Quarantine

The walls of the citadel were layered in ages of ice and snow, and the cold penetrated her armor far deeper than ever she had known. Luisette took hold of her helmet and gently eased it off her head. Strands of her fine, blonde hair had frozen to the inside of the plate, and they broke off with a barely-perceivable snap.

Her long, uncovered ears twitched in the cold air, and she leaned forward even closer to the small campfire the shaman in her group had generously built. She gingerly removed a plate gauntlet from her right hand and took in the sight. She wore hastily knitted gloves, a small protection, and they had been riddled with holes and exposed the tips of her fingers. Bruises covered her pale wrist and extended under the glove, where they lay hidden and out of sight.

“Even the smallest injury can go unnoticed, sometimes,” said the large tauren sitting next to her. He took her hand in his and covered it with his other, whispering a healing spell. His ears twitched as he inspected his handiwork; the bruises were starting to fade, and her hand felt not quite as cold as it had been.

Luisette looked up and met the tauren’s gaze, smiling. “Thank you, Ashmole.”

Ashmole returned the smile and patted her hand before returning to his modest meal: Northrend cod and a small side of vegetables. Fish were the easiest to transport, especially frozen, and over a small fire they could be spiced and cooked the same as easily as if they had not been in a dark, frozen hallway of the Citadel.

The wing of the citadel they huddled in had been closed off in a rushed quarantine. The abominations, Festergut and Rotface, had been struck down, but not without much effort. Their monstrous creator, the “Professor” Putricide, had also been slain, and his body still lay on the floor of his laboratory, pools of his own slime gathering and coagulating around his body. Everything—and, considerably, everyone—had been exposed to noxious gases and substances during the onslaught. And so, until the quarantine lifted, there the members of the Horde and Alliance were to stay.

The members of the Northrend Exploration and Research Foundation had been chosen to take part in this assault, and luckily, they had suffered no losses. They celebrated quietly with mostly smiles and relieved glances to their comrades as they clustered around the campfire, warming their tired bodies and spirits.

A blood elf with hair as red as flame came up behind Luisette and leaned down, kissing her cheek, before settling on the floor to her left. Luisette smiled at her childhood friend and greeted her warmly. “Sinu a’.”

Saeil hooked her arm through Luisette’s and rested her head on her shoulder. The thick hood of the cloak she wore gave small comfort against her friend’s plate armor, but she paid no mind. “Thank you for letting me fight alongside you,” she whispered.

Luisette kissed her friend’s temple in return. “It would be a great loss if you had not come with. The strength of our ranks is in part due to you.”

Saeil smirked and squeezed her friend’s arm with her own. “Flatterer.”

Luisette grinned back. “I know.”

A young tauren soldier approached the two with folded parchments in his hand. “Letters from home, Misses Redhawk and Dawnrise.”

“Letters?” repeated Saeil, eyebrows furrowed. “I thought we were under quarantine.”

The tauren nodded. “So we are, but these arrived before the quarantine was put into place. We were just given permission to sort and pass the mail.”

Saeil scoffed. “Permission, huh? Did you have to read through them, first?”

A wry smile passed across the tauren’s features. “Even if we did, ma’am, I couldn’t read that fancy elvish script, anyway.” He handed the letters to the two elves and promptly left them.

Saeil and Luisette looked at the front of their letters and then swapped them with smiles; they each had the other’s. “Apparently,” Luisette began in a fake condescending air as she broke open the seal, “we look the same to them as they to us.” The letter itself had nothing save her name on the front, and for a moment she had hoped it might have been from—

She pulled out the parchment and nearly dropped it. Saeil looked from her friend’s face to the letter. “What’s wr—” She recognized the perfect script as soon as Luisette had, and said no more. After a moment, she said softly, almost apologetically, “I didn’t think she would have sent you anything.”

Luisette shook her head. “It’s not like the location of our battalion is a secret within the military itself,” she said dryly as she stuffed the letter back into the envelope.

“You’re not going to even read what she has to say?” Judging her silence to be a refusal, Saeil took the letter from Luisette’s hand and reopened it herself. She glanced at her friend from the corner of her eye. “If you don’t mind,” she added, but the question was merely out of courtesy.

Saeil looked over the letter, two pages in length, eyes flicking across the words. Luisette leaned against the wall behind her and stretched out her feet. She tried to feign disinterest, but a twitch of her ear with the turning of a page betrayed her.

