#onona

Dark days were upon them, and the former captain wished for the silver lining...

"Gud aftah-noon, Ukle Thalo!" Taken by surprise, the Blood Elven captain froze, still holding the doorknob of the front door while standing half inside and half outside; he was not accustomed to hearing a child-like brutish voice upon returning to his home, nor was he capable of fathoming the idea of his sister having a child at all let alone one calling him Uncle. Sitting at the table upon a chair and several thick books was a small Orcish child, smiling as brightly as an Orc can smile while stealing large bites of an ice cream cone. He looked freshly bathed, bits of his black mohawk sticking to his head damply while the drier bits were already standing upward again. From the looks of how he ate the ice cream, he was going to need another bath... "Zalika!? Onóna!!" Thalo'thas shouted. "What in the nine is..." "Shi kat her yu, sire," the boy half-growled, half-sang. "Shi go huntin' fer raptahs. Fer din-din." For a long moment, the rogue continued to stand in the doorway, staring at the child in disbelief while trying to think of what to say. Thalo'thas avoided children like the plague, preferring to have a pet cat instead as at least the cat kept the ship and home free of mice; children just were too much trouble for too little reward, which may also explain why Thalo'thas never truly settled down. Suddenly, a darkened shadow crept over him, looming like a wraith over its victim before it strikes. He felt chills yet still felt a warm familiar feeling he'd almost forgotten existed. A slightly mangled hand came to rest on his shoulder, pushing him through the doorway despite the slight size of its owner - his sister was home, and he could smell the blood of her pray even though the leather sack she carried was closed. "I see you've met Granth," she intoned, pushing past him and making her way towards the kitchen. As if on queue, the Orc child dropped down out of the chair, his ice cream finished, and followed her into the kitchen. The little Orcling pulled one of the footstools over near the counter and stove, watching the shadowed Blood Elf prepare the raptor meat with spices. Much to Thalo'thas' surprise, she very quietly explained to the young Orc what she was doing, repeating herself any time the boy didn't understand her echoing voice. She even let the little boy prepare the smallest strip of raptor meat, providing very minimal help as he did so. It was a side that the rogue didn't think could exist in someone so Fel-tainted, let alone his aloof sister. When the food had finished cooking, Granth put the small piece of roasted raptor on a plate and toddled over to where Thalo'thas sat watching, holding it up to him as he said, "Here, Ukle Thalo - I make dis fer yu!" His sister gave him a faint smile that turned quickly into a smirk as she cut up a piece of the raptor steaks for the child, nodding her head slowly to assure the man that the food was alright to eat. With a slightly nervous nod, Thalo'thas took the plate from the boy before walking over to join his sister at the table. "You listened well, Granth," she echoed softly, "many that are so young do not. And guess what?" Granth swung his feet back and forth as he sat on the makeshift chair Onóna had arranged for him at the table. The little boy paused in devouring the pieces of cooked flesh to look up at Onóna, chewing his mouthful quickly before speaking. "Wha?" he asked, curiously. With a very soft smile she replied, "You already give the Horde much honour, and I know you'll be a fine asset to the Horde." "Like Cairne Bloodhoof's message said!" the boy exclaimed, clapping his hands together once before nodding. "Yes, just like Cairne told you," she grinned before taking a sip of her drink. "Even though you did hide behind my leg the whole time." Scrunching up his nose, the boy replied, "Well, he is one of the greatest warriors of the Horde!" Thalo'thas watched the exchange, still highly unnerved by the entire series of events that unfolded within the household today. He quietly ate the roasted raptor, which actually tasted just as good as when Onóna cooked it herself, wondering what had possessed her to take care of such a young child when she'd refuse to watch the young of the Thalo'dans. A short time later, after another bowl of ice cream, Onóna slowly stood up from the table and offered Granth her hand. The little boy dropped down off of the chair and books, reaching up and taking the slightly mangled flesh as if it were a holy relic - apparently battle scars impressed the boy, though it wasn't much of a surprise with the emphasis the Orcs put on combat prowess and