“Return“

He always hated the rain.

Hard, cold drops pelted the elf warrior as he rode through Ashenvale forest. He could feel the drops penetrating his armor, soaking into the tough leather shirt below the chain mail. Warforged Elfish armor could turn most any blade, but was functionally useless during a rainstorm. He tugged at the cloak strung loosely around his shoulders and whispered softly to Shieshna, his Saber mount, to pick up the pace. Without acknowledging his rider, Shieshna lurched forward suddenly, just as the rain began to come down harder.

The long, ornate blade at his back swung and bounced in rhythm with his motion. The Untamed had been his trusted sword for as long as he could remember, having been sharpened, reformed, and strengthened by the best dwarven blacksmiths he could find throughout Azeroth. His longtime friend Thuxen of the Oakbeards assured him he had infused some of the best smithing techniques better than any other blacksmith in IronForge. Xanos believed him; The Untamed had sliced clean through the hull of a ship during a battle near Theramore. The Highmages were still upset over that ship.

Snapping suddenly back to reality, he pulled slightly on Shieshna’s reigns. Something was wrong. The driving rain had quieted, but so had the sound of the animals. Xanos felt a presence near the forests edge. Leaping from the saddle of his mount, he dismissed the Saber back into the callstone were she would not be harmed. Unsheating the blade and falling into Windstance, Xanos was low to the ground holding Untamed above his head with one hand. A small figure emerged from the nearby forest, veiled in a thick cloak. Xanos recognized the whisps of white under the hood, and the strong, glowing eyes beneath. He twirled the blade back into its sheath and bowed low. The figure responded with a nod.

“Elder Greyson,” Xanos started to say, but was cut off.

“Just Greyson now, BaneRider. I have not been an Elder in more than a decade.” The hooded figure responded.

“You will always be an Elder in my eyes, Greyson,” Xanos responded tensely, “What brings you out of the shadows.”

“The Illidari Council are on the move again, and it appears they are plotting something in the Barrens.” Elder Greyson removed his hood to reveal his wrinkled skin, his light feathered armor ending in a small mantle atop his shoulders. As a Druid dedicated to nature, Elder Greyson had been particularly shocked by the sudden death of his trusted leadership, and the swift destruction of his Order. He also probably saw Xanos coming from a thousand leagues away.

“What shall we do about that blasphemous order?” Xanos responded, and forced his clenching fist to relax. The Illidari’s blades hadn’t been the ones to murder his friends, but they had certainly paid the bills for those weapons to be forged. Working under the cover of night and larger, protective orders, it was rare the Illidari were plotting a move that could have been spotted by Alliance scouts.

“We must move. Clock will meet you on a small island south of Ogrimmar. I have…secured passage.” Greyson said, a slight hesitation in his voice. Xanos’s eyes narrowed.

“Clockwerk. I thought we had agreed never to call upon him again.” Greyson raised his hands, as if in surrender, but then waved them away, clearly annoyed.

“That was his request,” Greyson said, sighing. In that moment, he looked more frail that Xanos had ever seen him, “but it was him who reached out. His contacts within his own clan, Legacy, were enough to put him back in touch with me. Tanel would have been proud.”

Xanos’s heart skipped a beat at the name. His rogue friend had been a constant companion during high days of the Moon Clan, but sudden death had taken all that away. The corruption was too strong to bring him back, and it hurt Xanos deeply.

“I will go,” Xanos said, anger building once again in his voice. “I will stop the Illidari with whatever means I have.” Greyson nodded and turned to disappear into the forest. He stopped and sighed heavily again. After a moment, he spoke. His voice sounded far away, and heavy with emotion.

“If the Moon Clan ever returns, you will be at the helm of it,” Greyson whispered quietly.

“An honor, Elder,” Xanos said turning slowly and looking into the sky, “But I’d rather be the sword.” He could almost see his Elder smile, though he could not see his face.

“Where you point your Sword, we would follow.”