Vincent Torbel

“Quai,

I hope you are doing well. I am dictating this letter to you through a friend of mine, so luckily for you it will be a bit briefer than normal. Hopefully all goes well with its delivery. 

There is a bit of bad news to add I’m afraid, and I hate beating around the bush so I’ll just get down to it: I’ve lost my eyesight. I have a rare degenerative condition, and over the years I’ve gotten increasingly strong prescriptions and magical treatments to manage it somewhat, until now that is. 

Rest assured, I have not resigned myself to living out the rest of my days as a blind mage. The friend that I mentioned is currently helping me look into untested medical trials and more unorthodox methods that I was previously too hesitant to use, back when I was afforded more time and choices.

I will be visiting Kun-Lai first, and as for how long I can’t say at the moment. I’m in Stormwind until Wednesday, so if schedule permits it I would like to see you before I go. Also, there’s something I need to give you before I depart, and I would rather it be given in person.

Best,

Vincent”

The late afternoon was quiet in Stormwind, many of those who had made a point of running errands around the Trade Districts had long since gone back home, and only a few groups of people walked casually along the Canals, with some fishing off the edge along the path. 

Vincent set down a large box in front of a young field medic, one who he had worked with over the past few months. The curled edges of scrolls poked out of the box, which was labeled “Storage”. The field medic looked down at the box, then back to Vincent. 

“Those will need to be kept on the top rack, with the other reports from last week.” Vincent said. “I’ll be back for them once I meet up with Maxwell tomorrow and hand the house key over to him.”

The medic nodded. “Yep.” he said, and then cleared his throat. “So, this is goodbye too I reckon?”

“For now.” Vincent said, and smiled a bit. He glanced down at the sealed letter on his desk for a moment, the only thing still unpacked, but this wasn’t going very far. “Listen,  I really appreciate the extra effort these last few months. It couldn’t have been easy...”

The medic waved his hand, “Ah, come on, there’s no need for that. Just did my job, same as all of you.”

Vincent leaned back in his chair. “Yes, but the long nights, the uncertainty, the amount of - let’s say - unorthodox cases over the months.” 

The laughed, though it sounded more akin to a relieved sigh. “At least it’s a good thing. Closing up shop, I mean. One thing you don’t see too often is medical facilities closing down during a war.”

“There’s no war any more.” Vincent said. “For now.” and then shrugged. “Until then, enjoy the personal time.”

“You too.” the medic said.

He reached across the table, and then shook hands with Vincent. He scooped up the last box, and then turned and left the house. As the door closed, Vincent could hear the echo of a now mostly empty office. He tapped on the surface of the desk a couple times again, looking around. The movers would be in in the morning to take the bigger things. All Vincent and his team were responsible for was storing and copying their medical cases from the Fourth War and delivering them to their Stormwind medical representative, Gordon Maxwell. 

In the meantime however, Vincent would lock up for the last time and head to the nearest mailbox to return a letter to his friend. He stood up from his desk, then placed the letter in his front pocket and walked to the front door. He took one last, long look around the office, then closed the door and locked it behind him. 

“Quai,

It is good to hear from you. I understand how it feels, being out of sorts, or just having something feel off in your day to day life. Sometimes, it may even stick around with you for  awhile. Maybe one day it will feel like a new normal, but that isn’t to say it’s a bad thing. I can’t say, because I’m sure it’s something only you could completely understand. However, I will say that it’s good to stay healthy, and keep moving forward.

You’ve coincidentally caught me at a bit of a crossroads. Much has happened in the recent past, and to keep a long story short, I am currently homeless. Now, before you get worked up (that’s me assuming, I’m sure you’re perfectly calm as usual) I am not *actually* homeless. It’s a good bit of news, really. We closed up shop in Stormwind. I suppose you could say I am a free agent. 

So, if your offer still stands, perhaps we could discuss in person soon? If not, I am sure I will find something new to occupy my time. I am, for once in my life, not sure what the next step is, but in a way it is quite exciting.

Anyway, let’s talk soon.

Best,

Vincent

P.S., And for Light’s sake, YES! Get some more sleep.”

Vincent stood in front of the mailbox along the Canal, and dropped the envelope addressed to Quai into it. He then turned and walked down the twilight lit stone pathway towards the Mage Quarter. 

Vincent sat in his office alone. The blinds behind his desk were drawn, but thin lines of afternoon sunlight still seeped in that highlighted bits of letters that were open and scattered about his desk. It was past noon, or so he thought, and he had done little except for make a pot of coffee (which he then didn’t drink) and let his face stubble get a little longer.

He checked his pocket watch. 1:20 in the afternoon. There were no meetings scheduled, and no colleagues stopping by. His day was completely open, yet he felt like doing nothing.

“Am I depressed or something?” he muttered. He pushed himself off his chair and went to the side door that led to the alley. The view wasn’t anything to rave about, in fact it no longer *had* a view (except for a stone wall, thanks to the business that went up behind his office a couple of years ago, cutting off his back access to the park), but to Vincent, even when the alley was fraction of what it used to be, it was a sanctuary. 