“Well,” Saeil started, a bit unsure of which information to disclose, “she’s still at home.”

“Your home.”

“Well, yes…” Saeil shifted a bit uneasily. “She does pay for a third of living expenses.”

Luisette scoffed, but said nothing further.

“She wants to begin anew, Luis.”

The blonde waved her hand dismissively.

“Damn it, Luis, I’m tired of playing messenger between you two,” snapped Saeil. “She’s trying, at least.” She pushed back stray red hairs from around her face to behind her ears. “You don’t live with her. You haven’t seen how she’s changed. Hell, she-- she’s almost back to normal—or as close to ‘normal’ as she can return.”

Luisette looked at the other elf sideways, finding it hard to keep her anger from dissipating. She broke her eyes away and stared hard at her hands in her lap. “I can never forgive something so… so perverse. So against all that we were taught to fight for. Something in league with what we’re fighting now.”

Saeil quietly placed the letter next to the other elf’s thigh as she stood up—a gentle suggestion. “I should probably go find where my mutt’s gone off to,” she murmured, if only to give an excuse to leave Luisette alone for the time being. She lightly caressed the back of her friend’s head, the only consolation she could give at the moment.

Luisette leaned back into the hand and sighed.

The Room

Recently, Kestil and many of her friends and acquaintances have become haunted by malicious beings in an act of pure hatred and revenge. In addition to her nightmares, Kestil has been granted the presence of a jerk of a ghost, and goodness, has it been fun so far.

Thank you to Yva for giving me such a fun ghost to work with!

The start: http://bit.ly/kestilshaunting (Read first)

-----

It was happening again.

It started out mundane enough: A lack of a current assignment meant free reign around Stormwind, and Kestil was enjoying her time off, sitting on the dock near the Old Town with an enchanting textbook in lap, boots off and to her side to let her feet dip into the sun-warmed water. Myrra napped next to her, basking in the light and rolled over onto her back, tolerating the local fisherboys that played with her paws and ears and commenting on just how red she was. One scratched at her belly, and a roo-roo escaped her throat as she turned to give the boy a better angle.

The box on her waist crackled to life with activity and a voice came through. Kestil smiled upon recognition of its owner, and she greeted her mother with a smile. At first presentation of this small, mechanical box to her mother, she was met with uneasiness to use such a piece of “technology”—as they called it—but after the initial setup (“I think the operator is hitting on you, Mom,” Kestil remarked with a grin), both women had grown to enjoy the ease with which they could talk to one another at any time.

Her mother went on to ask if she “knew anything about cooking clams.” The fisherman down the way decided to shower his generosity on the Ravenoak household today and showed up with a basket full of his catch. “Being as old as he is, I couldn’t just refuse them,” her mother explained, almost helplessly, and Kestil laughed. She replied that no, she didn’t have any good recipes on hand, but she knew someone who would.

It carried on mundane enough.

Kestil headed into the Old Town, the Pig and Whistle her destination. Her visits there were much more frequent these days, and it had become a weekly haven in which she could relax and visit with friends. But today she hesitated. She stood outside of the entrance, and already she could feel her breath quickening, her lungs suddenly feeling tighter at remembering the night before last. Where the room had closed in. Where she realized she must be going mad. Where the headaches from lack of sleep became pounding like a titan’s hammer and her thoughts became rushed and panicked at the hint of going inside a building and she had to remember to force herself to breathe.

Breathe, Myrra seemed to command as she pushed on Kestil’s leg with her muzzle. I’m right here.

But she was right there that other night, sleeping under the tiny bed, crushed by The Room and leaving her master helpless and shivering in a ball in the middle of the floor when The Room granted mercy.

Kestil forced a sharp breath into her lungs, calling back to her primal senses and her Sentinel training to slow her breathing and relax her nerves. She closed her eyes and listened to the air whooshing inside her with every inhalation. Breathe in, exhale. One, two, three, hold; two, two, three, exhale. Calm. Normal. The Pig was not The Room.

She placed her foot on the steps to the Pig, and then on the second, and third, reaching the top and opening her eyes. Keep a sharp mind, keep alert. Quick in, quick out. She hastened her steps, now fully inside of the Pig, and she made straight for the kitchen, giving a brief nod to Elly before entering the back room.

