Arrival
It was colder than he anticipated in Frostfire Ridge. Icy winds swept across the snowdrifts, breaking against the Magister’s robes. The sensation was oddly satisfying; it had been some time since Bey’ron had felt his body temperature dip so low. It reminded him of Northrend, and the time he spent there incinerating wave after wave of Scourge. His eyes reacted to the recollection, as he scanned the landscape for movement. The Ridge, however, was still. He exhaled a sigh, his breath condensing before him before being swept off by the winds. His gaze reaffixed to his destination - the Phoenix Guard’s garrison - as it stood before him. His lips curved to a smirk, as he began to close the distance between him and the fortress’ front gate.
“Wait here, Galathion.”
‘An orc wearing Sin’dorei robes.’
Such was the impression the fortress gave him. The craftsmanship of the buildings bore a familiar Horde feel; stone, wood, and plain unembellished metals. And yet, each structure was dressed in red and golden drapery to offer an overall Thalassian aesthetic.
“Quaint.”
He walked passed a number of guards, each either standing stoically, or moving with intent from one place to another. A few glanced the Magister’s direction, but most of them appeared to busy to even acknowledge his existence. It was well enough; he hadn’t come to speak to them.
His attention was drawn to a portal sitting at the heart of the garrison - a portal, crackling with Arcane power. Around it sat a manufactured cradle of crystals, each hanging suspended equidistant from one another in a radial patter about the portal itself. Stabilizers, no doubt. Had he known there was a portal directly here, he would have inquired about using it. But the journey from Warspear was of little impedance nonetheless. Bey’ron nodded, giving the portal a sufficient gaze of admiration before moving on.
The command building towered over the others. Familiar Silvermoon banners hung proudly against the stone wall of the structure, as well as the crests of the Phoenix Guard itself. It had been some time since Bey’ron interacted with the Phoenix Guard; they had served their purpose for him once before in Dalaran. And he expected they would again...
Parting the curtain, Bey’ron stepped inside the command building. A small stairway let him out into a large, open room. Torches lit the room up sufficiently, while also doing their part in staving off the outside’s cold. He stood in the center of the room, and looked around - eyes catching the familiar face of Champion Dawnblade, sitting at a table off to the side. She spoke with another, unfamiliar to Bey’ron. He smirked, approaching.
“...I am still a Sunreaver to the bone.” the unfamiliar man continued conversing, before noticing Bey’ron’s approach.
"I'd recommend another color at least, but that whole getup is ridiculous--” Champion Dawnblade replied, before also turning her attention to Bey’ron.
“I think it's fine, myself. Purple's a regal color, factional tendencies notwithstanding.” the Magister added, inserting himself into the conversation.
Champion Dawnblade’s face solidified, all but frowning at the Magister as he approached. She clutched her teacup tensely, causing it to shake slightly.
“Magister Everblaze.” she greeted him, simply.
“Bal’a dash, Champion Dawnblade.” he responded, dipping his head in respect.
She made no effort to rise, much less return the gesture. Instead, she kept her single eye warily affixed on Bey’ron; breaking away after a moment to look to the violet-dressed man. He wore garb akin to the Kirin Tor, including a mask which hid his face from view. Nonetheless, Bey’ron could feel this stranger’s gaze upon him, and returned it. Noticeably, the man lacked an arm.
“Magister Sunkeeper, this is Magister Everblaze. We are...” The Champion heistated, as if searching her mind for the proper term. “... acquaintances.”
“Magister Sunkeeper.” Bey’ron repeated, green eyes trained on the man. “Well met.”
“A pleasure,” came his response, “though I left my Magister title behind me quite some time ago. I am merely Doctor Sunkeeper.”
‘Amusing,’ Bey’ron thought. ‘Another former Magister seeking to differentiate themselves from the Magistry.’
“--Doctor, then. Apologies.” he replied.
“None needed.” the Doctor returned immediately.
The two regarded one another a moment, formalities and politeness only thinly veiling one another’s appraisal of the other. Champion Dawnblade spoke up.
“--Have you come to aid the war effort on your own accord? Or were you sent here?” she inquired, succinctly.
“Neither.” Bey’ron replied, returning his attention to the Blood Knight. “I’ve my own agenda. But I’m grateful you’re willing to house me for a day or two.”
Once more, he dipped his head respectfully. And once more, the Champion made no move in response.
“Did I have much of a choice in the matter?” she chuckled, dryly.
“... That being the case, I’m more than willing to help you and your merry band out in any way I can. Return the favor, and such.”
Champion Dawnblade retained her watchful eye on the Magister, as if he were a coiled snake preparing to strike at a moment’s notice. She reached out, flipping one of the many maps and missives over onto another, concealing both.
“In any case, I think we can find work for you to do. The stables need shoveled, after all.”