He stepped out into the alley, closing the door behind him. There were a couple of stools out here, including a small garden (though it was nothing but cold hardened dirt this time of year) against the wall. He lit a cigarette, took a quick drag, then leaned back on the brick wall and let out a long, smokey sigh. “Alright.” he said. The next words were about to be “One quick smoke, then it’s time to get work done.” but before he could say that he noticed (and would later internally smack himself for not noticing earlier) that he wasn’t alone.

There was a person, about eight meters to his left, standing over his (now dormant) garden and open trash containers, and appeared to be rummaging around. 

Vincent cleared his throat. “Excuse me.” he said, but the person either didn’t hear or ignored the greeting. Vincent was now used to seeing vagrants in Stormwind, it was a large city after all, and the marathon of Wars left a lot of veterans and civilians displaced from their home or outside of the care of the Crown for some reason or another. He assumed this was another person scavenging, or maybe they were looking for a spare key for his house.

Something was off about this one though, and Vincent realized that there was no physical way for this person to have been able to enter the alley. The wall in the back that went up with the Florist or Jeweler or, whatever it was, went up so high that no normal person should have been able to scale it. And the other entrance was a tall, magically secured gate. Vincent wondered if they perhaps dropped down from one of the rooftops of the buildings that shared his offices. Maybe a third floor window that they climbed out of after fleeing someplace?

“There’s nothing in there but a few dead Peaceblooms,.” Vincent said. “Maybe a walnut that the squirrels left. This is private property, by the way.”

The trespasser didn’t react at first, but they did slow down gradually, eventually coming to a stop. They turned around, showing a disheveled face that was half covered in greasy black hair - a man. He stood straight up as he turned, and Vincent noticed he was quite large, even compared to him. A Kul Tiran, possibly. His eyes were sunken, but not unfocused. This was not some addle-brained wandering homeless, and now Vincent perceived that despite the deep sunken circles around his eyes (which appeared at first glance to be the eyes of your average slum drunk), there was some sinister lucidity behind them.

“The whispers.” the man said. “The whispers brought me...here.” he pointed down at the ground where there was nothing but a cracked stone in the walkway. 

“I don’t recall putting out that type of advertisement.” Vincent said, flicking his cigarette down to the ground. “But why don’t you come by another time, you can even use the front door.” he said, pointing over his shoulder. Behind him, the magic-secured gate unlocked by itself, allowing access to the outer Trade District.

“He showed me, now my eyes are open. Soon, all eyes will be open.” the stranger said as he took another step. Vincent took a step back as well, but kept facing the man. 

“It’s time you saw, too.”

“No thanks.” Vincent said, then hurled a fireball right towards the man’s chest. It soared through the alley, lighting up the stone walls as it traveled. It hit him dead on, and he flew back into the garden bed, smashing it and spilling black dirt all over the ground. Vincent sighed, then started walking towards the body. A small trail of smoke, like that of a burned out bonfire, was twirling off of his singed shirt. He stood over him, then noticed something around his neck. He crouched down, then removed a necklace from him. It was a trinket common amongst Tide Sages. Was this person at one point a colleague of Merrick, his old Tide Sage contact?

Vincent felt a cold hand grip his wrist. He looked down and saw that the man’s eyes had opened. An intense energy enveloped the two of them that filled Vincent with deep terror, and for a moment he thought he was teleported somewhere else entirely, to a place that looked like his home but...not quite. Before he could contemplate this further, Vincent saw that the man’s eyes were lit with that same intense blue glow from before.

“Now you know the truth.” he said, his breath staggered. “You’ve carried this burden long enough-” he looked down, and his expression turned from deranged and serious to one that was more...deranged and confused. He felt his grip on Vincent loosen, but when he tried to grip tighter he felt no response.

“And you’ve kept me from work too long.” Vincent said.

The trespasser’s hand had turned into a hoof, a sheep’s hoof to be exact. And as the man’s eyes followed his arm down toward his elbow, he noticed more and more of his body becoming sheep-like as Vincent’s Polymorph spell enveloped him. 

“N’Zoth rises! N’Zoth...behhhhh.” bleated the sheep.

“Another victim of the Old God.” Vincent muttered. “Maybe that’s why I’ve been feeling so…”

“Off lately?” a whisper from inside his head rang. Vincent wondered if that was his conscious or not. He shook his head, then tied up the sheep.

“You can snack on the crushed Peaceblooms if you get hungry.” he told the sheep. It looked at him, eyes pointing in two directions, then lowered its head and started munching on a partly ruined green stem. Vincent turned around and walked back inside. He would call a guard in a few minutes, but first he would do something he’d been putting off.

He sat down at his desk and pulled out a sheet of blank parchment and a pen.

“Quai,

I received the payment from the job and have deposited it, thank you. I will pass along your regards to Lee as well. As for the next assignment,”

He paused for a moment, twirling the pen with his fingers a couple of times.

“, if there is a next assignment, I hope you would consider bringing me along. I hope you don’t believe I was scared off after last time.”

