#raynell

Ruthar nodded, planting a hand on Kelnim’s shoulder. “We’ve all got our place in all of this. Perhaps recruitment and trainee assessment are your next steps. In any case, that will be all this evening, Kelnim. Thank you for your assistance with Tannis and with the potential intruder. Get some rest.”

Kelnim snapped a salute that Ruthar returned, watching the younger Farstrider depart. Ruthar walked outside near the fire where he conversed with Syrielle and Gattius not a few hours earlier. It had been an unexpectedly eventful day catching up with the Starfrosts and then coming upon Raynell A’laria in the woods beyond the Retreat. While it was great to see his comrades once again after so long, Ruthar felt the guilt set in once more as he thought more about them and their struggles. He leaned upon a post next to the fire, looking out into the twilight-touched Eversong as his mind wandered.

Raynell had been a part of the Dragonscale Expedition, a unit that he himself had worked for. Should he not have widened his eyes and fostered a relationship there? She mentioned difficulties in the Fourth War and even hinted at work beyond the veil. Could he have been present to assist with whatever difficulties she may have faced? And then there were the Starfrosts, Syrielle working her way into the upper reaches of the Magistry while Gattius had started a clinic of his own. As owners of a beautiful manor and parents of a fine and promising young boy, Ruthar couldn’t help but think of how he could have helped. Perhaps they didn’t need anything, truly, but who doesn’t need a friend every once in a while. These were more than just his comrades in the Phoenix Guard - these were his friends, the closest people he really had outside of his fellow soldiers. Certainly they deserved more from him than the nothingness he provided over the past six or seven years.

As Ruthar looks into the darkening woods, his vision is replaced with a memory. Gentle winds toss his silver-white hair as the golds and yellows of Quel’Danas radiate all around him as he stands before his comrades of the Phoenix Guard.

Ruthar smiles, tapping a small pouch upon his hip. "Quel'Thalas is proud, indeed. We all are - Commander Dawnblade, myself, Captain and Lieutenant Starfrost. Your extensive work has paved the way for a brighter tomorrow." He waves a hand around and looks to the warm foliage surrounding the spire. "Just as this Isle before us, Azeroth is once again defended at the hands of you all."

Syrielle reaches over to take Gattius' hand, smiling happily at everyone present. Ruthar looks to Aquilon "Will" Blackmarrow, one of the Phoenix Guard’s reservists. "Doctor," he says firmly. "Front and center, if you will."

Blackmarrow moves in front of Ruthar and snaps to attention. Ruthar looks the Death Knight up and down. "The kingdom of Quel'Thalas recognizes your service, Doctor," Ruthar begins, his felfire eyes dancing in the sunlight. "As a Reservist of the Phoenix Guard and a key component to our continued victories both home and abroad, I present you with this."

Ruthar reaches into the pouch at his side to produce a glinting golden piece affixed to a dazzling red and gold ribbon. "The Commendation of Quel'Thalas is not an adornment to be taken lightly. Wear it well, Doctor." He offers the commendation in both hands. The members of the Guard present cheer and celebrate the Doctor’s accolade as Blackmarrow quietly accepts the award, staring at it with an inscrutable look in his eyes. "Thank you, sir."

Ruthar places his hand upon his chest to bow a soft salute. "Congratulations, Reservist. You do us all proud." He turns to Syrielle. "Lieutenant," he says softly, gesturing before him. "If you will."

Gattius speaks lowly. "--Ooooh... you're in trooooouble!" Syrielle elbows Gattius in the side, mumbling the word 'Dork' under her breath before making her way to stand in front of Ruthar.

Ruthar looks proudly upon Syrielle. "Lieutenant Starfrost," he begins. "To say that your life has been eventful is a particularly striking understatement. From your promotion into Phoenix Guard's leadership all the way to the birth of your young one, you have taken every task and challenge thrown your way and met them with relentless vigor. For this marked perseverance, it is my honour to present you the Commendation of Quel'Thalas."

The Guard once again roars in celebration as the very winds of Quel’Danas seem to reply in kind. Syrielle smiles at Ruthar's words, nodding her head as she accepts the medal. "Thank you, Lieutenant Commander."

Ruthar bows his head respectfully. "Wear it well, Lieutenant." He glances around. "Doctor Sunfall, please." Kalithos Sunfall shifts forward. “Yes, sir?”