the glory of the Horde's warriors. "Day draws to a close, and twilight is nearly upon us, Granth," she intoned softly. "The Matron will be displeased if we arrive after dark. Say goodbye to Uncle Thalo." The little Orc boy waved his free-hand frantically while smiling, practically shouting, "Gudbay Ukle Thalo! Were nice meetin' yu!" Giving her brother another faint smirk, the demon-bound woman turned and picked up her Ranseur with her free hand, leading the young Orc out through the main room and into Ratchet itself. The Blood Elf man followed, watching the two of them walk along the road out of town that would eventually lead to the Crossroads where they could take a wind rider back to Orgrammir. Even as their forms faded into shadow before fading from his view entirely, Thalo'thas remained standing against the fence, shaking his head faintly in mild confusion. "How she ever convinced the Matron to let her babysit is beyond me," he muttered, imagining the kind of reaction the older Orc woman must have had. "Can take the woman out of being a rogue, but you'll never take the rogue away from her." Shaking his head one last time, he chuckled and made his way back inside to clean up the mess in the kitchen...he was always having to clean up his sister's messes.

Rare were the moments that Thalo'thas had to do nothing more than relax upon soft cushions while reading one of the many books he had 'acquired'. With the help of the Goblins, the captain had learned to read Common and a bit of Darnassian, though he was a miserable conversationalist in either language; he often had to use the words surrounding words he did not recognize to piece together what he was reading, which never works well when speaking. Tonight's choice was the log of a human captain that commanded a small Alliance force during the First War. He found it quite interesting how the captain's daily concerns were quite similar to his own, despite the ingrained differences and hatred between the two races. It seemed that all races valued kith and kin above all else, except for maybe loot or recognition; he'd already read a number of books penned by greed riddled beings. Outside, a storm raged against the waters, causing waves to crash against Ratchet like echoes of the thunder itself. The Blood Elven captain looked from the pages of the log to the window, shivering faintly before looking to the fires within the hearth. He was quite glad to be land-bound on nights like this, for the sea was a death trap when the storms railed so. He had just settled into an intense passage of the log when the door crashed open, cold wind and rain sweeping into the entryway and main room. Towering within the doorway was a mass of brilliant Light and shadow, the figure vaguely humanoid in shape beneath the misting shadows and brightness. Clutched in its clawed hands was a Blood Tempered Ranseur, its wickedly curved blade dripping with blood and rainwater, glowing brightly with the channeled chaotic energies of its wielder. Fel-flames glowed brightly where its eyes should have been as the strange being stepped into the entryway, door slamming shut from the wind as soon as its main mass was within the room. Abruptly, the Light and shadow began to coalesce inward as the figure swayed heavily to one side, the Ranseur suddenly being struck against the ground for support as the transformation shifted from demonic to Blood Elven. Her typical leather bindings and free-flowing skirt became visible as the shadows settled, clinging to her form from the rain; the silk binding was gone from her eyes, their Fel-flames burning brighter now. For a long moment, she leaned against the Blood Knight weapon, watching her brother closely before swaying hard to the opposite side, the Fel-flames extinguishing as her eyes closed. Thalo'thas dropped the log book as he pushed off from the couch, reaching out for the falling woman that was too far away. The drenched form of his sister dropped to the floor, collapsing as the Ranseur followed with a deafening clang that forced him to cover his ears as he dropped to his knees beside her. There were a number of lacerations laced over her skin, the only breaks caused by the strange tattoos that decorated her body, and she was still bleeding quite badly; he knew she was able to heal herself, and shuddered at the thought of what her injuries may have looked like when they were made. Assured she was still breathing, he quickly gathered a number of elixirs and heavy bandages together before returning to his unmoving sister's side. While he was no trauma surgeon, Thalo'thas knew a number of first aid skills, and what he did not know would be made up for with the alchemical