#ina'thia dawnblade

[inathia]

Returning Home

The jewel-toned leaves of citrine, topaz and ruby crunched under the heavy footfalls of a child of blood long overdue for their return home. Black boots caked in enough mud, sand and blood made them appear dull, almost gray in appearance. The entire suit of armor had much of the same wear and tear after years of travel. A once pristine black tabard with a red phoenix was layered over the armor, with years of dutiful mending evident on the endlessly frayed and repaired hems.

Stopping just outside of Fairbreeze Village, the weary traveler looked up at the tall inn building. Memories of a past lifetime of chasing little lordlings caused a derisive exhale, though the days of walking had certainly taken a toll. A brief rest for a proper meal couldn't hurt, could it?

Finally, the tattered red hood that covered the traveler's face fell back over her head, settling around her neck much like a scarf. The face of Ina'tha Dawnblade, the once-decorated Knight Lord of the Blood Knight Order, and once-proud Commander of the Phoenix Guard, finally allowed herself to be seen. It was unclear if she'd been hiding her face out of shame for her abrupt and prolonged absence, or her lack of usual dark eye makeup and lipstick. Considering both her pride and her vanity, it was likely both.

With her chin held high, Ina'thia strode right up the ramp and sat a table in the inn. Before the waiter could approach the table, she placed a gold and several silver pieces on its surface.

"A glass of Eversong Red and a fruit and cheese platter."

No please, no thank you. Just the sharp comments of someone who had been away from civilization or entirely too long. Patrons of the Fairbreeze Village inn whispered in hushed tones amongst themselves, and Ina'thia couldn't help but catch one well-dressed man out of the corner of her eye. He had watched her a moment too long, and his chair made a gods-awful sound on the floor as he got up too quickly.

The man hurried outside in a whirl of red and gold robes, speaking quietly into an enchanted gemstone. Ina'thia leveled her one-eyed gaze on him as he left, then sipped at her wine the moment it was brought to her.

"M-Magister… are you there? Magister Everblaze…" the man stammered, covering his mouth so his lips could not be read, "You're not going to believe this. She's here."

@thefugitivemango

[ronaestrider]

A Reunion Long in the Making [Part I]

A familiar figure stands at the shoreline of an equally familiar place. The once-Commander of the Phoenix Guard still holds her same rigid posture as she looks out to the sea, sipping from a cup of tea. Her armor pieces, survival bag and other (few) belongings are neatly arranged on a table behind her.

Ruthar enters the old Guard stomping grounds quietly, though not silently. He stands there for a moment, his mind flooded with memories before slowly moving toward the shoreline. His helmet is removed, the wind tossing his silver-white hair.

“So, it seems the reports are indeed true.”

Ina'thia's ears flick as she hears footsteps. Her hand instinctively grasps her sword. Then, the familiar voice. Her grip loosens. "...Good to know that the Farstriders still do their jobs well. It'd have been embarrassing to have snuck in completely unnoticed." With a grin, she turns on her heel to face Ruthar.

Ruthar's typically stoic visage turns a smile, the glint of a tear in his eyes as the sunlight reflects off of the water. "Commander Dawnblade," he says softly, moving toward the water's edge. He opens his mouth to continue but finds words difficult in the present situation.

Ina'thia also struggles with a faint glimmer of a tear in her eye. Ever the stoic Commander, she forces an even expression by raising her chin a little bit. "Just Ina'thia, these days..." she gently corrects, "Ranger-Captain." 

Ruthar places his bow down on the table next to Ina'thia's belongings. "If titles are now off the table, then Ruthar will do. Let's leave Ranger Captain to the Farstrider recruits."

Ina'thia slowly closes the distance between herself and Ruthar, appraising his appearance with the keen gaze of a commanding officer. Some habits never really die. On the other hand, she looks as though she hasn't had a good night of sleep in years.

"Tell me everything, Ruthar. How have you been? What about your brother? Have you heard from any of the others since we parted ways? Are you doing okay?" 

Ruthar raises his eyebrows at that. "Everything? I'm not entirely sure all of is it interesting." He chuckles as he removes his unnecessarily pointy gauntlets and places them next to Ana'dal. He takes a step closer and places his hand on Ina'thia's shoulder.

"In the last six years, I've never been happier to read a report than the one claiming that you've returned." He smiles genuinely even though his features may appear older. "It really is good to see you, and here - of all places." He looks behind him with a pleasant sigh. "Where it all began."

Ina'thia, now without fear of being scratched by unnecessarily pointy armor bits, goes right in for a hug when Ruthar places a hand on her shoulder. It's a tight hug, going on far longer than she would have ever allowed in her days as Commander.

"It's the only place that made any sense to come to." Finally, she releases him from the hug, but not without taking his hand. "...I'm -so- sorry for leaving the way I did. It's shameful." 

Ruthar returns the hug whole-heartedly, cherishing the moment. He allows her to take his hand as the emotion continues to flow freely. He shakes his head slowly, his voice soft. "There is no shame to be had. So many wars, so much struggle." He sighs as he looks out to the ocean before squeezing her hand and looking back to her. "It has affected us all in so many ways." He shifts away to gather a pair of chairs that he places overlooking the water. "There is so much ground to cover, Ina'thia." He gestures toward the open seat as he stands next to his own.

Ina'thia squeezes Ruthar's hand in return, then follows his gaze and gesture to the open chairs. There was so much to talk about, they'd need chairs and maybe a few nights to cover it all. "I took dissolution and reassignment of the Guard harder than I thought I would," she finally admits after a long moment of silence. "Surprise."

Ruthar places his satchel down as he takes a seat, taking out a flask to sip on while Ina'thia enjoys her tea. He leans back, closing his eyes in thought for a just a moment. "You and me both," he admits. "The Guard was the closest thing I've had to a family since before the fall of Quel'Thalas." He looks out to the water again. "Between you and I, Rehmaar and I are just...not on the same path. We never really have been since we were reunited after we thought each other dead. The Guard filled that deep void, and by the Sunwell I miss it terribly." He lifts his flask in her direction. "There really was no greater honour than serving as your Lieutenant. From Hearthglen to being abducted in Draenor, I'd -almost- do it all again."

Ina'thia gives Ruthar a sidelong look as she sips her tea, frowning a bit. "The Guard was the family we all needed. It even included bratty younger siblings neither of us could stand," she laughs a little bit at that."We made a good family. I miss it terribly, but I'd be content never to journey to Draenor again." 

Ruthar chuckles at that softly. "Deal," he agrees as the pain from his felfire chest scar throbs ever so slightly. "Bratty siblings, obstinate uncles, and relationships better left forgotten." He shakes his head with a smirk. "It really did have it all."