He considered ending it there, and if he was being honest with himself he wasn’t entirely sure what else he would say anyway. “Sorry I gave you a hard time about the dangerous mission?” The fact was that every mission he’d been on with Blackbay since he joined up had been risky. Something had bothered him about the last mission though, and he wasn’t certain if this letter was the right time to explore that. Perhaps in time the answer would come to him, or if Quai was ever in town again he could talk to her personally. In the meantime though he needed to finish at least one task today, so he ended the letter with:

“Let’s talk soon. Hope you are doing well.

-Vincent”

Outside there was another muffled “Behhhh”.

Vincent sat at his desk, going through his mail and paperwork for the day, having finally caught up again after weeks of starting and stopping.

“So this is what it feels like to breathe again.” he thought.

With the business out of the way, he moved onto his personal mail. The only letter for the day was from Quai. Vincent picked the envelope up, then tore through the side with his letter opener - the hilt was made of thorium, and atop that was the crystallized semi transparent blade, which hummed with a soft pink energy. The letter opener itself was not enchanted, but it was so tacky looking that it was difficult to lose.

Vincent finished reading the letter, then brought out his own letterhead (“From the office of Dr. Vincent Torbel” was at the top, along with some simple branding) and a pen, then began to write.

Quai,

It is unfortunate that I was not able to say goodbye before you had to depart, but I understand how work can be. Still, it was very nice to be able to see you at all, circumstances as they were.

As for our conversation and your specific questions about magic, I was waiting to write back until I heard from Mort. Well, as it so happens, yesterday a letter arrived - it was a response. I was vague in my wording, of course.

Vincent held up a hand, summoning the letter from the Priest called Mort to him. The letter floated in front of him, and then unfurled, allowing Vincent to reference the wording. He then put his pen to the page again and continued writing.

He said:

“Your theory and questions about the use of Shadow magic as a healing art is not new to me, in fact I have used it for that purpose before. While it can be used to harm. (in fact that is what it excels at) it can also be used to repair. It may have been effective, but I never felt that it was without malice. Almost like it was more interested in protecting itself rather than its user, and even then, it takes something from you. Ultimately what brought me to the Light was its warmth and guidance in all things. The Priest’s order considers balance between Light and Shadow necessary, but in my experience the two can never mix. The results are, to say the very least, volatile. I view Shadow as the opposite of the Light, thus one is made for healing and the other is made for destruction. And in the end, I believe destruction is what awaits any who invite the Shadows into their life.”

Now, he isn’t exactly unbiased in his feelings towards Shadow magic. I can’t say I blame him, it has a stigma in the magical communities. He still couldn’t deny its use for healing though, even if it made it sound like the Shadow itself was more interested in self preservation. Other users view it as the other way around, like they’re the ones using the Shadow for their own benefit. But I heard similar things from them, namely that-

Vincent frowned, realizing he’d hit the bottom of the page. He grabbed another, and set the first page to hang dry in the air. He began writing again, picking up mid sentence.

-healing with Shadow has some setbacks. Some reported that they felt weakened after, others said they would fall ill if used too much, or develop some mental health issues, someone even said a patient reacted strongly and died shortly after.

The magic that you’re using, if it sounds anything like what I’ve described above, would incline me to strongly recommend that you be cautious of the potential of overuse. Nobody seems to fully understand all of the risks, but they do agree that Shadow magic for healing is not the preferred option. This is coming from Priests, however, who have a bit more options when it comes to that. I think your experience, even the limits you’ve discovered of your abilities, are comparable with the knowledge of some of these Priests, in my opinion.

That being said, I think there’s still more room for further understanding and controlling this power. But I hope this was helpful in the meantime.

On a lighter note, I would be happy to join you and your sister and Ephriza for Winter Veil dinner. Please send me the details when you’re able, and I’ll save the date. I’ll consider your offer for the work as well. I wish I could give you a straight answer now but unfortunately that will need to wait. Things are slowing down here as we get closer to the end of the year, it seems appropriate to use the spare time for reflection, wouldn’t you agree? Perhaps I can give you an answer at dinner. Until then, take care.

Your friend,

Vincent

Vincent had taken precautions many winters back and installed magical amplifiers under the walkways outside of his office. Whenever it did snow in Stormwind, he would cast fire magic on the amplifiers that would keep snow from accumulating, thus saving him countless hours of physical work. Vincent was very pleased when he had more time to focus on things that mattered.

One of the things that Vincent was able to focus on more was catching up on the mail.This was good, as it had been piling up over the last couple of months due to a mishap with one of his teaching assistants. He had considered replacing her but it was the only real slip up she had made over the past 6 months, and other than that he’d only been very pleased with her work. Besides, it wouldn’t be easy to replace an assistant halfway through a semester.