potions. After binding her blood-stained hair back and removing the torn skirts, the rogue began to bandage each of the wounds, causing the collapsed woman to look more like a mummified Blood Elf than the graceful fighter she was. When her wounds had been cleaned, treated and bound, Thalo'thas carefully lifted her broken form and carried her back into the room he kept for her. Once she was tucked safely beneath the soft sheets, the captain made his way back out to the main hall to clean up the mess of blood, rain and torn fabrics. Hesitant to deal with the Ranseur, he cleaned the entire entryway and room before finally looking at the remaining pool of blood, water and metal. Before even becoming a borderline 'outlaw', the Blood Elf captain had not trusted nor liked the Blood Knights - back then, they were part of the Silver Hand, and too close to the humans that seemed to leave the residents of Quel'thalas to fend for themselves quite often. Thalo'thas knew that the weapon was a status symbol, forged with strange magics and arts that would only be enhanced by the strange energies his sister surrounded it with. Wrapping his hand with a bandage, the rogue reached out to pick up the unholy polearm as he quickly wiped up the bloodied water beneath it. Despite the bandages, the blood elf felt a warm tingle within his hand, and before he had finished mopping up the mess it felt like he was holding raw flames. Grimacing in pain, he nearly ran to Onóna's room and quickly leaned the weapon against the wrack he'd fashioned for his sister's arsenal, shaking his hand several times once it was freed from the bandage. His skin was undamaged, though a bit pink from the heat, and he didn't want to know what it would have looked like if he had handled the Ranseur without the bandages. His eyes drifted to the sleeping form of his sister, and Thalo'thas struggled to remember precisely what he had seen when she'd entered. Though battered and bruised, she still looked almost as she did before her journey to the Outlands when she slept, and it was difficult for her brother to believe what he had seen. The two forms continued to turn over one another in his mind as he pulled one of the padded chairs into the bedroom, and then while he tugged off his boots to settle back in the chair to sleep. "Still," he thought as fatigue overcame him, "she did not kill me, so she is in control...I hope."

In the weeks after the return of his wayward sister, Thalo'thas slowly became accustom to sporadically finding the shadow-bound woman within his home, unexpected and unannounced. Without arousing too much suspicion, he'd built a second bed and prepared one of the spare rooms for her, giving her somewhere she could always sleep without worry of being disturbed by those who could only see what she was on the outside. Today, she was simply draped out upon his couch, on foot resting upon the arm opposite her head, the other leg dangling over the side. She was clad in wrapped strips of flame-coloured leather, her skirts acting more like blankets at the moment, though one panel was brushing against the floor beside the couch; shadows swirled lazily about her, wisps of darkness against the bright clothing and furniture. Two different pairs of goggles rested against her ornately stitched pack, her Fel-flamed eyes were covered only by the thin silk strip. Resting against her collarbones was the same enameled phoenix Bloodmourn had worn, rising and falling with her slow and shallow breaths. Faint glimmers of light passed over its metallic features, the shimmering netherwelp's snout resting against the woman's shoulder as it snored in slumber. For a moment, she looked almost like her old self, aside from the faint glimmer of the Fel-flames within her seemingly closed eyes. Outside, the twilight waters sparkled a dim blue as the night began to settle over Kalimdor. The warm breezes had twisted slowly into cooler gusts of wind that ruffled Thalo'thas' hair as he looked down at his sister. He knew that somewhere, a Blood Knight lay dead or dying - he was quite sure that the first time she obtained ranks within their Order, she had to get the same necklace from a fallen Knight. Shaking his head, the captain made his way into the room she kept, halting to stare at the array of weapons leaning against the wall nearest the bed. He spotted a pair of maces of some sort, two different types of swords, a pair of knuckles and a rickety polearm that was laughable compared to her old Ranseur, which was still missing. One of the two swords was permeated with shadow, the same misting tendrils that clung to his sister wrapped about the blade like a haunting sheath, and he knew