Ina'thia balances her teacup on her thigh and crosses her arms, gazing out at the sea. "Much as I miss everyone, there are some I'm still afraid to speak to. Gattius and I did not end things on a particularly good note," she frowns.

Ruthar allows that to hang in the air for a minute, considering his word choices with care. "Fear is a powerful thing. It has the ability to halt even the most prosperous of futures." He follows her gaze to the horizon. "When I first heard word that you had come back, fear was absolutely a factor - I truly had no idea how you would react to being discovered." He looks down to the immediate shoreline. "Overcoming fear is a path to great reward, a lesson it took far too long to understand."

Ina'thia can't help but chuckle a little bit, "I know better than to fight a ranger in their home forest, if that's what you were fearful about." After a bit of a lull, she wets her lips again to continue speaking. "Fear is what drove me away from home in the first place. After I came home from Kul Tiras, I heard the whispers. Then I saw the shadows. Little things, out of the corner of my eye. Then the obelisks. They were there, but they weren't." 

Ina'thia hangs her head in a strange mix of shame, embarrassment and regret. "I had to leave before I hurt anyone." 

Ruthar considers that for a long moment. "You did what you felt was right," he offers quietly. "There is no shame in that. More importantly, you are here...and N'Zoth is not."

Ina'thia 's face is hidden by her hair, which had fallen over her shoulders as she hung her head forward. "The Guard kept me sane through so many years by being something to focus on. Without it, I went actually gods-damned insane."

Ruthar nods, his mind spinning back to a time long ago. "In the aftermath of the Scourge, having lost truly everything, I was moments from fading to nothingness." He took a small sip from his flask as he watched the water roll over the sand. "Time and again, we find ourselves on the brink and yet here we are." His voice turns more declarative. "There is absolutely no shame in falling from grace in any capacity, Ina'thia. It is what we do after that truly matters." He looks her way with a genuine expression of care and concern. "And you don't need to do it alone. Ever."

Ina'thia would lean over to bump her shoulder against Ruthar's, but his armor was pointy there as well. "You're always so kind and reassuring to me, Ruthar. I... needed that," she finally admits, then downs the rest of her now cold tea. "I don't know what I'm going to do now, t hough. I just knew it was time to come home." 

Ruthar nods, capping his flask. "It is time to come home. Time to be back in Quel'Thalas and re-evaluate. Nothing has reminded me of that more than being right here, right now." He gestures toward Quel'Danas in the distance. "For years now, I've served greater needs, needs far beyond what we have here in Quel'Thalas. But this," he reaches over to pat her knee, "Us. Our people. This place. These memories. -This- is what truly matters."

Ina'thia rests the teacup on her thigh again, "I served the greater needs for so long. No regard for myself. And when I was finally relieved of that burden, I didn't know who I was. I've traveled the world, Ruthar, and I still have trouble defining myself beyond what I think I should do instead of who I am. Maybe making amends is a good place to start."

"That means talking to Magister Everblaze... if I'm set on fire in the coming days, you'll know why."

Ruthar would spit out his drink if he had liquid in his mouth. He composes himself in an attempt to hide his shock. "I'm not entirely sure that's the best first move. I hate to use the term, but hatchling steps. Jumping right to the Magister seems like a lot very quickly."

Ina'thia raises a brow at Ruthar, "Do you really think so? I've always thought to do the hardest thing first. Get it out of the way quickly. But, I see the strategic advantage in apologizing to the most people -before- I meet a fiery end." Ina'thia touches her chin thoughtfully.

“I mean, the Farstriders caught wind of you rather quickly. I would imagine the Magistry wouldn't be -too- far behind.” Ruthar sighs. "Regardless, what do you owe him anyway? I never felt that he did much for -us-."

Ina'thia anxiously fidgets with her teacup, "Oh, I know he already knows I'm here. He has spies everywhere. They hide in plain sight, instead of the trees." She sighs. "...He and I became... involved. I left him without so much as a word." 

Ruthar raises his eyebrows at that and considers it for a moment. "Well, like you said - he has spies everywhere. If he wanted revenge or retaliation for your actions, he would already have it, no?"

Ina'thia runs her thumb over the lip of her teacup. "He's a stubborn and prideful man. If anything, he'd refuse to speak to me, especially if he knows I want to apologize. Or, set me on fire. It'll be the toss of a gold coin." 

Ruthar considers her words. "Do -you- want to apologize?"

"...I feel like it's something I should probably do, yes. I guess." 

Ruthar nods, watching the rim of her empty teacup. "There is a hard line to walk when it comes to doing what is right and doing what is needed." He looks up at her. "I just want you doing what is best for -you-, first and foremost."

Ina'thia peers over at Ruthar, "What I -want- to do is drink a whole bottle of Eversong red and fall asleep by a tree somewhere. But what I need to do is, well... make amends to those I've hurt." 

Ruthar reaches into his satchel and produces a bottle of Thalassian red, ever-prepared for these sorts of things. "I think both can be arranged," he says slyly.

Ina'thia lets out an audible gasp at the bottle of wine. Of course he, of all people, would be prepared for such an occasion. "Light and Sunwell bless you for this, Ruthar. You know me well." 

Ruthar slips it back in his bag with a chuckle, standing up from the chair. "I think there are some glasses still inside somewhere," he says as he glances back toward the pavilion. "I believe a toast is in order - to a reunion so long in the making."

Ina'thia snatches up her teacup and rises, following Ruthar to the pavilion. "I think the last time we shared a bottle of wine, we just drank straight from it. Legs dangling over the edge of my balcony on Quel'Danas," she gestures to the isle in the distance.

Ruthar chuckles. "That sounds about right. Perhaps we should pay the Shattered Sun a visit."

Ina'thia fusses with her hair as they head over to the pavilion, "I think that's a great idea. See what's happened to my old office! Something dreadfully boring, I'm sure. Either way... it's been far too long since I've gazed upon the Sunwell." 

Ruthar smiles. "I can think of no better way than to celebrate your return to Quel'Thalas than a voyage to the Isle." He gathers his items from the table and offers her belongings to her. "Shall we?"

Ina'thia begins the task of donning her armor once again. Despite its many pieces and parts, she's well-practiced in putting it on by herself. Soon enough, she has secured her runeblade to her belt and looks at Ruthar with a smile. A genuine one, this time.

"Ruthar... you are my greatest, and truest friend. My brother. To Quel'Danas!"