Ruthar smiles. "The task of healing this unit is a task I will never, ever envy. It is the work of sin'dorei such as yourself that ensures that there will be a tomorrow for so many." Ruthar looks around. "There is not a person in this room that has left the battlefield unscathed, and we all owe you a great debt. For that, Shield Sunfall, I present your Commendation."

Kalithos blushes and offers his thanks as his comrades of the Guard celebrate his achievement. “Thank you,sir!” Ruthar shakes his head. "Thank -you-, Sunfall. Wear it well." He smiles. "And speaking of Sunfall..." Ruthar gestures to Kalithos’s husband, Rethandral, and speads when he steps forward. "To say that things have been difficult for you recently would be, dare I say, an underestimation. But you owned up to your mistakes and made a concerted effort to move forward, learning from your experiences and crafting a new path forward." Ruthar smiles warmly as he looks upon Rethandral. "It is this quality of perseverance of personal growth that I truly admire, along with your tried and true abilities at the front lines of every engagement. Rethandral Sunfall, I am proud to offer you the Commendation of Quel'Thalas."

Ruthar salutes Rethandral as the Guard applauds once more. "Wear it well, Sunfall." He looks along the line again. "Doctor Dawncaster, please." Voka Dawncaster tries to walk as tall as he can, but he's strained, and it shows. He still hasn't fully acclimated to his robot leg. Ruthar looks at Voka for a long moment. "It lifts my spirit to see you standing before us, Spellweaver. You have given so much to your kingdom, to us all, and no amount of metallic adornment can truly repay you."

Voka rests his weight on the cane again, trying to be as respectful as he could manage. No standing at attention for this boy. "I would gladly give it again for our people."

Ruthar looks at Voka with pride. "In the coming weeks, I want you to work with the very best resources available to us on the Isle. I will make whatever arrangements that are necessary, but we will do everything we can to ensure your return to your former self." Ruthar stands straighter. "Spellweaver Dawncaster, for your amazing service to Quel'Thalas and a very promising future with the Phoenix Guard, I proudly present your Commendation." He offers the medal with both hands.

Voka accepts the commendation with one hand as the unit celebrates the achievement. "I shall strive to continue keeping everyone together."

Ruthar nods as Voka returns to the others. He searches the line for a familiar face, one who he served with for an extended period. "Ah, yes. Li-Mei, please step forward." Rositsa blinked but slowly stepped forward before halting in front of Ruthar.

Ruthar clears his throat, looking intently upon Rositsa. "One thousand, six hundred and seventy days." Ruthar counts upon his fingers as he speaks. "Four years, six months, and 27 days, if you include today as well." Ruthar looks around. "That, my friends, is how long Rositsa Li-Mei has been in service with the Phoenix Guard. Four and a half years is a true feat, Li-Mei, and it's truly hard to believe that it has been that long. You have truly become an integral part of this establishment and have learned so much from when we first met."

Rositsa flicked one ear forward and the other back, silently trying and failing to calucate Ruthar's math before offering a happy smile to Ina'thia, "I'm honored to serve under under all of you."

Ruthar clears his throat. "The pleasure is assuredly ours. For your outstanding service to both the Phoenix Guard and Azeroth herself, I present you the Commendation of Quel'Thalas." He offers the medal once more.

Rositsa gingerly took the medal before taking a small step back and dipping into a gracious bow, "Thank you, sir, I'm honored. I will do my best to make the Phoenix Guard and Quel'thalas proud."

Ruthar salutes Rosi proudly as the applause thunders once again. "You have already done that and more, Li-Mei. Wear it proudly." Rositsa smiled happily and quietly stepped back in line before pinning the medal to her tabard.

Ruthar taps the bag at his hip. "Not to worry - only a few more!" He looks to his left. "Captain, if you will.” Gattius falls in, front and center while Ruthar looks upon him. "The mantle of leadership is not one I ever truly wanted in my youth, to be quite honest. It takes a level head, firm ideals, and true selflessness, not to mention the tactical necessities." Ruthar clears his throat. "However, I am very, very glad to say that Captain Starfrost is all of those things and more. He has led our own to the gates of hell and back, time and time again, with poise and clarity every step of the way." Ruthar smiles. "For your continued efforts as an effective leader, an expert Blood Knight, and a master of fatherhood, I present you the Commendation of Quel'Thalas."