Ye wanna learn how t’ bake clams, eh? Stephen had asked, and Kestil replied that she did. Kestil’s eyes darted around the kitchen, taking in its space, and she was pleased to find it adequate and open. The Pig’s kitchen was not The Room.

Oh, but it was.

Kestil turned her attention back to Stephen, but he was gone. She whipped her head around to the door and saw him in the main room talking to Elly, only vaguely remembering hearing something about “getting some cooking rum” from the front of the house. She sighed in relief, gave an embarrassed smile to Myrra who had flopped just outside the kitchen door, and turned back around.

The chopping table was directly in front of her now, pressing up against her legs. She muffled a yelp and here it was again, The Room, the hard-to-breathe thinning air, the constricting lungs, the table actively pushing against her and driving her into a back corner. She cried out for Myrra, but she was gone, Stephen was gone, the walls were filled in and the ceiling dropped to just above her head. The meat hook, which had been at the far end of the room near the firepit, was now swinging perilously in front of her, towards her, its hook still bloody with pieces of meat still wetly attached. The firepit consumed the south wall, and the flames licked at her legs as the room squeezed and the hook twirled on its chain and suddenly swung towards her like a hand had launched it.

The point neatly lodged itself into the mortar between the bricks near her face, and then everything was black.

Curiouser and Curiouser

Joint RP with Quaunaut of http://www.quaunaut.com/

-----

My breath quickened in anticipation. She wasn’t like any of the other competitors I had seen today, this Draenei woman with a wild look about her. She eyed me once over from the top of her Wintersaber, and craned the large cat’s neck, turning him into position. The hawkstrider beneath me flapped his wings impatiently, adrenaline from the past three fights rushing through him as it did me, but hardly exhausted. He crowed -- a sharp, brittle sound piercing the silent air.

My opponent charged.

I instinctively raised my shield, its weight on my arm barely noticeable from years of training, and with my lance raised I kicked the sides of my mount and shouted, “Hyah!”

She thrust out her lance in a jab, a low grunt escaping her lips, an attack full of strength.

I don’t joust linearly. The birds of the Sin’dorei are bred for agility, a swiftness of speed. It would be a dishonor to their nature not to use it to one’s advantage. I quickly squeezed the sides of the bird beneath me with my thighs and leaned to the left, strafing out of the way of the frontal assault. Her lance grazed my shield, and I inwardly cursed. She was faster than I had anticipated. I rounded, the hawkstrider’s talon digging into the dirt, and faced her once more, sending my mount into a full gallop, wind catching my hair and throwing it behind me.

My opponent barely had time to turn around. The Wintersaber was fast, but it was lumbering trying to turn around, and I knew I had the advantage. I grounded myself in the saddle, putting my weight behind my right arm, and I thrust out my lance, hitting her shield squarely. The adrenaline pumped through my veins, and as I felt my lips spread into a grin, I realized that I hadn’t had this much fun in weeks—

She forced back her shield and knocked my lance to the side. Taken off-guard, I knew I wouldn’t be able to counter her attack. I kicked my mount into a side run to gain distance, bringing my lance up to my shield to create a defensive wall, but she was catching up. Fast. In seconds she was parallel with me, and she swung out her shield. I blocked with my own, but her speed gave her strength, and I felt my right boot slip from its stirrup. A swear fell from my lips, in Common, a habit I had picked up from the goblin sailors.

I tried to throw myself back upright onto my panicking mount, when I felt the saddle slip sideways and underneath the bird’s abdomen and drug me down with it. I hit the ground, left foot still caught in its own stirrup.

“By the Light-damned Well!”

I pulled my boot free in time to see my opponent riding up to my side. “I... well, sorry then. I don't usually let the fight get to my head,” she apologized in Common, smirking as she said it and wiping the sweat from her forehead. Her light blue complexion was flushed with exertion, and her long, grey-blue hair was as tussled as mine.

I pushed myself off the ground and brushed off my pants. Embarrassed, but certainly not giving in completely, I looked to the mounted Draenei and smirked back. “One should be humbled now and then,” I replied. “Well done.” She may have won the joust, but I would be damned if I let her embarrass me further. I deliberately set my lance and shield on the ground and patted the beak of my unhappy hawkstrider who was fidgeting and picking at the slipped saddle with his beak. I unhooked the straps and started to fit it properly between the bird’s wings.

The Draenei started to turn her mount away, but hesitated. “You... you speak Common fairly well. You don't see many Blood Elves who still do.”