@inathia

[thefugitivemango]

A letter arrives to Bey’ron, postmarked from Pandaria of all places. There are grummle-prints all over the envelope, which at one point was probably in great condition! “I’m sorry that I left. I felt trapped — by my armor, by the politics, by the... visions... I left to the only place I know to clear my head and my soul. I really did love you... I still do. I will never forget Midsummer, years ago. I hope someday you can forgive me.”

[[ Interestingly enough, I have a response to this prompt ready, co-written in part by @kidcatgemini. We were going to post it later on separately on its own, but with some amending, it felt proper to post it up in response to this! ]]

~*~

Night finally fell over Eversong. With the day concluded, Bey’ron shed his formal attire, causing his mantle to levitate up from his shoulders. He disrobed, slipping instead into a more comfortable evening lounger robe; These little comforts had become borderline necessities to him, over the years. After going without such things most of his life, they reinforced the progress he’d made in his life. Tonight’s robes were white-- unusual for him. Yet the golden flame-patterned filigree around the seams and deep red streaks at the collar and cuffs felt on-brand enough for him. He had already slipped it on and tied it closed, before he realized where he’d gotten in. A Midsummer gift… from Ina’thia. 

He stood in silence a moment, eyeing the robe in the full-length mirror that stood tall and proud beside his eveningwear shrank. He hated this. He hated ALL of this. It was one thing to have something taken from you - everything else could be replaced. But not her. The void she left behind wasn’t just a vacancy. It was a cold-yet-burning tightness in his chest. He should’ve known better than to let anyone close like that again. He’d hoped Ina’thia would be different. A stronger, deeper bond that could withstand the test of time. The foibles of refamiliarizing himself with the notion of a relationship. The hardships of disagreements and conflicting interests. 

He was wrong.

A part of him wanted to rip the robe off. Burn it. But at the same time, he wouldn’t dare. It was one of the few things he had left of her. And for as much pain as he felt now… they’d had some good times. The robe was a gift from last year’s festival. She’d picked it out for him, after learning he collected them. It made for a fine addition to his nightwear collection, he had to agree. The year before that, their relationship was only just beginning. At least, the positive turn of their relationship was. He remembered the conversation well. Of nobility. Of doing what was right for Quel’Thalas. He’d found such common values in her he’d never stopped to consider before. It was then, and events like that, which painted the stern and impatient Knight-Lord in a new light for him. The start of something greater.

He snapped back, shaking himself free from the memories. They provided only so much comfort. The more he thought about them, the more it hurt when he finally stopped. He settled on wearing the robe all the same, stepping away from the mirror as he approached his bookshelf. He needed something to read to distract him from his own thoughts, tonight. But the opportunity to even select a distraction was robbed of him, as a knock came at his front door. So late! Who would dare disturb him at this hour!? He considered sending the felstalkers to deal with whatever intruder was present… but thought better of it. 

Instead, he waved his hand to trace a runic sigil in the air. It lingered, fel-green magic forming a window. A viewfinder. At the same time, fel green eye materialized from a portal down at his front door. It darted about, settling on a figure for a moment-- before it burst in a small controlled arcane 'pop'! He recognized the tall, slender figure. A Nightborne. Aelissah. A portal opened in place of the eyeball, leading into the upper rooms of the Manor, where Bey'ron sat waiting.

The Nightborne stepped through and pulled back her hood to expose her dark skin, ears and glowing arcane markings. Her white eyes set on the Magister, making no commentary on his attire. It was late after all. The portal closed behind her promptly.

“I regret to be bothering you at this hour, Lord Everblaze.” Aelissah said, tone even.

“Nonsense, Miss Ambroise.” the Magister replied, returning the gaze. “You bring news?”

The Nightborne’s brows knit together, her gaze meeting his as she delivered the report. Straight to the point; she figured he wouldn’t appreciate hesitation. She extended her hand, holding out a small, well-worn envelope very familiar to Bey’ron.

“I traced the letter through Pandaria, as you ordered. There’s a good chance it was written before N’Zoth’s fall. And considering how hard the Old God corruption made it to fully trace back to origin… I’d say that’s likely the case.” she frowned, almost apologetically. “However, I did manage to get my hands on the list of casualties, and can confirm that her name does not appear on them.”

“... Hm.”

Bey’ron’s initial response was a little underwhelming. Even for him. He took the envelope, and eyed it pensively. With a sigh, he tapped his chin with his bare, calloused hand, for a contemplative moment. His expression was unreadable, aside from his eyes glowing just a bit duller.

“... Damn her.” he muttered, turning from Aelissah.

He went straight for the wetbar just along the left-hand wall, and set the letter down before pouring himself a drink. His hands shook, glass decanter clinking against the cup he slowly filled. Slowly, his facade fell apart.

“She’s… a fool. A fool!” he scoffed. “Running off amidst such chaos? Away from the safety and security of this place? This manor, in which I so graciously accommodated her?”

He wore a scowl as he turned back to Aelissah, eyes flaring now in anger… or grief. Both, perhaps. He shook his head.

“That list… is it complete? You’re certain of it?” he asked. “Or is it just a list of confirmed dead? Because if she’s gotten herself killed out there, and no one’s found her, she… she wouldn’t…”

He huffed in frustration-- before throwing his glass across the room! It crashed into a bookcase, shattering into half a dozen pieces. Felflames danced along his hands, now clenched in fists, as he stared aimlessly. He was upset, certainly. Shaken by the news.

Aelissah’s ears flickered as the glass shattered, but otherwise remained unaffected by Bey’ron’s outburst. 

“The list was last updated two days ago. The count was taken from The Vale of Eternal Blossom, Uldum and Ny'alotha.” she answered… a brief hesitation befalling her before continuing. “...To be frank, it does not include those swallowed up whole by Void tears. I believe the Alliance has the Ren’dorei looking into that. However, Dawnblade’s name was not on the list of registered combatants. It is possible she made her way straight through to another part of Pandaria, but there are no leads to go on in terms of actually finding her.”

Bey’ron slumped down into his chaise, hunched over as he listened. Ears wilted in grief, yet flickering to indicate he was paying attention. He buried his face into his palm.

“So one way or another… you’re telling me she’s gone.” he scoffed, frustration well-evident in his tone. “There’s nothing else? No possible leads? No matter how small, she just… vanished? How many people have you questioned about her? Anyone? How--”

He clenched a fist… then relaxed it. A sigh of resignation escaped his lips as he slowly shook his head. He leaned back, brushing loose strands of hair from his face as he stared off at the far wall. He was never a very expressive elf, generally hiding his true emotions behind that nigh-sinister smirk of his. But now, he wore no such mask. He looked… weary. Broken. Hopeless.

