Remain vigilant.

Senkrads knew these Elements had a voice. Feelings? Unsure, but defiantly interests. He had seen them take physical form, well, as physical as a gust of wind could get. They traveled from their realm. Sometimes summoned, sometimes escaped.

Something nipped at his ear, and he *knew* it to be them. Days were spent trying to answer back. Spare hours lost to meditation. He was not alone in this endeavor. His people were a community. Senkrads reached out to them, seeking aid. The elders of the circle had much more important duties to attend to than train the uninitiated, so most of the help came from other fresh faces, shamans who just entered the ranks themselves.

Tips, training, exercises. Nothing fell onto deaf ears. Even the suggestion to physically embrace Azeroth’s central four was taken. That scene ended poorly with a very mud covered, burn poxed, wind-blown Senkrads, and the notion that he might never ascend.

His aspirations of becoming one who communed with the Elements ended shortly after. Frustrated with meditating, he set off. Senkrads scaled a cliff side, one of his favorite activities back on Draenor. When he heard nothing, felt nothing, he quit.

Senkrads wasn’t bitter over this exchange. He had gained friends within the circle. Meditation came easier to him. His mind was more fit. More importantly, the Element didn’t *owe* him. Senkrads would reflect often on *why* this outcome, but never found a satisfying answer.

Initiative favored the foe. Already in his personal space, the tip came dangerously close. There were no thoughts or planning, only pure instinct caused Senkrads to jerk his shield arm in the way. To late to catch the blade with it but in time to strike the arm of the assailant. Their arm buckled under the force, causing the blade to redirect. Harmlessly it struck as steel clashed with steel. No blood to be drawn, yet.

This demon, still disguised as an allied Kaldorei, saw Senkrads come back with a counter and push away just in time. The Hammer left a trail of white radiant rage behind it. Sneak attacks where maybe one of the quickest ways to piss off Senkrads. He would smite through the assassin for this attempt.

So much hunting, so much investigation. Precious time spent looking for this sulking murder? Senkrads’ tail flicked with unchanneled aggression. It really shouldn’t have been such a shock. The Burning Legion and those affiliated were known for their subterfuge.

So why was it such a revelation? Signs had pointed to this impersonator before. But when Senkrads pushed farther with his examinations the clues would diverge away from them. He hated the idea of titling this fiend with the label of ‘Mastermind’, but was that really the answer?

Senkrads matched steps with his opponent. He just wasn’t ready to engage yet. There was a bigger puzzle to be solved, he knew it! They circled the area of battle. The demon shifted the dagger from right hand to left, then back, while Senkrads relaxed his grip on his hammer and readjusted.

So much had happened in an instant, and added with how sly this demon continued to be, Senkrads nearly missed the showing of a trap. Every time his judgment would turn to this seemingly normal Kaldorei another would turn over some new evidence. Always a new path to follow. There was a collaborator. The Marksman! Were they too were shifting their appearance and misleading him?

Almost as if to answer and prove him right, two bolts soar through the sky. Senkrads was ready this time. He again moved his shield, catching one and deflecting the other. Senkrads then waited, expecting the other to attack simultaneously. His hypothesis paid in full as the assassin traveled through the shadows and appeared before him.

The demon’s weapon was cocked, ready to attack, but so was Senkrads and his hammer. Senkrads wasn’t look for damage. His goals strictly asked to tilt the demon, push their balance off. It wasn’t much more than a glancing blow but at least now the demon knew the taste of holy steel.

Again the demon pushed away. Senkrads had revealed their hand faster than they wanted but they still had numbers over him.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

Senkrads wish he had the time to simply indulge in the spectacle of this new world. The whisper, the lovely melody of Azeroth, wanted him to as well. But no, not while people, his people, needed able bodies. Too many were hurt from the crash landing of The Exodar.

For now Senkrads, delegated his time to supply running. Amman Vale had set up a temporary housing for those hurt but not critically so, and Azure Watch stood as a half way point between the Vale and the The Exodar.

Things were a mess. There would be dead to tend to eventually, and there people were still lost and displaced. These current events should have painted everything grim, dark, and foreboding. But fellow Draenei wore smiles. Tired, weary, honest smiles.

This was likely due to the land not taking immediate advantage over their misfortune. On Draenor, ravenous, blood crazy animals would have stalked half the survivors to death, while the other half suffered from mind altering fungal spore which rotted brains. Much had tested the meddle of his kind. Each challenge, be it, demons, Orcs, or the wilds themselves, took it’s toll.

Azeroth had her own quirks and still would tax the Draenei in other unique ways, but Senkrads knew this could be his new home. A world he wouldn’t dare flee from. It was evident with his very first comment about her.

“I love the smell of this air.”

Senkrads wouldn’t be sitting alone for long. There were plans for an special outing with another and she should be nearing soon.

He idled with his time. The city of Dalaran was enough entertainment on it’s own to allow minutes to pass without notice. His sight wasn’t fixated on any one thing, just bouncing from structure to structure. His gaze found it’s way to the walkway under him. The arrangement and pattern of the stone was of high craft, but he did wonder if it was all masonry or if illusion magic found it’s way into this aspect of Dalaran as well.

A chill ran along his spine. The air was cold, but not cold enough to do that. Senkrads puzzled at the source only to conclude that the memory of Northrend had found a way to bind itself to this particular detail of Dalaran.