“Simple enough,” Bey’ron nodded. “I’ll get a couple of my servants right on it. But pray tell, how have your efforts here fared? I’ve heard many success stories.”
The Blood Knight shifted in her seat. “Our efforts have been going well, as I’m sure you can see by our small fortress. Tell me, what brought you out to Draenor?”
“--An impressive fortress, indeed!” the Magister deflected. “A venerable slice of Azeroth, carved out of the ice. You and your people should be proud.”
“Oh, I am sure this is only meant to be some routine inspection on behalf of the Magistry. They must keep an eye on those they govern.” Doctor Sunkeeper spoke up, rekindling the Champion’s question.
Bey’ron only smiled. “My business here is mine, not the Magistry’s.” he stated. “Nothing exciting, I’m afraid.”
“Of course...” Sunkeeper replied, tone betraying his skepticism.
“It seemed as much.” Champion Dawnblade said, tapping her chin in thought. “I’ve seen little, if any of the Magistry in Draenor. I hear they are still squabbling over scraps in Silvermoon.”
The disdain dripped from her words; she wasn’t shy about her feelings towards the Magistry.
“Hence why I left.” the Doctor added - also very candid of his feelings.
“Oh, yes.” Bey’ron replied. “Incessantly. Sad to say, but few among them seem all too interested in Draenor. Now, the methods of our trans-dimensional arrival here? Quite a topic of discussion.”
The Champion sipped once more from her teacup, shifting to a stance indicating more disinterested in the Magister at this point. “We’ve worked it out well enough. Any portal is dangerous; this one just happens to be moreso.”
“So I’ve seen; another impressive aspect of your grand fortress, Champion.” the Magister nodded.
“Our personal portal is quite easy to maintain, however. the combination of magic, machinery, and artifice makes it quite stable.” the Doctor boasted.
“Restricted use, I assume? Can’t let just anyone walts to and fro through such a rift...”
“Of course.” the Doctor nodded.
He conjured a teapot with the wave of his hand, accompanied by two teacups.
“Tea, Magister?”
“Ah, I’ll abstain. But thank you.” Bey’ron declined.
Sunkeeper nodded, waving his hand again. The teapot poured its contents into one of the floating cups magically, and without any physical exertion. The cup levitated about the Doctor’s face who, with use of a conjured straw, took a sip of the tea through his mask.
“The Guard boasts many skilled arcanists, theorists, runemasters, and machinists. It has been a collaborative effort - and yes, access is highly restricted.” Champion Dawnblade added - nigh warned - as she set her teacup down.
“For the best, assuredly.” Bey’ron replied. “What of your campaign? I’ve heard fantastic tales of triumph from every corner of this world. You and your band, too, share in such glory?”
“--You understand that much of our operations are classified. But I can say with total honesty that they have been successful.” Champion Dawnblade returned, irritated - by Bey’ron’s questioning, the floating teapot beside her, or both.
“Of course. No need to go into specifics. It’s enough to hear you’re doing well. Fighting the good fight, in defense of our world as a whole.” Bey’ron smirked.
“--My, my! You sound like a true politician, don’t you?” the Doctor sneered.
“Old habits, I suppose.” the Magister replied. “Proof enough there can be truth in even a politician’s words.”
“And my old habit of not trusting a word of it will die hard.” Champion Dawnblade rose, resting her palms on the tables surface.
She offered Bey’ron a smile, for the first time since his arrival; Bey’ron could almost taste the insincerity, but returned the gesture nonetheless.
“You’ll have lodging for two days, outside the garrison walls; there are cabins under our protection where you and your servants can rest safely. You are welcome to enter the Phoenix Guard’s garrison, but you will be escorted by myself, Lieutentant-Commander Ronaestrider, or a designee at all times. Am I clear?” she instructed, tone firm and commanding.
“Crystal, Champion. And you’ve my sincere thanks for accommodating this little excursion of mine.” Bey’ron replied, still smirking. “I won’t be any trouble. And in two days, you’ll be rid of me once more.”
The two stared at one another for a moment, before the Blood Knight nodded.
“But of course. Let me know what supplies you or your servants may need, and we can requisition accordingly. For myself, I’ve a great deal of work to do before I turn in for the night.” she informed him, dismissively.
“Of course.” Bey’ron dipped his head respectfully. “Pleasant evening, Champion. Doctor.”
The three traded nods, before Bey’ron turned to depart the way he came.
‘Untrusting... that’s wise’ The Magister thought to himself. Not only was she suspicious he was there to discern what she and her precious Phoenix Guard were up to, but she sought to gain insight into Bey’ron’s agenda, as well. Was she just distrusting of Magisters? Or perhaps she was smart enough to see the hand he played in the death of their Lieutenant-General last year. Either way, she was wary of him. He knew he had to be careful not to show his cards this time - if she knew what he was doing on Draenor, she wouldn’t be so hospitable...