it must be what she used the most in combat. Pulling the blanket from the foot of the bed, he sighed at the collection of arms, wondering how many foolish men had fallen for trying to kill his sister. Bloodvalor wanted her dead, and the rogue wouldn't put it past the man to send out his various adepts seeking higher rank with the order to eliminate the 'fallen' Paladin. He idly wondered if Lady Liadrin was aware of the situation, and wished he could leave the Thalo'dan long enough to speak with her about such, however he'd not have the time to wait for an audience nor to even travel there without something going wrong at home. No, he would have to persuade Onóna to venture to the Shattered Sun Offensive's headquarters, though he was unsure of whether or not she would be welcome within the walls there given her prior masters. Somehow, there must be a way to show the hunter had given up her ties to both Illidan and Sunstrider, without tipping their hand to Bloodvalor. Draping the blanket over the dreaming form of his sister, Thalo'thas did his best to cover most of her without smothering the sleeping whelp. Looking down at the glittering green beast, he wondered if the little whelpling could breath fire yet - the last thing he needed was to burn his house down. Quickly, he pulled the blanket a little bit more away from the whelp's snout, rearranging it as best he could without leaving his sister too uncovered before blowing out the candles and making his way to his own room. In the darkness, two brilliant green orbs flared once, a faint smile drifting over shadowed lips before eyes closed again, plunging the room into shadow once more.

"Brightsun? No," Kelerun Bloodmourn shook his head, "she did not give the name Brightsun this time, Thalo'thas. In fact, she gave the name Onóna instead of Zalika as well." The two Blood Elves stood outside an ornate ceremonial gazebo, the wind rustling their bright silk strands of hair, though most of Thalo'thas' was restrained by the tail he had pulled it into. Lifting the shimmering sword to point into the gazebo, Bloodmourn continued his explinations. "She walked through there, disabling the four Champions that were waiting for another initiation," Kelerun continued, lowering the blade. "They were given orders to destroy any who'd followed Kael'thas, and the last time anyone had seen her, this Onóna had been a Paladin of the Light like the rest of us." Nodding, the captain watched the four Champions mill about the other side of the gazebo, playing a scene out before his mind's eye took little imagination after watching his sister fighting the vile human dogs along the beach. He was quite sure that she swiftly and efficiently dispatched the four while leaving them capable of continuing their duties after healing and treatments. The whirling ghost wielding a charged blade danced as he listened to the account, shadows shifting to follow its form through the deadly motions. "She walked over to me once her former classmen lay on the ground, the Fel-flames so bright I feared they would explode within her skull," Kelerun said quietly, "and she asked me who had taken it, who had stolen her Insignia from you." The rogue startled, having not known that anything had been taken from his home, at least nothing of his sister's. Frowning, the captain raised an eyebrow at Bloodmourn, a faint growl forming in the back of his throat. "You mean to tell me one of your brats violated private property?" Thalo'thas glowered. Raising a plated shoulder, the Blood Knight nodded to him, sighing, "Thalo, I shouldn't even be informing you of it, but sometimes traditional silence must be laid aside. You claim you can prove Onóna is unchanged mentally, and any support for her within the Order is needed or they might just kill her outright." "Everything my sister has done has been for the damn Order and the Sin'dorei!" Thalo'thas hissed, glaring at the other Blood Elf. The knight lifted his hand, as if to backhand the enraged rogue, only to hold it defensively between them as he spit out, "I trained your damned sister, Thalo! I as much as anyone wish to keep Bloodvalor from having her eliminated! She is the first of mine to fall, and I will bring her back if she is truly unchanged." For a long moment, the two men glared at each other, the sunlight bathing them in a warmth that only kept their blood-rage simmering as their conversation continued. Thalo'thas' hand rested on the hilt of his sword while Bloodmourn kept his cold-flamed blade between them. "She knew Bloodvalor would never tell her anything, and she was intending to retrieve her Ranseur and an Insignia," Kelerun continued, motioning to the black and red