Gattius grins. "Well, I had a pair of excellent mentors... thank you, Lieutenant-Commander. Commander." He nods to them both as he accepts the Commendation.

Ruthar returns the salute fully. "Wear it well, Starfrost. You do us all proud." He glances to his right. "That only leaves one more," he says with a smile. "Commander Dawnblade, if you would please step forth." Ina’thia raises a brow at Ruthar, and steps around in front of him.

Ruthar looks proudly upon Ina'thia, felfire eyes aglow. "Commander Dawnblade. From the wilds of Pandaria, to the timeless shores of Draenor. Through the depths of the churning Maelstrom into the seat of the Legion itself. We have all gloriously followed in your very footsteps to every corner of our world and others, all in the name of Quel'Thalas. It is due to your expert guidance and keen leadership that the Phoenix Guard finds itself at the hands of victory."

Ruthar smiles. "Time and time again, we fight down terrors that rain upon our shores and beyond, defend all that we hold dear each and every day of our lives." His voice raises with pride and Ruthar stands tall. "Your years of service and dedication go far beyond that which can be said by the gift of this medal, and we are all humbly grateful for what you have done and accomplished. It is with the greatest amount of pride that I can muster that I present to you, Commander Dawnblade, the Commendation of Quel'Thalas." He holds the medal in two hands, offering it to Ina'thia.

The Phoenix Guard erupts in applause as the every-stalwart Ina’thia is pushed to the precipice of emotion. She fights back tears with her legendary resolve. She accepts the medal, pins it to her tabard, and offers Ruthar a crisp salute.

Ruthar bows fully, the soft glint of prideful tears in his eyes. He returns her salute proudly and takes a step back to gift Ina'thia the floor.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Commander. It is an honor to serve Quel'Thalas with its finest soldiers. Blood Knights, Farstriders, Magisters, Medics... Phoenix Guard's greatness is not by my design, and I don't deserve all of the credit. We all deserve the credit. We give all that we can give; regularly putting ourselves in harm's way, for the good and the glory of our people. Thank you, everyone, for all that you have done and continue to do for the Phoenix Guard. For Quel'Thalas!” Inathia stands at attention and salutes.

Ruthar hoists a proud fist into the air. "For Quel'Thalas!" The salute is echoed by the present members at the ceremony, the sunlight of Quel’Danas fading, replaced by the current twilight in the Eversong Woods.

Ruthar finds his fist closed as he looks down to the fire, the memory feeling so very real as it came over him once more. The pride he felt in that moment on Quel’Danas was one of the highlights of his career. These were not just the best soldiers in Quel’Thalas - these were his best and closest friends, his family. He had the privilege to lead them, to walk with them in defense of all they held dear, to celebrate and mourn with them, to lift everyone up and celebrate them. When he was ripped through the Dark Portal to Draenor and left to die, it was the Phoenix Guard that rescued him. They risked everything for him time and time again, and how did he repay them for the last six years?

“I failed them.”

The reality of his failure had not felt as real as it did this evening. Ina’thia, his Commander, his closest confidant, had departed with no word. Relationships with Gattius and Bey’ron caused a great rift between his former Commander and his former Captain, instances that he knew nothing about. Would that rift have happened if he gave them the attention they deserved? Could he have helped to assuage the bitterness?

Then there was Rositsa Li-Mei. Ruthar sighed as he looked into the fire, thinking hard about the Farstrider. She had so dutifully served the Phoenix Guard for an extended period. Ruthar himself had offered her training and promoted her within the Farstriders for her excellent marksmanship and tracking abilities. Defected. That’s the word that continued to haunt him deeply, the word Magister Everblaze had used. He still couldn’t truly believe it, but then she confirmed it herself when Bey’ron brought Rositsa to the Starfrost manor. Would her fall from grace have taken place if Ruthar would have extended his hand? If he were the leader she needed, perhaps she would have never found herself needing to escape, needing to toss off the mantle of responsibility that Ruthar himself had blanketed her with.