He had gotten to a letter with a fairly sized blob of dried red wax on the back. He recognized the pattern on the seal from many different occasions over the past year, and felt a sudden unpleasant sensation growing in his gut. Not from the letter itself, or from the person who had written it (on the contrary, mixed with the unpleasant sensation from earlier was another, much more comfortable one. Like a quick flash of warmth you might get from your first sip of tea...or shot of liquor). The unpleasant feeling came from the realization that he had seen this seal before, and recently at that. It was in a pile of other letters recently “re-discovered” by his assistant, after having been filed away into some vault usually only accessed twice annually. But, by a stroke of luck, the letter as well as other things like student papers and bills were recovered before they could be missed too much. 

That was, however, unlike Quai’s letter. Vincent realized he had not gotten a chance to read the old letter she had sent some time ago before it was filed away. And now he was holding both the old letter and this latest one in hand. After he read the first, and then the second, he folded them both up and into one of the envelopes and sat them just next to the “Done” pile, making a totally new one for the moment. A pen flew into his hand, and a parchment unfurled in front of him, holding itself stretched and flat upon the wood table. He began to write in short letters, each of them partially overlapping:

Quai,

I am pleased to hear from you, and that you are doing well. I wish I could have gotten back to you sooner, but things are quite out of sorts here at the moment and finding my own shoes under the debris (as I call it) most days is a challenge, let alone my mail, so I apologize for that. However, today is one of those days when I value having a friend close by if not only in spirit, so perhaps it worked out.

Now then, I must say your work sounds interesting. And a little bit more of what you’re accustomed to, perhaps. Military work wasn’t always as respectful of people with, let’s say, creative talents, such as yourself. Perhaps it’s just learning to excel among the normal rank and file, but even then you don’t feel truly like a standalone person. This, however, seems like the type of environment you would excel in. And the fact that you call it a home makes me feel at ease.

In regards to your questions about magic, I will do my best to answer them as best and as discreetly as I can.

Now comes the difficult part, because as your primary (this was underlined three times) physician, but I have to advise you to get in too far over your head, whether it’s with magic or otherwise. I’m sure their doctors are great, but you don’t have the best traveling with you any more.

All joking aside, there have been many times that I find myself reflecting about serving within Blackbay, of the things we did for Boralus and the Alliance. Despite how hairy it got, those were some really good times. When you find yourself in Stormwind, we can reminisce a bit. Or we can discuss the questions on magic you mentioned. Regardless, my door is always open, and you’ll find my address enclosed. I’ll try and have the office in a much more presentable state by then, right now the Vincent you traveled with who organized his clothes by color, length, last worn, among other filters would be ashamed.

Best,

Vincent

The pen floated down (back to its proper place this time), and Vincent grabbed an envelope to place the letter in. He addressed and sealed it, then teleported it away into a post box nearby for magical drop offs only.

Vincent slowly opened his eyes, letting in sunlight in short, blinding bursts. His other senses had not quite caught up and for a moment he just laid still on the sand. His first thought was that he was dead, and the Light had finally accepted him into its all-encompassing embrace.

“You’re not a Priest, or even a Paladin. You’d go somewhere else, probably forced to haunt a library.” he heard some voice inside his head say. His voice.

Then, as if to punctuate this thought, he suddenly became aware of the pain. It was a very real, very acute soreness that latched onto every muscle in his body. He attempted to push himself up, but his arms (which both felt as if they were asleep) gave from under his weight immediately and knocking the wind out of him.

He tried looking around the immediate area but to his dismay, only vague shapes and colors were visible. His glasses must have gotten knocked off at some point, which was just a fine addition to this situation he reckoned. He might be lying on them, or they might just as easily be at the bottom of the ocean, tangled in some kelp or in the belly of a Thresher. Maybe a Murloc was wearing them now.

He tried sitting up this time, and pain erupted in his abdomen and chest. He fought through it, propping himself on an arm and wincing, then he got to see his surroundings.

In front of him was several wooden planks, or what looked like the shape of planks, likely from the boat he had been thrown off of. He crawled over to one, and picked it up, then flipped it over. It was dry, splintered, but decently sized. Could be useful for firewood if he needed it, but he was more concerned about the others who were on the boat.

He looked up and down the beach, scanning over the blurry shapes and trying to identify anything more human-shaped. Ideally, any moving human shapes.There were none.

“Stranded.” he breathed. His mouth and throat were dry. He rose an arm weakly, and conjured a half-filled bottle of mana water. “That’s it?” he thought. But Vincent supposed being able to instantly conjure any drinkable water on a deserted island was a blessing it of itself, and he took a drink.

---

As the sun waned, he wandered up and down the long beach, dragging his feet through the sand and picking up any pieces of wood he could find. He would gather up a bundle under his arm, then deposit them back by the spot where he awoke. It seemed like as good a plan as any, and in his current state he wasn’t able to conjure a portal, so he wasn’t going anywhere. He could be here a while, so maybe he’d need to make shelter, or a fire, or…

He stopped, looked around, looked out to the horizon. The waters were calm. In his half-blinded and slightly dehydrated state, he thought he spotted something out there. Land? A ship? Maybe Alliance? He wasn’t sure. He hurriedly shuffled back to his wood pile, dropping a couple sticks on the way. He threw them on the pile, then picked back up a few at a time and began to arrange them on the beach in the shape of an “H”.