“... How could she do this to me…?” he mumbled, rhetorically. “She wanted for nothing here, but left anyway. Are void-ravaged warfronts truly so preferable to my hospitality? To me?”

His eyes, now dull once more, flickered to Aelissah. He sighed.

“You met her, once. Once I know of, in any case. Do you recall?” he asked. “What do you remember of her?”

“I remember her being confident and decisive.Good at giving orders and getting others to follow her lead,” she said, “but not much beyond that. I was mostly concentrating on approaching my target unseen, then trying to unimpale myself from a tree before someone decided to use Light magic in the Void filled area.”

She shook her head.

“I did not get to know her on a personal level, so I cannot tell if her current decisions and actions match her personality or not.”

The Magister waved his hand, dismissively-- almost sorry he asked. He shook his head, as he exhaled a sigh.

"I'm not asking if you think this is in character for her. I already know it is." he said, sinking down into the chaise. "She's a dragonhawk, Miss Ambroise. Gorgeous, cunning… dangerous if you don't approach her the right way. So tenacious… so elegant…"

He let out another lamenting sigh of resignation, covering his face once more with his hand. 

"... I was the foolish one, for thinking any cage, no matter how grand, would be suitable for such a free and indomitable spirit. Of course she'd leave!”

He reached out towards the table beside his chaise lounge for his glass-- only to then remember he’d thrown it across the room. Another sigh. 

“And now… she's gone." he muttered to himself.

He stood up once more, and returned to the wetbar. He took up the decanter once more, but… then simply set it down again. His palms pressed to the bar’s edge, as he stared at the worn grummle-printed envelope in a moment of silence.

“... That will be all, Miss Ambroise.”

He didn’t look to see her leave. He wasn’t even sure if she’d left before he ordered it. It didn’t matter. Instead he plucked the envelope up once more, and withdrew the letter inside. His eyes flickered over the words, as if to commit each quillstroke to memory.

He’d find no distraction tonight.

[[ Co-written with @kidcatgemini / @aelissah belongs to her. @inathia for mention. ]]

[lordbeyron]

Under the flicker of low candle light, the Magister set himself to his final task of the evening. He poured himself, adorned in his lavish nightgown, into his desk chair, mindful not to spill the glass of wine in his hand. An aged red, tonight. With a wave of his bandage-wrapped hand, his desk came to life! Parchments stored and filed away unrolled flat on the wooden surface, as the stopper on his ink bottle popped free on its own. A rouge quill gently rose from its rest, dipped itself into the ink - being so kind as to even tap lightly - before it set to the paper before him. Bey’ron let out a sigh and took a swig of his drink, constructing the words in his head before willing them onto the paper.

Magister Runeweaver,

It is nearly time. If you would reach out to our magistry compatriots on Quel’Danas and ask them to lend aid in accommodating us, it would be greatly appreciated. An elf of your standing would most assuredly earn their cooperation in this matter, I am certain.

Glory to Quel’Thalas!

He sat forward, taking up the quill into his hand directly to finalize the missive with a signature of his own inscribing. A personal touch. With that, the parchment folded in on itself, and slipped into a lavish envelope with gold and red filigree. The quill addressed it properly, acting on its own once more, as Bey’ron prepared the sealing wax. A stamp... and it was gone, leaving only the tinge of arcana lingering in the air. The Magister leaned back once more, relaxing after the first of his tasks. Another swig of wine, and he waved his hand again. The quill set to another parchment, and began to write.

Magistrix Starfrost,

The time comes soon. I think it best for you to offer a few words to attendees. Nothing extensive, due to time constraints. But if you would brush up on your history of the Thalassian Pass and the Dead Scar, and prepare a few somber words worthy of memorial visits, it would serve our endeavor well.

Glory to Quel’Thalas!

Once more, Bey’ron leaned forward to sign the letter himself. It folded up, slipped into an addressed envelope, and was stamped - same as the other - before translocating to its intended recipient. Another swig of his wine was well deserved.

He didn’t lean back again, however. Instead, he took up the quill personally, and set to writing on a fresh length of parchment. A generous sip, before setting his wine glass down. Stalling, at this point... as he considered what to say...

Ina’thia,

I hope this letter finds you well. It could be nothing - and likely is - but talk of vengeful ren’dorei targeting former members of the Phoenix Guard has come up. Baseless, perhaps, but enough to cause me worry concern. I’m sure I’ve no need to tell you to be careful out there, but humor me nonetheless; Be Careful Out There. I would be saddened--

A sharp exhale escaped through his nose, brow furrowed. He scribbled another line or two through the discarded, unsuitable word, mind struggling to properly convey his sentiment. He would be saddened, of course. But... more than all that. He tapped his chin, then rapped his fingers along the smooth surface of his goldenwood table. 

I would be devastated if

Too much.

I would be upset--

Weak.

I would be greatly distraught if anything were to happen to you. Please, send word that you’re alive and well. At least, to provide record copy of your continued existence. At most... to alleviate my deepest worries. You are profoundly missed, my Dearest. May the Eternal Sun guide you back to me soon.

His felfire eyes scanned over the letter, re-reading it once, twice... he nodded. It would do. Carefully, he folded the letter up himself, slipped it into an envelope, and addressed it. His eyes lingered, stamp stayed for a pensive moment... before he brought it down to seal it. And it was gone.

The Magister swallowed down the last of his wine, and sighed. He rose from his chair, leaving his desk as it was as he turned to depart. Then, he stopped - ears perked, shoulders straightening. His expression hardened, as he glanced back to his desk. One task remained. He waved his hand, awakening the quill one final time to scribble only three words across another page.

SEAL THE VAULT

No envelope. No seal. No address. A portal opened up - this one smelling of brimstone rather than the usual whiff of arcana - an the letter was pulled in to it. The quill fell still once more, ink bottle stoppered up. Bey’ron nodded firmly, turning to leave as the tiny portal closed behind him.

His business was concluded. For now.

~*~

(( @ranthas, @ronaestrider / @syrielle, @kidcatgemini / @inathia, @pariker ))

[kidcatgeminiart]

It’s been a while, but HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY! Have Syrielle’s Fantasy with Ina’thia. In her dreams, right? :P

C’mon, a Gatto/Syrie pic would have been too obvious (plus I just did a nsfw pic of them so lol )!

Syrielle ( @syrielle ) belongs to me.

Ina’thia ( @inathia ) belongs to @pariker <3

[housetyrellian]

Incident report 8-6-2016

A letter arrives on fine, cream-colored stationary bearing the insignia of the Order of Blood Knights. The writing is written in an elegant, precise hand, as if someone had been copying directly from a manual on how to write.