I glanced towards her. “I was raised a member of the Church of Light. We attended often.” I refocused on the saddle, setting it square on the bird’s feathered back. “At least, until the war in Lordaeron.”

I gave a small laugh, pushing my hair out of my face. “I am sorry, I did not mean to tell you my life history.”

“No, no. I ask about your history, you tell me about your history.” She dipped her head and took a deep breath before dismounting from her own saddle. “I’m Israia,” she offered softly.

For the second time today, this Draenei woman—Israia—had caught me off-guard. It was true, at the Tournament we were all fighting towards a common goal, but we certainly wouldn’t be considered allied…

Unsure of her intentions, of my intentions, of everything in this moment, I felt myself lower my eyes and make a slight bow. “Luisette,” I heard myself reply, “of the Dawnrise family.”

Israia offered her hand to me, the faintest of smiles upon her lips. I offered my own hand in return. “A pleasure,” I said in Thalassian, a customary greeting.

“I’ve never heard of the Dawnrise family,” Israia suddenly said, “though I’ll admit, most of the High Elven literature that was in the Keep has mostly been… burned.” Her eyes broke away from mine.

I shook my head reassuringly. “No,” I said with a soft laugh, “a small priest family from an even smaller town might not be referenced much.”

Israia nodded. “Ahh, right.” She hesitated, and I bit my lip, suddenly nervous and feeling hesitant myself. “Well, uh, good fight,” she said abruptly. But quietly, she added, “I hope to see you out here again,” and before I could say anything else, she swung herself onto her mount and started back towards the stables.

Suddenly remembering where I was, I took in my surroundings, and caught another combatant looking my way. My face flushed, feeling hot, and I pushed back my hair again and grabbed my provisions and setting them on top of the saddle. I was in no state to ride.

I was… curious.

Resolution

I heard her before I saw her.

“Luisette Dawnrise, I am going to kick your scrawny ass!”

Without moving from the spot in which I lay on top of a goblin shop roof in Booty Bay, I called back, “Saeil Redhawk, perhaps you should look in a mirror before you make sweeping generalizations about my assets. I could say the same about yours!”

I heard her huff with indignation as she stormed up the ramp and across the bridge which led to a walkway at foot-level with the shop’s roof. I sat up and looked at Kazdormu, mouthing a silent apology for what was most certainly to come to pass. He gave a small smile and returned to his book – I didn’t blame him. I spun myself around just in time to see a fiery redhead, hands on her hips, peering down at me and absolutely glowering. Alyosha – her handsomely black wolf companion – wagged his tail nervously behind her, torn between offering greetings and staying loyal to his master, foul mood and all.

Saeil hopped across the gap between the walkway and the roof and threw a bound letter onto the ground in front of my feet.

“How could you?! – you’re much too predictable, I knew exactly where to find you – she’s your cousin, your blood!

“No sooner had I received this letter than did the sender show up in person, looking absolutely haggard and like she had been sobbing the entire trip.”

She squatted down to eye-level with me and snatched up the letter. “I’m not going to let you read it – obviously – but if you did, you’d notice the ink was blotched all over and some words were smeared from being dripped on and I’m ever quite sure she wasn’t writing this in the rain!” she shrieked, shaking the letter in front of my face.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but Saeil narrowed her eyes and covered my mouth with the letter. “Shifgrethor never cries in front of others,” she began, quietly, but with no less ferocity. “You know that. And yet when she landed in Revantusk Village after a non-stop journey from Arathi, she sobbed in my arms. And it’s all”—she smacked the letter against my head—“your”—again—“fault,”—and thrice, so hard I flinched.

“And furthermore—” Saeil paused in her assault, finally noticing Kaz sitting a few feet away from us, still reading and seemingly unruffled or uninterested in our [rather one-sided] conversation. “Who is… you know what, it doesn’t even matter,” she said, tearing her gaze from Kaz and refocusing her attention onto me once more. She huffed a bit, exasperated and upset, threw her hands up in the air, and hastily sat next to me. Alyosha, who had been lying on the ground with a frantic pant and ears pressed down, took this as a cue as good as any and moved to flop between the two of us, resting his head on Saeil’s lap.

I jumped at the lull in Saeil’s speech and asked softly, “How much do you know?”