He reached into a pouch at his waist to produce a glowing red gem, the arcane communicator that the Phoenix Guard used to use. He let it sit there in his palm, the firelight dancing upon the inactive deep red stone as his mind could still hear the voices that would come through it. He closed his palm around the stone, taking a deep breath as he closed his eyes.

“You have a chance to make things right,” he said to himself. He slipped the stone back into his pouch before heading into the Retreat to put his recognizable Farstrider armour back on. He shifted outside where his white hawkstrider Arturian awaited, urging the beast toward the pavilion that the Phoenix Guard once used as its headquarters.

“Time to be the leader that you should have always been.”

And yea, though I walk through the valley in the shadow of Death, I shall fear no evil, for you are at my side...

They rode through howling, ice-driven winds, cloaked in black furs to shield themselves from the harshness of Northrend. Hooves trampled over scarred earth, three black warhorses galloping through rot and ruin, brittle bone cracking beneath their hooves. They rode deep into the very seat of death, undeterred by the towering spires of Saronite built walls, the long abandoned necropoli looming in the distance, and the shattered machines of war strewn about, along with the bodies that once manned them, many of which still drew upon life through unlife as they shambled aimlessly, shackled by the dark powers that sat high above the scarred glacier, upon the citadel itself. What little light cast down upon Icecrown had to contend with the oppressive dark clouds that had long lingered even after the fall of Arthas, for light had long abandoned this place.

“We’re close,” said one of the figures in a firm, feminine tone. “We’ve but a mile or so to go.”

“How can you tell, Lady Raynell?” chimed another woman, gazing ahead with her bright blue eyes, head cloaked well beneath the warmth of her furs against the oppressive winds.

“It has been over a decade, I believe...but I still recognize the markings, the tattered banners.”

“You’ve a keen eye, adept, even if I question the keenness of your motive...” spoke the third, a deep, weathered masculine voice that cut through the howling gale. “Steady yourself, Ravaina. If she says we are close, then we must trust her instinct.”

“Yes, father.” The other woman tucked low on her warhorse, riding to keep pace with the other two. They fell quiet once more, only the thunder of hooves and the howl of frostbitten gales carrying around them until they rounded a clearing, circling their warhorses around a desolate patch of snow before each came to a halt. They each dismounted, heavy plated boots crunching beneath the earth as Raynell drew back her cloak. She brushed a hand through her freshly cut blonde hair, the once obscuring bangs of her original cut now shaved along the sides, leaving the top cut and styled. She gazed about, her once golden eyes now revealing the wear of wars past as the once enchanted false right eye had now faded, leaving a pale grey sphere that only had traces of the magic it once held. Kneeling before the snowy patch, she brushed aside the dirtied snow and dug her hands into the dark soil, her hand emerging with a pair of golden signet rings. She gazed upon them, her throat tightening and her brows furrowed, drawing a deep sigh. 

“This is it. This is where I left them all those years ago.”

As the other two figures made their way to Raynell, the tallest among them drew back his hood, sporting golden eyes of his own that shone bright in contrast to his dark skin. He had not a hair upon his head, clean shaven across every inch of his scalp, yet sported a thin, dark beard across his chin and a moustache to match just above his lips. His ears were shorter than those of the other two, and scarred along the tops, and as he approached Raynell, his eyes fell upon the rings as well, his own expression darkening in sorrow.

“Fiyeran, Aliana...my friends. I am so sorry, Raynell.”

“They were lost to me, Ozmin, long before the final blows here in Icecrown,” she murmured, clasping her hands around the rings before placing them into a pouch on her belt, “but even the curse of the San’layn could not cloud their last look upon their daughter, nor the love they harbored before dying.” 

“So this is why you chose this place, then?”

Raynell rose silently to her feet, leaving his inquiry unanswered as she looked back to the last of the three figures, a woman a few inches taller than Raynell, gathering a large sack from the back of her warhorse and setting it upon the earth below. “Is everything accounted for, Ravaina?”