“Never thought I’d have to do this, it seems so damned cliché.” he said, finishing his first letter. The thought never dawned on him that the beach’s angle wouldn’t be steep enough for a ship to be able to read from the water, but it was his only plan and he would be damned if he wouldn’t follow through.

Kicking up sand as he hurried, trying to beat the oncoming dusk, he finished the “E”, then the “L”, and realized he had run out of material in which to craft his distress message. “Would “HEL” be enough to get the point across?” he wondered. He looked out again, the shape way out on the water was still there. Maybe the ship is just anchored. He paced around, the last piece of wood gripped tightly in his splinter-riddled right hand. He stopped, then rearranged to the “L” shape to a “Y”, and stood back, admiring his complete (albeit very casual) “HEY” to the seas. He considered it an improvement.

As the sun finally started to set though, Vincent panicked, and thought his message would be lost to the darkness, and the ship would move on before morning. Feeling slightly more energized (though partially just running on adrenaline), he set the letters ablaze with a brief flash of fire magic. As the word “HEY” burned brilliantly on the beach, he sat and he waited for what he hoped would be a swift rescue.

The Ashvane plot was becoming as thick as day old Sailor’s Pie, and Vincent was feeling increasingly troubled about what they’d find at the end of their investigation. Inglewood’s corpse was a grotesque but critical new piece to a larger puzzle, and even though he was contained within the most secure prison compound that Kul Tiras had to offer, he was still eliminated. Their only clue on the scene itself was the name “Jane” carved into Inglewood’s stomach.

Vincent’s main concern wasn’t the “how” of Inglewood’s death. After all, it didn’t seem to matter at this point where their suspects operated or were incarcerated, they always seemed to be taken out before being turned or otherwise questioned. The main concern for him was the “who”, meaning, of course, Jane. Was it an alias, a la Jane Doe? Unlikely, he supposed, if Inglewood himself (or even someone else) carried out the act. That’s a lot of effort to go to for just a fake name.

He followed the others out of the prison, stopping quickly by the entrance to retrieve his short sword left with the guard when they checked in.

“I’ll head for the record vaults then.” he said to Quai. “But I need to make a slight detour to the Academy first - a personal errand, but important. It won’t take long.”

Quai nodded. “Alright, meet us there as soon as you’re done.”

***

Vincent walked out of the Academy a short time later, having just dropped off Professor Clifton’s medicine with his assistant. He was adamant about getting it before the week’s end, so Vincent obliged. He didn’t mention his other work in the area.

As he was walking out the main corridor to the main road that would eventually lead him to the record vaults, his eye caught on something on the wall. Upon further inspection, he almost couldn’t believe the coincidence.

“Proudmoore Academy welcomes guest lecturer Commodore Jane Altham - Starts promptly on 6pm this Sunday. Lecture will be located in Falerevere Hall. Q&A segment to follow.”

Vincent’s hand fumbled to retrieve his comm stone, not taking his eyes off the poster in case it would somehow disappear if his attention wandered.

“Alanna, I found a potential identity for our Miss Jane.” he said into the stone.

Almost instantly there was a response. “You have? That was quick. Okay, who is it?”

“There’s a Commodore Jane Altham set to give a guest lecture here at the Academy this Sunday at 6pm.” he said. “Maybe-”

He was cut off with a short bit of laughing on the other end. “I’m sorry Vincent, that’s not possible.” Alanna said.  “Jane Altham is a highly decorated, high-ranking retired military official; she does the lecture circuit during the fall every year at Proudmoore Academy, and she’s been a staunch defender of Kul Tiras for years. There’s just no way.”

Vincent paused for a moment, then clicked on the comm stone again. “Alanna, Inglewood was a general, so who knows how high up this goes.” he said, then pauses for a moment, then adds “I think we should at least consider it.”

A few seconds of silence pass. His comm crackles on again. “We’ll need to do more than simply consider a person like Jane Altham. If you’re serious and want to build a case against a retired Proudmoore Admiralty Commodore, it has to really stick. We’ll start digging.” she said. “In the meantime, I’ll keep going over connections to other Janes that Inglewood might have known.”

“Copy that.” Vincent said, then put the stone back into his pocket. He ripped the bulletin off of the wall and placed it into his front pocket. Despite Alanna’s reaction, Vincent considered this a promising lead. After all, it would fit the trend of corruption in the Admiralty up to now.

As he walked onwards in the direction of the records hall though, his thoughts lingered on his latest and biggest concern: how much higher could this possibly go?

Boralus harbor was teeming with sailors, merchants, and common folk. The very heart of Kul’Tiras looked alive and well, its day-to-day operations continuing smoothly even while so many strangers had appeared on its shores lately.

Vincent was one of their more recent visitors, and as he sat at a table outside a cafe, a bound notebook resting by an empty coffee cup, he watched the comings and goings of the people around him. He looked at his pocket watch, noting that it was nearing closer to noon. His friend should have been along by now, but he wasn’t feeling worried.  