Unto Knight-Lord Ina'thia Dawnblade,

As I write this, on the morning of the Sixth of August, a crime of utmost severity has been committed within the very halls of our Order. During the hours of Midnight and one o'clock, Champion Arthamir Tyrellian was informed of a dispute between two parties. One was included Adept Jadoth Bloodreign, Adept Nihlis Arterius, Adept Vythrien Sunbreaker, and Mr Aeseth Sunwalker. The other was composed of Champion Malathir An'telas, Andoryl Val'sarir, and Sin'syuan Hellreaver. The beginning of the incident is unclear as of the writing of this report (further investigation is underway), but An'telas claimed that he would assault both Bloodreign and Sunwalker, a civilian, for 'mouthing off.' He then threatened to kill Champion Tyrellian for defending them. Tyrellian then proceeded to tell him to follow up on his threat. An'telas challenged him to a duel outside the gates of the city, but Tyrellian refused, citing his belief that An'telas is a "coward and a knave lacking in honor, who disgraces his birth, his Order, and his nation," and that the challenge was therefore invalid. Tyrellian then proceeded to disarm and present himself to An'telas, who then ordered Val'sarir to kill Tyrellian. After much back-and-forth, Val'sarir then slew the unarmed Champion Tyrellian in cold blood. During the entire encounter - which stretched out over the entire time period - More Knights and hangers-on assembled to both sides. Tyrellian had ordered that no one spill any blood, and that An'telas and his men may murder him if they wish, but that he would not break the Regent's Peace by fighting a fellow Knight, particularly in the City, particularly in the Hall of Blood. Tyrellian has been successfully resurrected and is presently in recovery. No further violence occurred.

With highest regards and acting as secretary for Champion Tyrellian, Jaira Dawnstrider Knight of the Order

(( We have logs of the incident; TSV generally plays NPCs are both present and active, and would prefer that these logs stand as NPC testimony. However, it is not a big deal either way. ))

@inathia

[josrialsunspear]

[inathia]

Welcome Home, Knight-Lord

The summons to Dr. Starfrost were hand delivered by a Blood Knight Master and their Adept in an envelope that not only bore the insignia of the Blood Knight order, but markings of classification of utmost importance. 

Dr. Starfrost - For your eyes only - Immediate attention required Your presence is required at the Hall of Blood tomorrow morning, one hour after dawn. You are to perform a physical fitness examination on a knight, as part of their reinstatement process. We trust that you will perform this duty to the utmost ethical standards as a former member of our order, and esteemed physician serving Quel’Thalas. Signed,  Knight-Lord Bloodvalor

Once the message was securely in Gattius’ hands, the two knights offered him crisp salutes and were immediately on their way.

The following morning, the streets of Silvermoon City were just barely starting to come to life. A gentle golden glow shone between the towering spires of the city. Knights and Farstriders had begun their morning training, merchants made their way to their stores and stalls, and those who had seen the sun rise were wandering home to retire for sleep. 

Dr. Gattius Starfrost was received by the two Blood Knights from the night prior, who led them to a small office room in the back of the Hall of Blood. It was an unusual request to summon a physician to the Hall, rather than send a Knight needing examination or treatment to a clinic. Whatever was happening was clearly of utmost importance to them.

“Right here, Doctor. We’ll be waiting outside.” 

Once inside the small office, a singular knight sat on a chair in the corner. Bereft of her armor and makeup, Ina’thia Dawnblade didn’t look particularly intimidating at first glance. With her arms crossed and legs stretched out in front of her, the black tank top and leggings she always wore underneath it revealed skin weathered by time and even more battles. Her hair had fallen flat and dry over the years, and she’d long foregone her usual dark kohl liner and red lips.

Upon realizing the door had been opened, she immediately stood up and leveled her gaze on Gattius. Ina’thia all but hissed, and the turbulent holy energies of her aura as a Blood Knight seemed to crackle in the air.

“I want a new doctor.”

“Oh, shut up.” Gattius groaned in response, as if already exhausted with her. “You know I'm the best there is.”

Gattius knew it could only be Ina'thia, even though the letter didn't say outright. He had heard the rumor the other night from Syrielle. Then, all the pomp and circumstance surrounding the missive's delivery. Knight-Lord Bloodvalor wouldn't put his name on an order to reinstate just anyone. And being summoned to the Hall, rather than the reinstatement case just be sent to his clinic? High profile and secretive. He hoped he was wrong. Maybe it was someone else. Anyone else. 

Nope.

Still, he stepped through the door and closed it behind him, resigning to his fate. He knew. Part of him resigned to it as soon as he got the letter. The rest of him was just catching up, now. He set his bag down on the small corner table, and opened the folder he'd been handed on his way in. It all could've been hallucination up to that point, but for some reason, seeing her name inscribed across the top of the examination form solidified everything else. 

Ina’thia Dawnblade was back. 

He stared at the form a moment. Just at her name, reading it over and over again– hoping maybe it looked like he was just reviewing her chart intently. His body moved ahead of him, hands digging his cigarette case out of his pocket to pluck one put and light it up. The familiar taste, the warmth hitting his lungs, all seemed to reel him back. His golden gaze lifted from the folder to look at her, now. Slowly, he exhaled a plume of smoke.

“Please state your name and date of birth for the record.” he instructed, all-business.

Ina’thia bristled at Gattius’s groaned response at her, quickly sitting down. She crossed her arms and slouched in the chair, pouting that this was the doctor that had been assigned to perform her physical. Gattius Starfrost, of all people. It couldn’t be some other rank and file Master, a spiritual knight who she pissed off years ago, or hell, even an Argent Crusader. 

No, it had to be Gattius. Former knight, former Captain, former lover.

She pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, trying her best to push those thoughts from her mind. He could very well be the one obstacle that stood in the way of her reinstatement if he wanted to be vindictive, and she knew it. 

“Gods damn you, Bloodvalor,” she grumbled under her breath, then sat up straight. Just answer the questions.

“Ina’thia Dawnblade, July twenty-first.” 

Scribble scribble. Gattius jotted down notes on the parchment. The form wasn't anything he hadn't filled out a million times before. He checked a few boxes, and filled in some of the basic information he knew about her already, like blood type and the like. 

“Your last physical exam was over five years ago. Have you sustained any notable injuries since your last exam?” He asked, ashing his cigarette carelessly onto the floor beside him. “And were you seen or treated in the field or by any other physician in that time?”

His eyes remained fixed to the form. Voice monotone and interrogative, like he either didn't care… or cared intensely. 

