The air was crisp as I rode south towards Tranquillien, the distinctive smell of death and of the Scourge still lingering. The same as last year. And the year before. And the year before that. Six years since the day our world was ripped in half, and the land still refuses to heal, the air refuses to change.
Stagnant.
The broken spires of the village came into view, and I urged my talbuk faster. The woods were still unfriendly, and although I did not travel unarmed, I did not wish to stray from my purpose of visit to embark on a holy crusade against remnants of the Scourge still festering across the Ghostlands.
As I neared Tranquillien, I saw a black shape running swiftly towards me, and upon recognition of it, I smiled, bringing my mount to a gentle stop. The large, Darnassian cat quickly closed the distance between us, and affectionately made circles around the legs of my talbuk – the latter of which was none too pleased, for he started to lightly stamp his hooves impatiently as he kept watchful eyes on the cat below.
“Greetings, Ivan,” I said softly to the purring cat as I reached down to lay my hand against his head. “Let’s go find your mistress.”
I clicked my tongue and my talbuk – all too happy to begin moving again – started walking once more in the direction of the village. Ivan ambled at our side, but his eyes and ears were alert for any possible threat. As we passed the first building of the town, weary and broken, I couldn’t help but mourn the beauty of what once was. The town’s namesake, its once peaceful and tranquil ambiance, was now felt in the current atmosphere for all the wrong reasons.
But there, in the center of the square, sitting of the base of the toppling statue, were the only two that could convince me to traverse once more through the Ghostlands. Ivan, content there was no immediate danger, broke away from the feet of my talbuk and ran ahead to rejoin his mistress. Saeil softly smiled, bent down, and reciprocated Ivan’s nuzzling with her own, burying her face into his white-spotted, midnight fur. Shifgrethor stood up, brushed off her robes, and walked forward to meet me.
“Sinu a’manore, cousin,” she said, beaming, as she took my hands and helped me dismount. She patted the dark muzzle of my talbuk affectionately before she took my hand within her own one more. “I’m so very glad you’re here.”
“As am I,” I said, returning the smile as she linked my arm around hers and led me towards the statue.
Saeil left the affections of Ivan and stood up to meet me. She kissed my cheek, embracing me close. “Thank you for coming.”
I sadly shook my head. “You needn’t thank me. You demanded nothing of which I could refuse.”
We broke the embrace, and I took hold of my talbuk’s bridle and led him towards the inn. The building could hardly be called such at first glance, but it was still standing, and that’s all what mattered. I tied his reins to a post outside by Paniar, the stable master. He assured me my talbuk would be well-taken care of, and I bowed to him for his services.
I rejoined Saeil and Shifgrethor, and we took the road heading south out of Tranquillien. It was a silent journey to our destination: a short walk to a debris-filled clearing southeast of the major town. The closer we arrived, the more distinct the pain on Saeil’s face made itself known. Shifgrethor gently took her Other’s hand and tenderly kissed her fingers. We are still here, she seemed to say, and Saeil gave her a sad smile in appreciation.
Once, this clearing had been the site of a proud ranger’s Lodge, a small outpost with a large love of their duty and community. But once, this clearing had been the site of a massacre, rangers old and young alike slaughtered by the unforgivable and unstoppable might of the Scourge.
Those caught in the battle didn’t stand a chance.
Saeil walked ahead and knelt before one of the larger, fallen stone columns that had once proudly been at the forefront of the building, her bright red hair falling forward and blocking her vision even more than her tears were starting to. She reached into her bags and pulled out a small bowl filled with flowers, herbs, and fruit. She sat down and gently set the bowl on the ground in front of her, a small offering to those who, six years ago this day, lost their dreams and lives unjustly. Ivan, familiar with this annual ritual, lied down at Saeil’s side. A shuddered sigh escaped her lips, and Saeil reached down to stroke the fur of the cat that had been with her during that nightmarish day.
She remained silent, mustering up control over her voice. Finally, she smiled, hot tears rolling down her face, and she began to speak:
“Dad? It’s me… happy birthday.”