The waiter from the cafe walked by him, holding a tray of drinks. Vincent held up his hand and asked for another refill of coffee, knowing it’d be another twenty minutes at least before he’d get another chance. The cafe was quite busy still, and he hadn’t had the best experience with service here anyway. The waiter mumbled something, maybe just a grunt, or maybe an acknowledgement, it was impossible to tell. Vincent shrugged and lit a cigarette.

Through a break in the crowd, a man dressed in a robe that looked as dark and green as the sea walked towards him. He wore a cloak and hood that obscured most of his features, and carried a satchel around his body that was filled to the brim with various scrolls. He approached Vincent unhurriedly, even amongst the bustle of the street. He never seemed to alter his pace or direction, and Vincent thought for sure he was about to collide with a couple of sailors hauling barrels filled with who-knows-what down the street, but he got through.

He stood over him then and looked down at Vincent, who just blew a trail of smoke out.

“Apologies for the delay,” the man said. “I’m afraid there’s some goings-on at the monastery that are...well, demanding of most of our time.”

Vincent put out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table. “Quite all right.” he said. “You still have time for breakfast I hope?”

The man removed his hood, he was pale and had long gray hair. “Of course. If you do.” he looked to the chair. “May I?”

Vincent smiled, then gestured to the seat across from him. “Please. It’s not often I even get to chat with a former patient, let alone one that’s a Tidesage.”

“My brothers and sisters are usually too concerned with their work to bother coming to the harbor, it’s become their obsession really.” Merrick said. He removed his satchel and placed it next to the table, against the building they sat out front of. “Few of them seem to have forgotten what life is like outside of our monastery.”

“Not you, though.” Vincent said. “But then again, I never imagined you’d join them.”

“After what happened with Milo, I decided an academic, even more spiritual life would be a better pursuit. I believe you were the one who suggested it.” said Merrick.

“Me?” Vincent said. “Really?”

“Oh yes,” said Merrick. “I believe your exact words were “It’s no problem mending your wounds, but following Milo’s footsteps? That’s where the real problem is. it’s killing your spirit, your will to live, if you believe in that. Which is something that can only be truly mended by truly living for yourself. If you don’t, you’ll just end up back here for the same reason, if you make it back in time again, that is.”

“Wow.” Vincent said. “I never knew I was so preachy.”   

“I left out some of your more colorful vocabulary,” he said with a chuckle. “But that was the jist of it.”

The waiter then walked by, placing (and nearly dropping) Vincent’s coffee in front of him without stopping. Some coffee spilled over onto the wooden table, and Vincent sat up, not realizing what happened for a second there.

Merrick handed him a napkin. “Pretty normal for this place I’m afraid, they’re understaffed.”

Vincent nodded and took the napkin, mopping up the coffee. “We’ll get to the lunch eventually, I’m sure.”

---

After the lunch rush had died down, Vincent and Merrick paid their bill and took a walk down the docks. They stopped by a pharmacy by the south end of town, and Vincent gathered the medical supplies on his list for the rest of the crew.

“So you mentioned you joined a new crew here in Boralus?” said Merrick.

“Not in Boralus.” said Vincent. “I’ve known this group for a while now, but we do have business here.”

“Really?” said Merrick. “How long?”

“Can’t say.” he said, then looked out to the ocean. His walking slowed down a bit, and Merrick slowed as well. Vincent turned to him. “I also can’t say what that business is, but maybe when it’s over I can see this monastery you seem to be happy living in.”

Merrick was silent for a moment. “Yes.” he said. “Perhaps then.”

Vincent looked at him, catching what seemed to be a hint of sorrow in his eyes. Merrick pulled his hood back over his head. “You aren’t smoking as much.” he said.

Vincent was caught off guard by the remark. He tilted his head. “Huh.” he said. “I guess that’s something.”

Merrick turned to him. “It’s more than that.” he said. “I know it’s been a little while since we’ve spoken, but surely you must have felt some sort of shift in yourself, the same one I felt as I recovered in Dalaran. As you said, you’re truly starting to live for yourself again, after all that happened to you.”

Vincent looked at him.

“Is it your crew?” Merrick said.

Vincent considered the words for a few moments. “Maybe.” he said with a smile. “Maybe sooner or later you’re just waiting to see where you belong at again, if anywhere.”

Merrick nodded. “It’s good for you.” he said.

“Good.” Vincent said. “Something I don’t believe I deserve, not after leaving Northrend.”

“I think you do.” Merrick said.

Vincent nodded, then looked back at him. “You pick the spot for breakfast next time.” he said, then headed back towards the ship.

Darnassus burned quicker than Vincent anticipated. He wondered if even one hour would be given to him for saving the Elves trapped in their homes, or stranded on the decks high off the ground. All around him were screams of panic, fear, and desperation. He knew that he and the others could not save everyone, but that was hardly worth dwelling on at the moment. Vincent forced himself to focus solely on the mission at hand, and rushed toward the Craftsmen’s Terrace. “I just need to do everything I can.” he thought.