Ina’thia shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Her fingertips dug into her bare arms, pressing into the muscles and skin marred by scars both old and new. Her ears twitched and she took a moment to breathe in the sweet smelling smoke of his cigarette. Light, she’d kill for one of those right now. But then she wouldn’t get promoted. So she remained sitting… begrudgingly so. 

“I was treated the monks and residents of Temple of the White Tiger at the Kun-Lai summit some six or seven years ago. Frostbite and exposure. Climbing that mountain is still an absolute bitch, by the way.” The knight exhaled sharply, catching a fleeting glance at Gattius before pointedly averting her gaze to the small pile of ash on the ground. 

“I was treated in the field with my own first aid and other menders I crossed paths with. Too many to count.” 

Scribble scribble. He took down more notes as Ina'thia shared the information. 

“Simple or routine mending, aye?” He asked, seeking clarification. “Nothing major, like broken bones or internal organs rupturing? Nothing requiring surgery?”

His tone leveled as he settled into the chair. Maybe the cigarette was doing its thing. Or maybe the routine of it all was helping him manage. It helped to have a focus of questions to ask, keeping him from asking his own. Like “what the fuck?”, or “how dare you show your face here again?” 

“Just papercuts from too much paperwork and bruises from stubbing my toe on desks,” Ina’thia retorted in the most sarcastic voice she could muster, and even threw in a very annoyed eyeroll at him for good measure. The end of her eyeroll met Gattius’s gaze and she quickly found a spot on the wall to look at. 

“My broken bones were set, the lacerations sutured and the burns treated with remedies both magical and herbal. You know that treating these things in the field can be unorthodox. No surgeries.” 

With another heavy sigh, she shifted her posture in the chair and slouched in it somehow even more. The enchanted lantern light in the room cast a deep shadow over her features, which were set into a deep frown with the whole experience at hand.

“Do you really have to ask all of this?”

“‘Patient declined examination, physician advises against reinstatement.’” Gattius retorted, equally sarcastic– quill moving, but the distinct sound of it scribbling on the parchment was notably, obviously absent. “Or maybe you'd like a different recommendation today, aye? I don't wanna ask them any more than you wanna be asked. But if we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it right.”

He gave a warning side eye; one well practiced over a couple years of fatherhood. Then, back to scribbling down– for real– a few notes from Ina’thia's responses. 

“Gonna need specifics on the breaks. Otherwise, I'll have to find them all manually.” he commented. “I think this is plenty awkward as it is, don't you?”

Something about Gattius’ response earned a concession from Ina’thia with regard to her sarcasm. Perhaps it was his own sarcastic remark in turn about not recommending her for reinstatement. Or maybe it was the stern side eye that he had given her. Either way, she sat up a little bit straighter and became slightly more cooperative.

“Dislocated my left shoulder. Broke several fingers in my right hand. Cracked several of my ribs on the left side…” To demonstrate, she held her left hand up into the enchanted light. Her ring finger had healed out of position, and leaned slightly to one side. “More bruises than I can count, but those have all since healed. Just like the other injuries. What else does that blasted form have on it?” 

“The usual.” Gattius replied shortly, whilst filling out more of the form. “Do you smoke? Yes… Do you drink? Yes… Is there any chance you may be pre–”

He let that question fall off, instead answering it for her without finishing. Most of these he knew the answers to already, unless something had DRASTICALLY changed. Then, he turned the page– rarely a good sign, and a guarantee that this was far from over. He scribbled a few more things down without asking for her input. Either not needing it, or knowing well enough already. 

Then… he sighed. He finally looked at her for more than a glance or narrow-eyed glare. Quiet. He ashed his cigarette, then leaned back.

“Where’ve you been?”

Ina’thia opened her mouth to answer his questions, but closed it immediately when he began answering the questions for her. At this point, she couldn’t help but wonder what the purpose of the questionnaire even was.

She leaned back as Gattius leaned back, and resumed her closed posture. Crossed arms over her chest, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Her gaze once again was going to burn a hole in the wall between Gattius and herself.

“Is that like, an official question? Or are you asking off the record?” 

“Official. Gotta know for localized diseases, parasites, all that.” he replied, calmly. “Sounds like Pandaria, at least. Anywhere else outside Quel’Thalas?”

Ina’thia couldn’t help yet another eyeroll at the continued line of questioning. If hell was real, this was certainly it. “Pandaria, yes. I stayed in Kun-Lai, specifically at the summit and temples, for about a year. Maybe longer. After it was attacked, I joined up with other visitors of the temple to take the fight back to the Black Empire. Tanaris, Silithus, Uldum… most of Kalimdor, now that I think of it.” 

“Mhm.” Gattius nodded along… though didn’t look like he was writing any of that down. “And in the past year, were you sexually active?”

Another drag off his cigarette.

The hopefully soon-to-be-reinstated Knight-Lord nearly choked on her own spit at that last question. It finally caused her to sit upright, and she gripped her knees with her hands. Her fingers dug into the fabric of her leggings like claws. “What the fuck kind of question is that, Gattius?” 

He shrugged, and tapped the parchment wordlessly.

“You’re not writing anything down, though. Are you being an asshole just because?” Ina’thia threw her hands up in the air in frustration, then quickly crossed her arms again. As far as she could recall, this is about how their last interaction went. A fight. Both of them storming off. This time, there was no room to storm away. “Yeah, I was. Have been. There, are you happy now?” 

“I remember what you said. I’ll write it down, relax.” he scoffed, shaking his head.

Slowly, he began to inscribe… something on the parchment. Occasionally glancing to Ina’thia, then back to the page.

“... Kun-Lai…” he mumbled. “And… hm…”

He tapped his chin, before ashing his cigarette again.

“Is there an apostrophe in ‘Bey’ron’? I can never remember.”

“Look, Gatto –” the nickname rolled so effortlessly off of her tongue, it caught her by surprise. Nevertheless, she continued. “-- If you’re not going to be serious about this, then I’m going to ask for another doctor to do this examination. You know how to goddamn spell.” 

Ina’thia almost hissed, she exhaled her frustration so sharply. Her gaze leveled on Gattius, fueled by the anger she’d held onto in her years away.

“If you want to ask me questions, then fucking ask them. Don’t pretend to be filling out that stupid form.”

Gattius was expecting a reaction, sure– but still, he jumped as Ina’thia raised her voice. Startled enough that he dropped his cigarette. Just as well; it had burned pretty low. Straightening, he pulled out another, and lit up in a fluid, practiced motion.

“These are on the form, first of all.” he tapped the parchment again. “But fine– you’re right. Let’s set these aside for a moment, aye? Here’s one that’s not on the form; what the fuck, huh? Why’d you run off to that asshole Magister, then run off the face of Azeroth?”