“Yes, Lady Raynell,” she called out, opening the sack and beginning to rummage through the contents. The first to be removed was a rolled up carpet made of fine red and gold silks. Ravaina quietly cursed under her breath about the dirt ruining the silks, but dwelled no further on it as she continued to gather other items; from the sack, she produced a box of enchanted candles, a couple vials of bright golden liquid, a brass brazier accompanied by a tightly packed and bound pile of firewood, and a long sword, sheathed and wrapped in burlap cloth. Both Raynell and Ozmin approach the assorted items as Ravaina drew back her own cloak, long flowing black hair spilling across her shoulders, and part of it even tied high above her head in the ever popular ‘thalassian chonmage’ style. Unlike the other two, her eyes shone a light crystal blue, and as she took the sword in hand, she knelt and offered it to her father, Ozmin, raising it up and bowing her head. 

“Shorel’belore-Zaram, Blade of the Sunspeaker...of your once student, Diliandra Sunspeaker.”

Ozmin looked upon the wrapped blade, hit with another pang of sorrow as he took it upon his clawed, gilded gauntlets, unfurling the burlap wrap to reveal a simple scabbard and an unremarkable hilt. As he drew the blade, however, the steel seemed to hum brightly through the howling gale, gleaming silver cutting through the darkness around it. His eyes examined the golden glowing script engraved in the blade, etched in the days of the Highborne.

“Diliandra was among the first class of knights brought up through the Order. To think she held such power in her lineage...” 

His gaze paused on a break in the script, his eyebrows perked in surprise. “The blade is scarred. How did this come to be?”

Raynell looked to Ozmin, rubbing the back of her head. “It was...shattered in battle during the campaign against N’zoth. Both it and her sister blade, Shela’Luneth, clashed in Uldum, splitting both blades in twain.”

“Clashed? Shattered!?” He frowned, sheathing the blade. “How could you let an artifact of such import be shattered!?” 

She cleared her throat. “I underestimated both blade and opponent, I suppose, but that is neither here nor there. Thistlebreeze was able to repair both blades after the campaign’s conclusion. Honestly, a story for another time...”

Ozmin sighed and shook his head. “You’ve much to explain after this, adept...but aye. For now, the ritual must be prepared. Ravaina, lend me a hand...”

The other woman nodded, joining her father as she took up the rolled silken carpet, laying it across the scarred earth. Ozmin set the candles around the carpet in a wide circle, then set the brass brazier in front of it, carefully untying the bound rope that kept the firewood packed together. Through the thick wood at the base, he stuck the unsheathed Shorel’Belore, then lit the wood around it with a flicker of holy flame. The wood flared alight, though remained unscarred by the magic. Warmth permeated the unforgiving cold around them, and in the relative darkness, light prevailed, the candles aglow as the resonating magics lit them in succession. Raynell watched the ritual with a sense of awe. Normally, the ritual of communing would be held back home, among the relative peace of Quel’thalas. In the dire lands of Northrend, it looked all the more impressive.

“Step forward, Adept Raynell, and kneel, for when you rise at the end of this ritual, you rise a knight once more.”

A knight once more. The words stung a little for the Sin’dorei. She was a knight, once, but the burden of Teldrassil’s fall, the swaths of death left in the Banshee Queen’s wake, and the misdirection of the Horde’s war effort, pushed her to make the difficult decision to step down, to abandon the Order, in order to find herself and her purpose. The journey, as it turned out, had a roundabout conclusion among the shattered landscape of Icecrown, now on the cusp of returning to the Blood Knights as an act of contrition. 

She stepped forth, kneeling atop the silken carpet as she cast aside her fur cloak, clad in simple Thalassian half-plate. Ozmin towered over her opposite the roaring brazier, casting aside his cloak to reveal resplendent plated regalia, his armor resembling a grand robe, and his shoulderguards bearing glowing medallions that floated above the mantle, each one emblazoned with the symbol of the rising phoenix. He looked to Ravaina, clad in black armor as she cast aside her own cloak, the vials of golden liquid held in each hand, and nodded.

“Bring forth the blessed waters of the Sunwell. It is here, in the shadow of death, that we shall stand in the Light of the Eternal Sun, in defiance of death itself.”

Ravaina nodded, stepping forth to hand one vial to each person. As she did so, she turned her head to her surroundings, feeling a chill run through her spine. A small host of shambling skeletons and ghouls passed their roaring flame several feet away. Some even looked upon the display with cold, blue eyes, before their dead-eyed gazes were drawn back to the looming spire of the citadel in the far distance. She reached back for her lance, grasping it tentatively as if ready to strike before her father spoke once more. 