His summoned water elemental stayed close by his side, its body sizzling from constant contact with falling embers and burning twigs. It did not complain though, at least it did not appear to, despite evaporating by the moment in this environment. Vincent pointed at a three story house by the lake, where he spotted a Night Elf looking down to the ground, as if about to jump.

Torbel tried shouting through his rebreather mask, but amongst the roaring flames and explosions from the bombs dropped by small Horde gunships and Forsaken bat riders, his voice was unable to reach in time. The Night Elf flung himself off the open deck towards the lake, but he was too far away and was certainly about to fall to the flames nearby instead.

Vincent pointed a Slow Fall spell at the Night Elf in mid air, and his descent slowed enough to almost be floating. The Elf’s flailing arms and legs slowed as well, but his screaming did not diminish. The elemental sprayed a powerful torrent of water below the Elf, putting the flames out just before they started to touch him.

He landed, then looked around, confused. Vincent waved at him, then pointed toward the Temple. The Night Elf nodded his thanks, then pointed toward a large structure, nearly obscured with smoke in the distance. “There are families in there!” he shouted, and ran off.

Vincent gestured at the elemental to accompany him towards the building. “Come on!” he shouted, and headed down the long pathway toward the center of the Terrace. Without his direct guidance, the elemental would pause to spray doorways, windows, or whatever it could to clear a pathway for the people inside. Vincent did the same with his frost and arcane spells, using the impact of the magical blasts to disrupt any small fires and extinguish them.

He felt a strain on his senses, and even with the rebreather mask he was very acutely aware of his wheezing. His eyes stung (my God, the sweat), and his clothing was singed and torn in places already from contact with the flame. They were all essentially stuck in the middle of the biggest bonfire the world had ever seen, and the flames were only spreading quicker and with more intensity by the minute.

They approached the opening of the building the Night Elf had pointed to, and were greeted with a backdraft the blew the front door right by them and into the street (Vincent barely managed to dodge it). He peered inside and saw a long hallway, encased in flames from the walls and ceilings to the doorways, leading to (he presumed) stairs at the back that he could access the upper levels from. He also heard the unmistakable sounds of screams that came from inside.

“Don’t use your water here yet, I need you to help me carry these people out.” he said to the elemental. It only looked at him for a moment, then stood by the door, watching the burning hallway.

Vincent took a couple steps back, raised his arms and thrust his hands and a leg forward into the hallway entrance in a smooth pushing motion. A pulse of arcane magic rushed into the building like an explosion. The force of the magic shrunk the flames for a moment, which was long enough for Vincent to conjure several small orbs of frost magic that floated down the hallway. They stopped at each of the apartment doors and exploded, chilling the door area instantly.

“Okay, quickly! Check the rooms for survivors!”

They entered the hallway together, the split up into the different rooms. Some of them were empty, likely already evacuated. Others, like the one Vincent entered (after having to break down the door), were harder to tell immediately. On the ground in the living area, he spotted a child with a cloth mask over her face - she looked like she was breathing. He scooped her up then scanned the rest of the room, and saw another Elf laying nearby, only she did not have a mask and was most certainly not breathing.

He shook his head, then looked at the child. He removed her cloth mask and put his rebreather on her for a few minutes as he continued to search the apartment. It was small, but when he checked the one closet, he was surprised to also find a tiny Saber cub (likely hidden away by the girl). It growled at him threateningly. “Oh, shut up.” Vincent said, and picked it up by its scruff, then carried it and the child outside.

He caught the attention of a Sentinel that was evacuating the other buildings, and handed the girl and Saber cub to her. “I’m going back in to check for more.” he said. The water elemental then appeared next to him as well, carrying two adult Elves with its arms, then set them down. The Sentinel nodded, and helped the other two survivors up so they could make for the temple. “Elune keep you safe, and do not tarry here much longer.”

Vincent nodded, then started to head back inside the building to continue checking for survivors. “Wait,” the Sentinel said, then handed him the child’s rebreather. “Take this mask, you will need it if you’re going back inside. I will make sure the child reaches safety quickly.”

Vincent took the mask, thanked her, and left. On the first floor there were few remaining survivors, but Vincent and his elemental were as quick as they could getting them outside. He could hardly feel anything aside from the overwhelming heat. After what felt like ages, they managed to reach the fourth level. Again, Vincent cleared the area so they could check each room. 

At the end of this hallway, a giant window overlooking the square was covered in soot and partially broken. Vincent and his elemental resumed their check of each room, finding only one survivor. She was unconscious, but alive. Vincent wished he could personally treat all of them, but they would be safe once in Stormwind, or at least he hoped. Also, he needed to get back to his own people, who most assuredly needed him as he was their only medic.

Suddenly, an explosion from one of the bombs thrown by the Forsaken bat riders came from the third level, rocking the building itself. Vincent looked down the hallway and saw a burst of flame shoot up from the stairwell after likely engulfing the lower level already. The flames raced towards him and the elemental with such intensity, and he was so exhausted from the past hour of using magic and racing up and down the stairs that froze up completely.