enameled phoenix charm at his neck. "She wanted to know who had taken it, so that she could take theirs, and where her weapon was. After hours of arguing, I began to realise that her...transformation had done little to change her, but I need proof for Bloodvalor." Thalo'thas frowned, shaking his head, "I've a pile of dead humans and a few Theramoor artifacts to prove her dedication, Kelerun, and a number of demon hides as well." Bloodmourn nodded, frowning deeply, "Thalo, do you have any idea why she called herself 'Onóna Darksun'? Was she married while in the Outlands? Did they change her name when they defiled her soul?" Startling slightly at the name, the captain shook his head rapidly. He'd never heard the name Darksun, surname or first name, until Bloodmourn had spoken it, however recalling the earlier encounter with his sister, the name almost made sense to him. Despite the aura of shadows that swathed her, she glowed brightly with the Light whenever she became that...thing... "No, I - I think I know what she meant by it," he replied, running a hand through the hair that fell into his face, "like you, I thought it may have just been part of their rituals." The hair on the back of the Blood Knight's neck stood on end at how casually the rogue before him spoke of the exiled Demon Hunters, but quickly dismissed the emotion as an extension of devotion to his family. None of his pupils had fallen in any manner, all but Onóna and her betrothed had returned from the Outlands when Kael'thas betrayed the Sin'dorei or long before, and Bloodmourn refused to believe that he'd not see rot within one of his own. Somewhere, beneath the shadows of the demon, he prayed that the Paladin remained. "Bring me documentation of her deeds, Thalo," he softly said, finally lowering his sword. "I'll help you save your sister's soul."

Eggs. Though drifting somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, Thalo'thas was quite sure he smelled the scent of eggs being cooked with some sort of meat. His eyes fluttered open, and he stared at the ceiling for some time while he tried to place the scent before realising that it was within the walls of his own shore-side home. Astounded, the Blood Elven captain quickly darted out of bed and to the door of his room before it occurred to him that he might need more protection than his nightshirt; dressing haphazardly, the rogue finally slipped out of his bedroom and made his way into the shadows and then downstairs. Circling around the main hall, he made his way towards the kitchen, unsure of who would have dared entered the building without first arranging to - while the Thalo'dan Privateers were a bunch of raucous sailors, they gave their commanders a certain level of respect. As captain, he was not above giving one of his subordinates a sound thrashing or a good cut or two for less than trespassing upon a higher-ranking member's holdings. He did not find any wayward crewmen in his kitchen, nor the mess hall cook experimenting again. What he did find gave him pause, and as he stood up to full height, the shadows that veiled him fell and drifted along the floor towards the woman standing before the stove and goblin icebox before pooling beneath her leather-clad feet. "...you can cook?" Thalo'Thas asked, bewildered. The woman turned to look at him, shrugging a bare shoulder. In contrast to their previous meeting, her flame-coloured mail was replaced by a few bits of tightly bound leather strips and a multi-paneled skirt that danced about her sigil-covered legs as she moved about the kitchen. Her hair was pulled up into a tail at the crown of her head, and her goggles lay upon the table atop the thin strip of silk she typically wore over her eyes. Two Fel-flame filled voids looked back at him, unblinking in their perfect and empty eye sockets. "Many refuse to serve us," she said simply, mixing the eggs in the frying pan a bit more before folding them around some meaty bits. "It was either cook what I killed or starve - especially after Kael'thas' betrayal." Shaking his head, the captain lowered himself into one of the chairs placed at the table, green eyes watching his sister work effortlessly despite her lack of conventional sight. It occurred to him then that he had no idea how she saw at all, and a chill creeped along the back of his neck and spine as he watched her make three more omelettes and pair of freshly-squeezed melon juices. Despite his earlier assurances to himself and to his sister...Thalos'thas felt a genuine fear of what she had become. Before he could formulate any more thought on the matter, a leather-bound scarred hand placed a plate of three omelets before him while the