“Pay no heed to them. They remain shackled to the crown’s will, and shall do us no harm.”

Ravaina gulped, but relented, releasing her lance and standing by. Ozmin then cast his gaze upon Raynell, opening the vial. Raynell, in turn, opened her vial and nodded. 

“These blessed waters were drawn by your own hand, Raynell. Did you go about the proper measures to filter and infuse them for your Trial of Light’s Vision?”

“I have,” she answered.

“Good,” he curtly responded. “Let us drink.”

Both Ozmin and Raynell drank from their vials as Ravaina stood by, lance drawn this time, but planted in the ground astride of her as she held the shaft, her other arm positioned in parade rest behind her. She glanced sidelong at the shambling audience of undead. Not a moment before, the deep canyon running through Icecrown was quiet. Now it stirred, and its denizens shuffling with gazes cast toward Icecrown. It unsettled her, the grip on her lance tightening as the ritual continued unabated, both participants setting aside emptied vials. Ozmin’s eyes glowed brilliantly as he reached for a large tome latched to his belt, unclasping the gilded, leatherbound cover and quietly turning the enchanted pages.

“Excellent. I feel our spirits in ascent. Now is the time, Raynell. Reach through the flame and take hold of the blade, so that we may explore the past, conquer its challenges, and carve forth a path to the future.”

Raynell nodded, her own eyes glowing brilliantly. Even the faded false eye shimmered alight, completing the woman’s gaze. She rose up on one knee as she reached through the golden flames rising from the brazier. Though it burned hot, she felt no searing pain, her flesh unmarred by the billowing holy fires. Her fingers lingered for a moment on the hilt of Shorel’Belore, gazing upon the sword with a sense of awestruck sorrow. This was her mentor’s blade before her passing, and though it was passed down to her, she never felt fully worthy of its power...nor of its burden, which weighed heavily both on her and on Diliandra before her. She took a deep breath, gathering her resolve, and she grasped the blade in one hand...then the other, locking herself in a sort of prayer kneel before the fires of the brazier, her eyes drifting closed as the light faded into darkness around her vision. 

Satisfied, Ozmin drew a hand forth over Raynell’s head, closing his eyes as holy power teemed from his brilliant regalia, shining forth upon his adept as the two began their trial...

“Focus, Raynell, on my voice, as your spirit is drawn through the trial ahead of you. Focus on maintaining your will throughout, never letting it waver or break from the path ahead. Focus, Raynell...focus...”

Focus.

Focus!

----------------------------

“Focus, Raynell!”

Raynell gasped with a start, her vision clearing to the Farstrider’s Square in Silvermoon City. She stood in the center of the square, a training blade and shield in hand, the high ivory towers of her home casting shadows in the mid-afternoon sun over the red cobblestone. Before her, a host of her fellow knights stood, training weapons at the ready to strike out at her. The voice that called her to focus was that of a stern woman’s, and as she looked toward the voice, she saw the imposing stature of her former mentor, clad in resplendent gold, black, and red armor, and bearing the tabard of the Blood Knights. 

“Stay focused, Raynell, and do not strike out too quickly, nor too late. Maintain your timing, and keep your shield level. They will come to you...”

She nodded, setting her feet under her. I remember this, from the days leading up to my knighthood...

As do I, Raynell. Diliandra was growing into her role as a true Master of the Order, and you were her pride, even if she boasted more talented students.

Raynell heard the words of Ozmin echo in her head and smirked. She twirled her blade, shifting her stance to keep her opponents in her line of sight as they circled. With a shout, one of them charged forth, and two more followed him. Raynell felt time slow around her briefly as they struck forth, and to Ozmin’s backhanded compliment, she responded.

Then let me show you how talented I truly am.

The first strike slipped across her parrying blade, using the attacker’s momentum against him as she struck high across his throat, knocking the wind out of him and onto his knees. The next strike bore against her shield, and she charged into the assailant, shoving both him and the knight behind him to the ground. Her gaze turned to a charging woman with a training blade held high. She shoved the edge of her shield flawlessly into her gut, twirling to intercept her with a quick-footed response. Another pair of women struck out for her, and with another twirl, Raynell hurled her shield like a frisbee, the projectile bouncing off of one, then striking the other, before swinging back to her grasp. The scattered knights lie around her, grunting and groaning as they gathered themselves from Raynell’s valiant defense.

