remembered it from the times before. A sacred place, her Kaldorei friends had told her. Yet now, under the massive sword pinned inside the rock skull, there was a shadowy altar, with some thirty figures gathered around.

She could distinguish humans, orcs, dwarves and even forsaken. A quite interesting assembly, Laandra thought, craning her neck to see better.

Performing some dark ritual, definitely.

For a second she was tempted to approach and discover what it was about.

She counted them again, thoughtfully.

Thirty two.

She crawled slowly forward, using the terrain to her advantage, to cover all trace of her presence. The incantation was now louder, ominously sounding, and from what she could see, there was blood on the altar, slowly trickling to the ground.

Not good at all, Laandra thought, her gaze trailing over the gloomy surrounding. Careful not to make any sound, she crawled back towards the road and Stripes, hoping her presence had remained unnoticed.

The hope we have...

It was the sound of the waves that woke her up a little after midnight.

She lay on the sea weed mattress, eyes closed, listening as the waters rolled relentlessly over the beach, crushing against the few rocks scattered around the harbor.

The soft breeze that entered through the curtains brought mixed odors of salt and algae and fish...and dead shells of creatures scattered in the sand.

She had fallen in love with the sea from the first time she had seen it here, in the Land of Azeroth, at Odessyus Landing, where she had been sent on an errand from Azure Watch.

There was something about the vast surfaces of waters that spoke to her inner self in a way nothing else could.

She got out of bed and dressed quickly, favoring a pair of pants and a blue shirt over the crumpled and weathered mage robe.

The inn was silent, filled with only the small sounds of people sleeping, more or less at peace with themselves. She tried to step as carefully as possible, so as not make too much noise as she went down the stairs and into the central room of the inn.

She loved night elven inns. Opened to the wind, the breeze, the scents of the forest, the overwhelming simplicity, as opposed to the cramped, tight, oppressing interiors preferred by the humans.

From the central room you could get directly to the pier, and that was what she did, walking through the mists, as far as the pier went, until the inn and Darkshore were lost from sight, and she felt totally isolated from the world, just her, and the sea and the starlit sky, suddenly emerging from the shrouds of mists that enveloped the coastline...

Mist's End, she thought, her gaze following small threads of vapor as the wind rushed them over the restless surface of the Veiled Sea.

And there, just beyond the dark horizon, Vaalar's Berth.

Loneliness had never been something to bother her.

Not until recently, at least.

But she missed him.

And that was the reason why she had to go, while she could still breathe without his presence.

Her thought trailed over the events of the past two weeks, trying not to focus on her newly re-discovered memories. It was still blurry in her mind, the same as a puzzle that still missed some small linkages to be complete. But the most vivid images came to her over and over. That night of pain and blood in which she had lost her innocence. That night in which she had killed for the first time, unwillingly releasing that power that only later she learned how to control. That night in which she had lost a part of her soul.

Yet she never lost hope.

for the Light is with me and even if I walk in harm's way, I am not afraid...

...and maybe there was still hope to win the millennia old battle against the demons...

...and maybe there was still hope that the people of this world, so old and so young, so fresh and so scarred, so full of joy and sorrow, light and shadow, could live in peace...

...and maybe there was still hope that in such a world Eireannan and her could sit together, one night, at Mist's End, without fear...

She knelt on the pier, the wooden planks cracking softly under her weight.

Closing her eyes, letting the strong scent of the breeze invade her senses...Tasting the sea water from the powder-like drops the wind carried to her lips. Drifting away, with the ocean that roamed endlessly beneath her. Silently praying, while the night slowly gave into the day and the first stray ray of light fell on her face.

O Light, grant us grace to desire you with our whole heart,
that so desiring, we may seek and find you
and so finding you we may love you
and loving you we may hate those sins from which you have redeemed us...

...and the prices we pay

(( a bit of wrapping up before moving to the next stage...which involves, you may have guessed, trips to Ashenvale and Darkshire)).


"Leave us alone", Lor'themar Theron suddenly said to the guards. The massive doors had barely been closed when, picking up something from the bag he carried, Eireannan threw it casually down, on the fancy decorated table between themselves.