He frowned. Deeply. Lips curled almost to a snarl. Casting aside all attempts to mask it, he just stared at Ina’thia with anger and pain in his eyes. He’d kept himself together as long as he could, to this point. Now, he wanted real answers.

It took all Ina’thia’s willpower to not march across the room and fling the parchment and clipboard out Gattius’s hands, and then punch him in the face. Doing so would all but destroy her chances at reinstatement, and so she kept her lips tugged into a deep frown as she rolled her head a bit to try and dispel some of the growing tension from her neck and shoulder. 

Her gaze remained leveled on his, matching his anger with absolute contempt of her own.

“Because you do this,” she gestured vaguely around her. To him, to the form, to all of this, “You get angry and jealous, and you let it fester by being an absolute passive-aggressive jackass before you finally explode.” 

Ina’thia exhaled sharply, finally breaking eye contact. She resumed staring not just at that one spot on the wall, but through it. 

“There was room in that relationship for three, Gattius. The kid showed up and it was time for me to leave. I’m not good with them, anyway.” It was a half-truth, but at least it wasn’t an outright lie.

It was uncomfortably quiet after Ina'thia finished speaking. The silence hung heavy and tense in the air. Gattius’ eyes never peeled from her, cigarette burning down between his lips. Less anger in his expression, replaced more with pain. Frustration, if anything else. 

With a sharp exhale, he turned toward the small desk and set the parchments flat on it. Ached his cigarette, scribbled down more notes. But otherwise, the silence sat a moment longer.

“Medically, no glaring issues.” He said calmly. “If the fingers bother you, I can get you the name of a good orthopedic surgeon out by Fairbreeze.”

He stood with that, and began to dig around in his medical bag. 

Ina’thia froze in the lingering, uncomfortable silence. One sidelong look revealed the pain and frustration in Gattius’s eyes and entire countenance, but looking back at the wall and ignoring it was far easier for her than continuing to confront it. She shifted in the chair, finally replying.

“Am I cleared for reinstatement, then?” 

“Yep.”

His response was exceptionally short, tone both defeated and uncaring. He pulled a stamp and small portion of sealing wax from his bag, and pressed it with an overly firm hand to make it all so. Then, carelessly, he tossed the stamp back into his bag and closed it up. The papers left laying open on the desk beside him as he turned to face Ina'thia.

“It was gonna be worse. I was daydreaming the whole walk out here about subjecting you to all kinds of needless and unflattering tests, today. Numerous blood draws just so I could stab your arm a few times. Planned to miss the vein a few times until your arm was black and blue. Undignified shit like making you strip down and put your hands up over your head, or touch your toes to inspect joint range of motion. Or a fucking colonoscopy. I came in here wanting to hurt you, Ina. Something close to how you hurt me.” he admitted, laying it all out. “But, just now, I realized I don't care. I used to care. I cared A LOT over the past seven years even through being mad at you. I worried the Magister had done some bullshit love spell to pull you away from me. I worried when I didn't hear from you for months and months that you got yourself killed somehow. I worried because I cared. And I cared because I loved you. But now, I realized you don't. You don't love, you don't care. Not nearly the same way. This was never gonna work, and it's not because of Tannis. It's because it was so easy for you to leave me, when I would've rather died than do anything but stay.”

Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes but by sheer willpower he wouldn't bid them to fall any further. He plucked the cigarette from his mouth and smothered it into the parchment beside him, before tossing the butt away.

“Welcome home, Knight-Lord.”

With that, he moved for the door.

Ina’thia threw her hands up in frustration yet again, this time standing as Gattius started for the door. Although she stood, she didn’t pursue. She stayed put, almost as if her feet were glued to the floor.

“Sure would have been fucking easier for us all if I would have died, wouldn’t it have been? I wouldn’t have to be doing this formality for reinstatement with you of all people, and I wouldn’t have to be doing this tour of trying to make amends with people,” she snarled and continued, raising an accusatory finger at Gattius.

“I was going to try with you. I was going to give you a full explanation, but I don’t think you could even see through your anger to believe any of it. Guess it’ll just be a mystery for the ages.” 

She rested her hands on her hips, then tilted her chin up to the door as a signal to leave.

“Good day, Doctor Starfrost.” 

Gattius stuck around for Ina’thia’s last word, but didn’t respond to it. Not directly, anyway. After he was “dismissed”, he simply rolled her eyes at her, and departed.

“‘Oh no, the consequences of my shitty behavior!’” he grumbled in a falsetto voice clearly meant to mock the Knight-Lord. “‘Sure would’ve been easier to die than to take responsibility for any of it!’ Boo-fucking-hoo… won’t argue with that, you miserable… …”

His mutterings grew inaudible the further down the hall he went, stomping and huffing like a tantruming child. But, to their credit, the Knight Masters guarding the door kept their bearing through it all.

[RP scene with @thefugitivemango] 💔💔💔

[phoenixguard]

Enjoying the last installation of our Summoning Circles plot line, before we head into preparations for Legion! 

[thefugitivemango]

Is there anyone that they currently aren’t speaking to? Why?

I only have one character who is currently not speaking to someone, and that’s Gattius. He’s not speaking to Ina’thia Dawnblade, who he feels betrayed his trust and abandoned him. They haven’t spoke in literal months now (almost a year holy shit) after a shouting match - that almost turned into a fist-fight! Of course, his anger and disdain for Ina’thia has only festered since then as a result of not addressing it.

@inathia / @pariker for mention. 

Thanks for the question, @kharrisdawndancer!

[kidcatgeminiart]

Knight-Lord Ina’thia Dawnblade

Commander of the Phoenix Guard ( @phoenixguard )

Had a sketch lying around that I decided to finish <3

Ina’thia belongs to @pariker / @inathia

[illapa-greybane]

My muse is been beaten badly and is in bad shape, yours finds mine in this state.

A blood knight’s armor was made to withstand the mightiest of blows, but a Thunderlord’s spear was meant to fell giants.

Ina’thia lay stunned while her Guard skirmished with the orc clan. The spear had come flying out of the bleak skies of Frostfire, singular in its aim and true to its purpose: to put out the eye of the giant and leave the body helpless and flailing. But the Phoenix Guard were no simple-minded gronn, and while Ina’thia herself lay pinned to the ground by the heavy spear, her armor crushed and broken around the massive wound, the Guard fought on around her.

Their training held, and she was proud. They would survive long after she had died in the snow.

The Phoenix Guard commander let her eyes close.

“You there, and you. Pull this out and cover me. Once that spear is free, I won’t have much time before she bleeds out. Make certain I have it.”