His only thought at the moment before the flames hit him was of his daughter, Kelly. “Say, kiddo.” he thought, a dozen memories hitting him all at once in what he assumed was his final moment of life. “Don’t look so sad, not when Daddy’s here.” he closed his eyes, not even feeling the heat any more.

He did not feel the heat, because all of a sudden he just felt...wet?

The elemental, seeing the incoming blast, placed itself between Vincent, the Elf, and the flames. It used its body as a shield, enveloping them, and when the explosion hit, then were thrown from the fourth level window out to the center of the Craftsmen’s Terrace. Vincent’s eyes and mouth were wide with shock. He couldn’t help but watch (through a watery filter) back up at the window he just flew out of, which was also spewing flame into the air. Vincent turned and cast another slow fall spell that barely cushioned their descent quick enough so they avoided major injury.

They all rolled several times as they hit the hot stone of the Terrace. Vincent rocked back and forth in pain, embers and ash fell from the air onto him. He shook his head a few times, consciously breathing into his rebreather, and looked at the Night elf survivor that he- well, his elemental- had saved. Speaking of which, where was it? He looked to the ground just in front of him, and saw the magic shackles that usually bind the water elemental to this plane just laying there, burned and cracked. “Idiot.” he sighed. “Damned idiot.”

He pushed himself up to his feet, then picked up the Elf and slung her over his shoulder. He headed toward the Temple himself now to help evacuate this last survivor, then head towards the portal to Rut’Theran village to meet up with his friends. “Hopefully I was the only stupid one today,” he thought.

Vincent paced in small circles around his tent, which was kindly offered to him by the citizens of Marshal’s Stand for as long as he needed it. When he was brought there a few nights ago by a couple of the refugees, he thanked them several times, and offered to help their camp any way he could, especially medical treatments.

The guard on his right stared at him unblinking.  “You can help by leaving quick as you can, the jungle will take you if you don’t. It will take us all in the end.”

Vincent nodded slowly, unsure of what to say to that. Both guards stared at him, and said nothing else. A bird dropping from overhead hit one of them on the shoulder, but they did not flinch.

“Allllright then, I’ll let you know if I need anything else.” he turned into the tent, not before he cast one last glance back at them, then shut his curtain quickly.

A few nights filled with the awful, penetrating dampness of the crater and the occasional not-quite-distant-enough Devilsaur roaring kept him from sleeping much. Selene’s report on the Horde’s activity and the camp had him on edge as well. A tin bucket sat outside his tent, and was filled with enough cigarette butts that it nearly spilled over.

He stopped his pacing, and looked at the small table where his suitcase and medical supplies were carefully placed. The clothes that weren’t ruined from their journey through the jungle were carefully folded and placed on his bed. He realized he didn’t quite pack enough, and would be glad when they returned to Darnassus (he liked the style of the Night Elves, and planned to buy more clothes from them, assuming they had his size).

He stepped outside the tent, after he realized it was pointless to try and sleep now. It was morning already, but a thick blanket of fog and gloom hung around, keeping the area outside of the camp dark and obscured. He saw the Captain and Ephie up already and in the middle of a conversation of some kind, though he couldn’t hear them. He lit a cigarette and stood by the glow of the inside of his tent and watched them for a moment, then looked towards the west toward Silithus.

“At least you can’t see that damned weapon sticking out of the ground right now.” he muttered to himself.

He finished his cigarette (his toss missed the bucket entirely) and walked over to the camp center. Several tables were out and were still messy from the feast they had earlier (Wolf kebabs, sourced locally). He had really enjoyed Selene’s recipe, it almost made him forget that he could have easily become the Wolf’s meal, and not the other way around.

The camp had barely anything in terms of rations when they arrived. They were cleaned out, as it were. As a new day came around, he realized the people would probably want some breakfast.

“Some mana buns should do the trick.” he said.

He summoned a water elemental beside him. It took almost no time to form given their humid location. The bulbous water man turned towards Vincent, awaiting his order.

“Wash off the table would ya?” he said, then lit the cigarette in his mouth.

The elemental said nothing, then turned and unleashed a water jet (with perhaps a little too much water pressure) on the surface of the wooden tables, spraying off any dirt and old food.

“Okay that’s enough, don’t want it sopping wet. You ever made coffee before?”

The elemental looked up at him, almost as if to ask “What do you think I am?” Vincent waved his hand at him.

“It’s easy, just do it while I start the buns. Oh, actually…”

He walked over to the stone basin by the tables, and picked up a few trays. He handed them to the water elemental, who outstretched his swirling water arms, and held them.

“Wash those too, if you please.”

The elemental said nothing again and quickly absorbed the trays into its body, rotating them around a few times, then ejected them out on the table with a clang. It then turned away to fetch coffee. Vincent brought out some mildly damp cloths (nothing ever truly dried here) and began drying the table and trays. Once they were done, he conjured buns one at a time until there were four dozen total, neatly arranged and on the table.

“Yep, that should do.” he said, the wiped off the sweat pooling on his forehead. It was already getting hot. “Everyone deserves a good breakfast.”

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