unmarred hand placed a glass of melon juice next to it. Within a second or two, a matching plate and glass were placed across the table beside the discarded silk and goggles as his sister sat down. Dumbly, Thalo'thas murmured, "I see." The pair ate in silence for several minutes. While it was quickly clear that the woman was quite used to complete silence, though when her whelpling sqwarked she reflexively murmured to it before tossing a bit of the omelet down under the table. Her brother, on the other hand, was quite awkward and shifted nervously in his chair while he ate, trying to think of a topic to discuss. She broke the silence for him, though he wasn't sure if she realised his discomfort. "One does not need eyes to see, brother," she echoed, the sound of her voice raising the hairs on the back of his neck. "I merely just do not see as you do any longer." Taking her words as an open invitation, Thalos'thas quietly asked, "...how exactly do you see, Ona? I mean, I've heard stories, but I want to know the truth of it." She remained silent for a long time, her eyelids moving in such a fashion as if to suggest looking him over. It was both terrifying and oddly fascinating all in the same moment, and her brother found himself studying the face that was once so familiar. Finally, she sighed and began making a motion as if to outline his form. "It's been some time since you sated your need for energies, Thalo," she whispered, "and even longer since you've sapped the essence of demons. I see you as the form I remember, except you are made up of different shades of light...so dim right now." Thalos'thas watched his sister intently, and slowly began to see the slight shifting of the Fel-flames as his sister's "eyes" looked about him and the room surrounding them. Though they did not move in the same fashion that his own did, the orbs twisted and danced differently as they looked out upon the world. It was almost hypnotic to watch, and he soon realised that she was staring directly back into his eyes as if waiting for him to regain his senses. "And the rest of the world?" he finally managed to ask. "Dark shadow, as if the Twisting Nether were about me constantly yet lacking the comforting dull light that permeates it," she replied. "I live in an unending shadow, punctuated by the light of others and the burning flames of the Legion's servants. With a glance, I could tell you who in Silvermoon has given themselves over to the Burning Crusades and who merely devoured a demon's energies." She ended the statement by lifting her glass and drinking, leaving Thalo'thas to question the integrity of those within the walls of Silvermoon City even more. He was largely on the fringe of Blood Elven society due to his career choices, but it never occurred to him that there may be followers of Kael'thas and the demon master whom he captured the Sunwell Plateau for. Perhaps he should finally move the last of his holdings there to Ratchet's safer shores... His head lifted sharply as another realisation dawned on him, and he stared carefully at his sister before finding the words he was seeking. Unsure of her reaction to what he was about to ask, he steeled himself for a violent reaction as he waited till her attention was focused on the world again. "And what of that boy," he began. The shadows within the room seemed to rush his sister, twisting about her flesh and clothing as she stood and slammed her fists down on either side of her plate. The tie binding back her hair snapped as the shadows reached it, the platinum silk strands merging with the shadows to float about her shoulders as she glared at Thalos'thas. "You will not speak that name to me," she roared, her voice resounding through the entire room as it echoed upon itself. "He betrayed the Sin'dorei and deserves death at the side of his masters like the rest of the Dawnblade heathens!" Her burning eyes flared brightly as she stared down at her brother, brilliant flames dancing across her shadowed hands. Without another word, she snatched up her strip of silken cloth and goggles, knocking over the chair as she rushed for the doorway and the open air of the sea. For a long moment after her departure, Thalo'thas remained cowering in his chair, struck dumb by her reaction to his unfinished question. An echoing scream made him cringe, and he released that whatever she was now, she at least still had the sense to turn her fury on those more deserving of death than her own brother. Slowly, the captain took another bite of his omelet and washed it down with a long draw of juice before muttering into the empty air. "Well, at least we need not worry about those human seadogs for some time..."