Ina’thia opened her eyes at the unfamiliar voice. Her vision swam and focused slowly: black robes, white hair, a fur mantle. She blinked, and made out a few details: a man’s narrow, lined face, sharp eyes, and a sardonic curve to his lips.

“Commander Dawnblade. A shame we have to meet like this. Lord Greybane, at your service.” He braced his hands, already glowing with Light, on her shoulders, and gave the two soldiers he’d commandeered a nod. Before she could gather any breath to reply, they braced their feet and pulled; the massive spear wrenched free of the ice below her, free of her battered body, and she tumbled into darkness with only the strange priest’s hands to hold her to life.

inathia

[inathia]

A Letter to Magister Everblaze

A small envelope is left at the front gate of the Everblaze Estate. It is left by a woman wearing plain clothes and a hood, who quickly departs by Thalassian charger after ensuring the letter's delivery. The envelope itself is barely larger than a note card, and sealed with red wax.

Bey'ron,

I have much to explain, and hope that you will hear me out over a glass of Eversong red. If not, I understand.

-Ina'thia

@thefugitivemango

[thefugitivemango]

🌺 Ina’thia for Bey’ron

“What’s not to like? The Knight-Lord is... complex, in all the most interesting and admirable ways. She’s ruthless, yet passionate. Devoted, yet independent. She has a glare that could cut diamonds, and a smile that could melt the Frozen Throne. No instance in her presence is the same... and yet they’re every one unmistakably on brand for her. She’s the epitome of elvenkind; a pridefully troubled past, and a ceaseless indomitability. Ina’thia Dawnblade is Quel’Thalas personified.”

(( @inathia ))

[analyse-bloodwing]

Tears stained the pages as she stared down at them, regret and guilt flickering across her features and tugging the corners of her lips down. The passionate glow of her eyes had dulled as the dead orbs ran across the words that she had penned. There were two letters in hand, both very different than the other, but holding the same contents.  To Ina’thia Dawnblade, 

I was blessed when I became your student. You’ve been there for me through some of the worst things I’ve gone through, and you’ve helped me understand so much. I actually became a worthy soldier beneath you, and you helped me become so much more of a person. Which is why this is really hard to say. 

I’m going to have to step down from being active on the Frontlines. I’ve already been less active than I would have liked, but my mom’s health is getting worse. We can’t afford the full-time healthcare she needs, and with me being a mender... it makes full sense for me to take care of her until she passes or until she doesn’t need someone to take care of her. 

I’ll still be available over the communicator. I’m just going back to Silvermoon City, and you can reach me whenever you like. I just can’t... I can’t stand with the Guard on the frontlines. I don’t have the time, and I don’t have the will to when my mom could be dying without me helping her. 

Thank you for everything. 

- Analyse Emberbloom

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

Serana, 

Y’know, you’ve taught me a lot. About what it’s like to actually be honestly cared for by someone, what it feels like to sleep next to someone who makes your heart beat that much faster. I wish we could have had more time. Wait, let me rephrase that, I wish I was going to get to see you more often than I have been, but things just aren’t looking that way. 

I’m taking a leave from the Guard. My mom’s health is worsening, and she needs full-time care that we, honestly, can’t afford. I’ve already lost one parent, and I don’t think I could handle losing another right now. 

I’ll be in Silvermoon, and I’ll still be reachable. I just won’t be on the Frontlines, and I won’t be at the Garrison anymore. It hurts, y’know? A lot. We hardly ever speak right now as is with me going back and forth, only seeing each other when we’re going to bed, and just... busy with life. I don’t want to say good-bye, I refuse to. I honestly think this could work. There’s a big part of me that believes that, and I refuse to end whatever it is we have, unless you decide to. 

So I guess, I’m trying to say... I’ll see you later, okay? 

All of my warmth, 

Ana

[phoenixguard]

Current Concerns: Auchindoun

Snippet from an RP log between Ruthar and In'athia, discussing the current status of the Phoenix Guard's mission in Talador and making plans for their next battles! 

Ina’thia rises, placing her hands on the table that held all of the missives, maps and other paperwork. Her gaze falls on the map, then flicks back to Ruthar.

“We need to go on the offensive, now. Assist Auchindoun and Shattrath. I’ve toured the siege lines-- they’re barely holding on as it is. Much of Shattrath is lost, but Auchindoun isn’t. Lady Liadrin’s forces have partnered with the Auchenai priests and Vindicators. Aiding them is our primary reason for being all the way down here, and we should assist in any way possible.”

Ina’s lips press together in thought, “I don’t know if any sin’dorei would suffer the fate of this Auchindoun becoming the wasteland it became in Outland. The souls of the dead are precious, and the Legion would undoubtedly twist them against us.”

Ruthar furrows his brow as he looks toward the map.  “Best if we never found out.” He traces along the defensive lines drawn upon the map, his mind racing around the possible maneuvers that would suit the needs of the Blood Knights best.

“We should concentrate our focus on Auchindoun’s protection then,” he says as his eyes continue to scour the map. “We know demons, that’s for damned sure. I didn’t spend all that time at the defense of Quel’Danas for nothing.”

His fingers shift north toward Shattrath. “We’re going to have to leave the City to whatever defenses are already in place. The Iron Horde is an unknown, a threat that we still need time to decipher. Demons, the Legion - that we know.  We are better focused on that, to be sure.”

He traces a finger in an arc along the paths from Retribution Point. “We can clear the areas here, here, and ...here. That will allow a stronger foothold on the northern side, nearer the Tomb of Lights. Exarch’s Refuge in integral to the movement of troops - that will need to be protected at all costs.”

He sighs, tactics and motions spinning through his mind as Ruthar’s militaristic mind sets to work. “We’ve expelled the damned Legion before,” he says firmly as he looks back up to Ina’thia.

“By the Sunwell, we’ll do it again.”

“And that’s precisely why we are here, Ronaestrider. Our people are exceptionally skilled at dealing with demons. We’ve even got Sunkeeper along-- his talents were kept in our roster and in check for the eventuality that we would be fighting the Legion again. Much sooner than we both expected, but he is just as much of an asset as Dorennen is. Fire with fire. All the arrows and all the prayers to the Light we can manage won’t help us as much as their skills, in this particular situation,” Ina’thia comments, following Ruthar’s finger on the map.

“All of us together is what it takes. Even if it’s someone you don’t particularly like, or someone who broke my heart. We’re soldiers,” she nodded, “Exarch’s Refuge will be our strategic hold point, then. I have no objections to this plan. We will see what fighting our way to the north side will get us and hold when we get there.”