Saeil sighed and tenderly ran her fingers through Alyosha’s fur absentmindedly. “Of course, everything,” she replied, looking at me sideways. “God, Luis, a full-out brawl in Shattrath? What were you thinking? …No, don’t answer that, I already can figure for myself.”

I turned to look out towards the bay, and I heard her sigh again.

“Shif’s pretty shaken up about what happened, you know. She was given forced leave by her commander because of her condition, and by the Well, you and I both know we don’t need a loss of a healer – a damn good healer at that – from the frontlines with some of the idiots fighting for our side.”

There was a long, awkward pause.

“You were supposed to be the mature one,” Saeil added softly.

God, did she know how to cut to the quick.

“I know,” I finally answered.

Saeil faced me then. “No,” she countered, “I don’t think you do. We’ve been friends since childhood, but damn it, Luis. Do you know how much shit I put up with from the other rangers for even being seen with you after you and Närcyssa left the priesthood? ‘Fallen priests,’ they said. ‘Traitors to our cause.’ ‘Can’t be trusted; they’re as black-hearted as the blood they name themselves after.’ It was only by the Well’s good grace that my lodge accepted Shifgrethor as my Other even after all that happened.”

She smiled bitterly and continued. “I vouched for you and Närcyssa, time and time again. You don’t think I feel just as betrayed by her as you? You three were like sisters to me.”

I felt my anger spark slightly at this. “You mean to tell me you would have just welcomed her back with open arms? After she willingly became a lapdog of the Scourge?”

Saeil’s eyes burned back into mine. “God, you’ve still a temper.”

“You’re one to talk,” I bit out sardonically, and I regretted it.

“No, I don’t know what I would have done if I met her after her pardon,” Saeil sighed, frustrated. “Hell, I might have even helped you. But her honor is not the one I’m here to defend.”

Alyosha whined, and I patted his rump. “Sorry, love, didn’t mean to upset you either.”

Saeil smirked a bit. “I’m going to go ahead and attribute that apology to myself as well, since we both know just how awful you are at making apologies to people that actually deserve one.”

I gave a small, embarrassed smile, and we sat in silence for a while. Resolved in my own thoughts, I placed my hand on Saeil’s arm. “Thank you,” I admitted softly, not meeting her eyes. “I deserved that, and I’m glad it was you.”

She gave a quick nod, and looked out towards the bay. The sun had started to set, and it covered the ocean in hues of orange and crimson. The normally brown and tan buildings were tinted copper, and small waves lapped up against the dock.

“I can see why you come here so often,” Saeil remarked. “It’s absolutely gorgeous.” She rubbed Alyosha’s shoulder, and he rolled onto his back, thumping his tail against the roof. “You know you’re going to have to come back to Silvermoon with me.”

I nodded and replied, “I know.”

Confrontation

“And what will you have today, sweetie?”

“I’ll have the usual, Kylene, thank you,” my cousin, Shifgrethor, said smiling.

The barmaid nodded and turned to me. “And for you?”

“Just a flask of port, thanks.” I turned to Shifgrethor after Kylene had left. “‘Just the usual,’ eh?” I grinned. “How often do you come here, exactly?”

A small smile appeared on Shifgrethor’s face, but her eyes were laughing with a childlike-mirth despite so much of her life being spent in battle. I envied her.

“Enough for the barmaid to know my usual,” she finally answered.

I laughed. “As if that wasn’t obvious.”

Kylene returned to the table and set a bottle of Pinot Noir in front of my cousin, and the port in front of me. I laughed again and shook my head. “I should have known! You were always the classy drinker.”

Shifgrethor smiled as she took a sip from her drink. “Dearest cousin, I spend most of my days in dirt and sweat and blood from the battlefield. Let me have my moment of refinement.”

Conceding to her reasoning, I nodded my head and smiled back. Suddenly I was appreciative of my current situation: here I was with the last remaining member of my family, having a drink without a care in the world. It was just like old times, our lives before… No. Such things mustn’t be allowed to ruin such a rare state of tranquility.

“The World’s End Tavern… wow, I haven’t been here in ages,” I said, turning my thoughts away from unpleasantries. “But, why here? Surely there are taverns in Silvermoon we could have visited in; there’s no need for you to travel so far.”

Shifgrethor’s smile faded slightly, and she set her drink down. “I’m going to be honest with you, cousin. I had previous business in Shattrath.”

“‘Previous business’? With whom?”