The salty air of the Great Sea drifted lazily over the port of Ratchet, causing the foreigners to wrinkle their noses while the sea dogs and Goblin tradesmen seemed to breath in the air deeply, revitalized by its scent. Standing on an overlook, Captain Thalo'thas Brightsun watched the coming and going of adventurer and tradesman alike, contemplating his current situations. With several of his men captured by the Seadog Buccaneers, a few of his ships were in dire need of repair after the Theramoor who were not under Jaina Proudmoor's banner had attacked them, and his sister had returned from the Outlands a monster instead of the Paladin she had once been. Despite his misgivings about his sister's new form and abilities, Thalo’thas realised that she spoke the truth when she claimed that her personality and loyalties remained unaltered - upon her return, she had immediately taken up arms against several of the Scourge left within the Ghostlands, lying to waste the better part of Deatholme. Shortly after, she reclaimed several of her prior Blood Knight trappings, defending the Blood Knights' cause against several of the new Horde allies. "I believe this one belongs to you, Brother," an unearthly voice echoed from behind him. "Firebough was in quite the precarious position when I found him." As the Blood Elf 'privateer' turned, a petite woman glittering with Fel energies threw something at his feet. Bending down, Thalo'thas grasped the cords of several Theramoor medallions, each stained with the blood of humans she had killed to claim them. Among them were an ornate leadership medal and two high-ranking cannoneer medals as well as a single priests' emblem. "Captain," Gilthares Firebough intoned with respect, saluting the higher ranking Thalo'dan Privateer. "This...woman and her companion rescued me from the hold." Firebough's disgust was quite apparent, though the woman clad in the flame-coloured Battleforge armour and black leather boots seemed apathetic to the man's disgust, the blazing green lenses of her engineer's goggles looking towards her brother without even a glance to the fairly ignorant seaman. Thalo'thas dismissed his crewman, motioning towards the tavern where the man could recover with a good measure of alcohol. Turning back to his sister, he quietly said, "Thank you, Zalika." "I am Onóna, and I look after my own, Brightsun," she replied, "even if they cannot see what I have done to protect them from the Burning Legion." Her words startled Thalo'thas - when she had decided to become a Silver Hand Knight, she had been forced to denounce her connections with the Thalo'dan Privateers due to how close to being criminals many of them were considered. Despite having been born and raised as one of them, she believed that there was more to protect them from aside from the Theramoor raiders and sea monsters and that the Knights of the Silver Hand's crusade against evil and the Burning Legion was the true way to save them all. "I saw you fighting within the walls of Silvermoon, against the Scourge as they moved towards the Sunwell," he said, shaking his head, "you became a demon, yet returned when you heard we were in dire straights - you needn't continue proving your loyalty to me." The tall Blood Mage behind her glowered at Thalo'thas before hissing, "We needn't prove ourselves to an outlaw, Brightsun." Without a word, the demonic woman raised a hand to silence her companion, shadows swirling aimlessly over the bright armour she wore. While she had given in to the Blood Knights and wore more mail and plate, her armour was still as thin and bore quite a bit of her flesh, the thin hard muscles visible beneath the scars and arcane sigils. The shadows did little to hide the blessings born of the Light, though they'd twisted them with their Fel-taint. Ignoring the mage, Thalo'thas nodded to his sister, "You are welcome to use what little holdings I have, Zalika, ship or shore based. Whatever name you wear, you are still my little sister." Nodding, the strange being turned from him, shouldering the mage as she walked past him and back down the road leading through the Seadog camps to Dustwallow Marsh. Snickering at the Blood Elven captain, the man turned to follow, walking quickly to catch up to his companion. His sister's sparkling netherwhelp swirled once around Thalo'thas before fluttering off to trail behind the two vanishing Sin'dorei. Sighing, the captain turned back to look over the sea, a faint smile passing over his lips before vanishing as his green eyes looked out over the sparkling waters.