Back then, he was surrounded by the undead. Granted, not much has changed since then, only the faces and names of the enemy. How depressing. This wasn’t the state of mind he wanted just before a date! Senrkads looked around, searching for something to erase the sudden appearance of Northrend.

His mind answered. Senkrads recalled an incident between him and a commissioner. This happened quite sometime ago here in Dalaran. A simple enough request; a gem for the new pair of pants this person had looted. Being a warrior, one who favored a big two handed weapon, wanted a very bold looking ruby. The type of cut and finish would easily aid in the desire for more strength. Only... they wouldn’t shut up enough for him to work. By the time Senkrads had finished he had mistakenly crafted something of a more delicate design. He wasn’t the best judge of someone’s intelligence and couldn’t be sure if the warrior would notice. Senkrads didn’t want bad word of mouth to get out to the public so he did what he thought was best. With a little bit of dust left over from a previous enchantment commission he simply caused the gemstone to appear ‘bold’. The warrior accepted the work, didn’t tip, changed in front of him, then ran off.

The warrior didn’t make it far before tripping on a loose rock. Senkrads swore it was due to his newly found agility that the warrior didn’t face plant right there in front of him. He turned, smiled, gave a thumbs up, before continuing on his run.

Recalling this memory had Set Senkrads off into a full on titter. In the moment, the humor was lost on him. But now? Realizing he had gotten away with it? It took the realization that he wasn’t alone any more for him to stop. “By the light,” he said between chuckles, “I am- I am so sorry!”

He turned over the gem with his mithril tweezers. His cut was passable, but no doubt sloppy. “Nothing a little illusion enchantment can’t fix up, right?” he said to no one. “...Or maybe I’ll just leave it as is.” Again he thought of his mother. One of her first lessons was about working with your mistakes. Sometimes you course correct. Others you start over. But there are even times you let your errors live on as proof that nothing is quite perfect.

He carried his tiny payload to the setting. This time; a ring. The brassy bronze complimented the green gem well. The loop was actually two bands made to look like bark that twisted together. The item wasn’t wholly self inspired. It was reminiscent of the necklace his mother wore, the first bit a jewelry she crafted upon arriving on Draenor. The where abouts of that necklace, if it even still existed, was unknown. She, along with his father, perished on Draenor, before the Exodar’s departure. Senkrads could only take solace in the fact that they would not have to grieve for each other.

Perhaps next he would make something for his father as well?

Senkrads often roamed the halls in his off duty hours. He found himself doing exactly that now. The layout just made sense to him, as it would to any Draenei.

Senkrads wondering came to a stop. The set of stairs before him lead up, into the observation room. He didn’t need to take them to see what he wanted, though. Azeroth. The ever constant reminder why we risk our lives while fighting on the surface of Argus. Truly a jewel in the sky.

The window stretched high, high up above, and as Senkrads marveled at the planet, a shadow suddenly loomed over. Legion command ships. At first it was just one, then two. They cut through the sky above like a dagger. Black and poisonous. They were ruiners of everything, and even now their presents alone sullied the visage.

Fortunately, they poised no danger to the Vindicaar this moment. The command ships were too far up for any substantial attack and anything long range would be taken care by the ship’s shielding. They were likely avoiding the Vindicaar all together and heading to aid ground forces.

Senkrads swore, then walked the path up. He would return to active duty, reinvigorate with new a freshly ignited fire in his soul.

He flipped it over. Blank, featureless, a plain yellowish-white envelope. Nothing telling who it was for or who it was from. Senkrads turned it over again. The flap met a point and was garnished at it’s tip with an olive green seal. He remembered watching the wax being poured and pressed. After, the person who had sealed it told him that it was enchanted. It wouldn’t come undone by mistake. There would have to be a person to open it and that the person would have break the seal with purpose. He was also told that the letter and the contents inside were weather proof, easing his mind during his travels with it. Senkrads huffed a bit of laughter. “Perhaps they knew I would not be reading this for *quite* awhile.”

His thumb ran under the lip of the flap. This was no Winter’s Veil gift, something to be torn asunder to reveal the present inside. This was acceptance letter to a Mage’s collage. A letter of promotion, alerting you of your new rank and title. Mail from your elders, sending a message of warm tidings. Senkrads opened this letter as if it were any one of those things. It was beyond satisfy how cleanly the seal came off.

Senkrads pulled the neatly trifolded parchment from the envelope. The neatness, he discovered, ended with the folding. The penmanship was sloppy but at least forgivable. He knew why too.

“Senkrads,

I suppose if you are reading this, then all is well. That is what we agreed upon, correct? The pain is gone?- Or at least manageable? Unnoticeable? I pray you still have the damn thing.”

He paused and inspected his dominate hand, the right one. It was sickly in color, tainted by shadow and void, but as he rolled his wrist he felt no sharp pains or discomfort. Indeed, at least for today, the aching was absent.

“It hurts. It keeps me up most night with the pain and agony. It feels... alive. Like a parasite that refuses to leave it’s host. It gnaws at me. But not just at my flesh but my mind too. The nights I do sleep I feel trapped with it.

You know of the lengths I have went to mend this. You know. But it still persist.”

Senkrads noticed how many times the writer stops mid-sentence, sometimes mid-word.

“I have been asked to write this. For both our sakes.

The idea is that I can put my hope and faith into a time where this is not our life. Please, please, open this one day. On any day you aren’t tormented by this curse. When the pain is manageable, and not controlling. I don’t need it to be soon, just for it to happen. Please.

Till then . . . With much love, keep us alive, -Senkrads”