#grigore

An overcast, rainy day met Florin and Svartur as the pair journeyed towards the Exodar. Titan’s heavy hooves plodded against the road, wisps of ghostly blue fire left in their wake. The deathcharger’s barding clinked and jingled as they went.

Florin sat in front, watching the procession. As they traveled, more draenei joined them from across Azuremyst, creating a solemn military parade. Magnificent elekks, decked out in full regalia, strode through the fog, towering above it like hills among mist. Armored vindicators and berobed anchorites riding talbuks swelled their ranks. Carts full of supplies pulled by elekks and talbuks trundled past. It seemed to Florin that every able-bodied person from the Isles was journeying with them.

Florin looked behind himself at Svartur. The death knight seemed unmoved, a pillar of stolid duty. Florin was still very worried about him. They had not yet found a mentalist to act as his guiding star, should his bloodlust take hold again. Florin reassured himself that Svartur was aware of the danger, and would take what measures were necessary… but he would be so far away, and in such an evil place.

The Exodar looked more otherworldly than ever, its pinkish lights blurred by mist. As they approached, the ship that had been constructed with the purpose of going to Argus came into view: The Vindicaar.

Now, so close to the capital, the champions of other races could be seen: Humans and night elves, dwarves, gnomes… The Horde races were here too, for the war to protect Azeroth affected them as well. There were trolls, tauren, and even a handful of the infamous orcs, unbeloved by the draenei race, yet present in a rare display of solidarity. Everyone was here, in every cultural appearance of war imaginable.

In the shadow of the Vindicaar, families could be seen saying goodbye to their loved ones, exchanging hugs and kisses and heartfelt farewells.

From the high vantage point of Svartur’s deathcharger, Florin scanned the crowd. He pointed, “There!”

Approaching them were four draenei, the remnant of Svartur’s Commandry while he had been alive. Vindicator Motaanos rode atop his one-tusked elekk, Calamity. His expression was as annoyed as ever, as if the Legion had caused them all a great inconvenience.

At Calamity’s side, soulpriest Grigore rode serenely on his talbuk. Next to Grigore rode Blautel and Izraid, the death knight and monk, mounted upon a tamed warg and a horse, respectively. They talked animatedly between each other, comparing rumors of the horrors in store for them on Argus.

The four draenei paused before Svartur’s deathcharger, and bowed their heads in respect as a greeting.

“All have come. Good.” Svartur looked on approvingly at his small, but loyal band. Companions since time immemorable, they would follow their Commander even after he had become a death knight.

Svartur turned to Florin. “This is where we must part.”

Florin frowned worriedly, and climbed down from Titan’s back. He had to crane his neck to look up at Svartur’s face. His brows pinched together. “Please, be careful.”

The death knight acknowledged him with a small nod.

Florin looked on as his guardian continued onward with his small Commandry, climbing the steps to board the Vindicaar. He watched as the remainder of the war procession followed, and the doors of the ship slowly slid closed.

The ship began to hum, stirring the grass beneath it as it lifted. In a brilliant clap of light and sound, the Vindicaar disappeared. Svartur’s mental presence likewise could no longer be felt in Florin’s mind.

He was gone. Florin slowly stumbled away from the spot, moving around the crowds of families. Gone…