"Here's your bloody mess."

Bending down,obviously curious, the Regent carefully used two fingers to pick up the end of the linen wrapping. Something heavy rolled on the wooden surface and he barely held back a disgusted exclamation, staring at the twisted expression of Dar'khan Drahtir's head.

"Careful what you wish for" , Eireannan muttered, suppressing a smile. Lor'themar Theron gave him a killing look as he wiped his fingers away on the linen cloth.

" You are insane."

" Nay, it's just fancy these days in Ghostlands to chop off enemy heads." He made a small gesture, displaying the trail of dark blood that stained his sleeve, up to the elbow. "Kind of messy, though".

The Regent eyed him again carefully, while moving as far as possible from the table. Not that he was a coward. He had fought valiantly in the Second War and the bitter survival of the High Elves during the Third was entirely due to his determination in pulling together what was left of their people before Kael'Thas Sunstrider showed up to take the lead. But Dar'Khan's grim face reminded him of things too painful to dwell on...the fall of Silvermoon, the hopeless fight, the betrayal...Sylvanas Windrunner gruesome death and raising into the ranks of the enemy.

Sylvanas...

Like a big spider, lurking in the depth of the Undercity, weaving its lethal trap.

He looked again at Eireannan Saralonde, thinking that this man was so much like Sylvanas and so less like himself.

As if guessing his thoughts, Eireannan gave him again one of these little smiles that managed to send chills down the Regent's spine.

"Now, that my side of the bargain lies on the table, so to speak, I expect your Highness to fulfill your own."

"Which was...?"

" Unroot those warlock nests that clutter the basements in Murder Row..."

The Regent choked in sheer amazement.

" Establish severe punishments for all those that are caught using shadow magic or summoning demons.", Eireannan continued, his voice burning now with such a determination the other one dared not interrupt. " The law, as it was before the War..."

"Do you think this will stop people from turning to fel magic?"

"No" , Eireannan admitted." There will always be dark basements and people that give into the temptation. But it will discourage those reckless children that ruin their lives because they feel their is no other way to survive...and no one bothered to tell them otherwise..."

"I find it at least surprising that this request comes from a...a..."

" An oath breaker". Eireannan ended Lor'Themar Theron's phrase rather sharply. " Yes, I did break some wows and made some not-so-good choices...and though I don't quite like the outcome, I wouldn't have it any other way." He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "But this is not about me, and the tragedy of our people will not be smaller if we add more corruption to it."

" I would try", the Regent conceded, his eyes betraying a strange feeling, somewhere in between admiration and utter puzzlement. " As you know, the Grand Magister sort of...encourages such practices...And he is a loyal follower of you know who."

Eireannan sighed. It was half a promise and half a promise was still better than nothing...still better than drunken girls, addicted to bloodthistle and seduced by their own demons, whom they had little, if any power to control.

Oh, no, he said to himself, disgusted by his own pretense of self-righteousness... he had not cared.

Not after the reconstruction of Silvermoon was finished and the remaining Magisters enthroned themselves in the freshly rebuilt city, pretending to rule the destiny of the High Elves.

Children of the blood...

Changes, spinning one after the other...the discovery of the addiction, the mana crystals, the endless search for something to quench the thirst which absorbed so many of his kind to that day...

Kael'thas leaving for the Outland...The return of Grand Magister Remmath, with the knowledge of "new ways"...

That which lay deep under Sunstrider Place and the Blood Knights...

And most of all, corruption and depravation and darkness.

It had been easier to let it all behind and go fight failing battles in the Plaguelands. Easier to run away from this changing world which seemed so strange, in flavor and color, so different from the one he had known.

But no longer, Eireannan quietly thought to himself, feeling the pain again, in the depth of his being, the same pain that, even here, within the mana crystal network of Silvermoon, kept sending at times small stabs through his heart.

No more.

(( just a little clarification... Warlock - From the Old English wærloga; "oath-breaker" or "deceiver".

http://www.wowwiki.com/Warlock))