She turned to a table in the corner behind us and beckoned. “With her.”

I looked to the hooded figure sitting alone; I had not noticed her presence earlier. Pale hands reached up to the hood and lifted it back, revealing short, pale blond hair and eyes the color of ice—

In my rage I smashed my mug on the floor and toppled my chair as I stood up. “Närcyssa… You traitorous bitch,” I growled as I unsheathed my sword and shield.

The figure in front of me stood up in a flash and frantically held up her hands, showing her empty palms. “Sister…”

“My sister is dead,” I snarled, and I launched at her.

Närcyssa unsheathed her massive axe and, to my surprise, held it to merely block my attack. I inwardly laughed – nothing she could do would save her.

“Luisette, stop!” Shifgrethor yelled, anger coloring her voice. But nothing she could do would—

Where sword should have met axe there was instead an invisible barrier. Närcyssa sighed in relief, but I was furious, realizing what had happened. I tossed my shield to the side and raised my sword once more with both hands this time. I made another swing, and Närcyssa readjusted her stance to better prepare for the incoming blow. Sword met barrier again, but I was confident.

“I wield the Red Sword of Courage, dear sister,” I spat as I pressed my blade harder against the shield. “And it’s seen the end to many cowards such as yourself.”

The shield was starting to visibly crack; Närcyssa noticed and swore under her breath.

“Do you really think your pitiful excuse for a weapon can hold up against my own?” In a final effort, I threw my weight against my sword and smiled triumphantly as the shield shattered under the force. Närcyssa had readied her axe to block, but I was too strong, too enraged to let my attack be parried like she were my equal. We crashed to the ground, and I could feel Shifgrethor’s hands on my arm, trying to break us apart.

“Luis, stop this!” I heard her cry out. “She’s been given a full pardon by the Warchief himself!”

Now, admittedly, this startled me more than it should have. I had worked with the Knights of the Ebon Blade many times before, but they were different, they weren’t… family. But in the midst of my rage, this split-second lapse in concentration was enough for Närcyssa to capitalize on. She pushed back against my sword with her axe and, combined with Shifgrethor’s efforts, I fell backwards onto the floor. Suddenly aware of my environment, I took a quick glance around the room and noticed the tavern’s patrons had mostly fled – it wouldn’t be long before a Shattrath peacekeeper arrived.

Närcyssa pushed herself off the ground, holding her hands up once more, this time in surrender. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

I curled a lip in disgust. “How can I trust anything you say anymore? You weren’t forced to fight in the ranks of the Scourge – you joined them willingly!” I had had enough. I turned my attention from her to the opening of the tavern. “Kaz!”

At my call, a tall figure dressed in elegant robes strode calmly into the tavern. His copper hair was half pulled-back, and in the dim light his blue eyes glowed—

Shifgrethor’s eyes widened and she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “Quel’dor—”

I angrily whipped my head to face her. “As if I would associate with such scum!”

Kaz spoke in even tones to me, as if the scene in front of him fazed him not. “You summoned me, Lady Dawnrise?” He walked up to me and bent down, extending his hand to me. I took it, and he helped lift me off the ground. Eyeing Närcyssa warily, who was now standing next to Shifgrethor, I resheathed my sword and tied my shield across my back; Närcyssa kept her gaze lowered, unwilling to meet my own.

“Luis…” Shifgrethor began quietly, as if she was unsure of how to continue; the abrupt arrival of an unfamiliar party had derailed the previous tension. “Who is your companion?”

I sighed, pushing my tousled hair out of my face. I couldn’t stay angry at her – I was never able to stay angry at her. I wanted to storm out of the tavern, leave her question unanswered, but I could feel my shoulders relax as I gave in; I nodded to Kaz. Taking his cue, he faced my cousin and bowed. “I am Kazdormu of the Bronze Dragonflight, my lady. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” He turned to do the same to Närcyssa, but I grabbed his arm and shook my head.

“Come, Kaz,” I said softly, feeling defeated, and I started for the entrance. I heard a quiet sob behind me, and instinctively I turned around. I saw Shifgrethor – my beautiful, strong cousin – with eyes full of sadness; and my sister, with eyes full of regret and abandonment… the same look I saw within her when our father left for the Outland to follow Kael’thas. A sharp ache gnawed at my gut, and I forced myself to look away.

It’s no use mourning for the dead twice.