“Augh...you rotten -bitch-. Did it have to be in the throat!?”

Raynell turned to see the first rise to his feet, a man with long black hair tied back in a neat ponytail. She gazed at him for a moment, briefly awestruck by the vision playing out in her head, before laughing softly. 

Nalithas Vin’sarin. I knew him.

“I’m sorry Nal. I guess I was caught up in the moment.”

“Oh don’t be sour, Nal. We all got our asses handed to,” spoke another, a blonde haired fellow with well tanned skin, as he helped up his compatriot, a man with bright orange hair and paler features. 

That’s Sarenval Starsaber and Ben’erah Thistlebreeze. Belle never liked Ben much, but I know it pained her to lose her brother...

Raynell’s thoughts lingered a moment on the fate of Ben before another voice called out. 

“What the hells was that? Where was my support? We had a clear vantage out of her line of sight!”

Raynell twirled around to a woman with short cut raven locks and a scowl on her features. She grinned as she watched the woman complain to her compatriots behind her, the ones that she caught with her shield throw.

Avanaya Sunherald and the Dawnfeather sisters, Tiralin and Teralin. Avanaya would later cross the Dark Portal and train under the Illidari, becoming the Killherald...

“Oh come off it, Ava! How were we supposed to know Raynell was going to toss her shield?”

“Yeah. Next time, she ought to toss it at you, you -twat-.”

“That’s enough, everyone...” Diliandra strode forth to the gathered knights, a bit of a bemused smile on her face. “You all did well, today, though your approach in our last spar left a lot to be desired. Remember your drills and techniques, and make ready for tomorrow. Dismissed.”

The others nodded and made their way past Raynell, each giving her a firm pat on the shoulder and a word of congratulations, even if defeat stung for them. As Raynell watched her compatriots depart, she turned to look to her mentor. Another woman was with her, one of regal stature with silver earrings hanging on the lobes of her ears, and an inscribed scimitar at her side. Her hair was pulled back in a neat, black ponytail, and she spared a brief glance at Raynell, furrowing her brow in a sense of disdain before looking back to Diliandra, offering a few words of departure before bowing politely. Raynell scowled a bit, her form tensing as recognition dawned upon her.

Lunisara Silverblade. Traitor.

Raynell felt a sense of regret echo in her head in the form of a heavy sigh from Ozmin.

She deceived us all, Raynell, and the Order suffered for it.

Raynell dwelled quietly on Ozmin’s words, looking a bit downcast before Diliandra approached. “Something the matter, Raynell?”

“Oh! N-nothing, Master Sunspeaker.”

Diliandra smirked. “Well, your performance today was far from nothing. A bit overdone, but impressive, none the less.”

“Thank you, Master Sunspeaker,” she replied, bowing deeply. “Will that be all for me, today?”

“Not quite. You have one more challenge awaiting you, and she made certain to be here to make good on it after her patrols.”

Raynell tilted her head a moment, then heard another voice call out from behind.

“Sorry to have kept you all waiting! You best be ready, Raynell, because I am coming at you with all I’ve got.”

Raynell smiled, feeling a soft flush rise to her cheeks and a renewed sense of vigor in her form. She gripped her training blade tightly and readied her shield, bristling with excitement. 

“Oh, I’m ready for -anything-.”

She twirled around with weapons at the ready, steadying her stance.

Here I come, Fi-

SCREEEEAHHH.

Raynell nearly leapt out of her skin as her vision filled with the lunging visage of a ghoul. She raised her shield in time to repel the leaping corpse, then cut it down with her now sharpened silver blade. The Farstrider’s Square was gone, replaced by rotted fields of brown grass, gnarled trees, and a brown, darkened gloom in the sky. Her nostrils scrunched, and she briefly retched at the stench of rot and undeath around her.  

What’s happening!? I don’t understa-

Relax, Raynell.

The voice of Ozmin echoed in her head once more.

The Trial of Light’s Vision is ever shifting, turning through the pages of your story and revealing them from chapter to chapter. This is but another chapter in that story...

Raynell looked around once more, seeing another swarm of ghouls approaching her. She struck the ground with her blade, consecrating the desecrated earth as holy flame ripped through the gibbering mass of risen corpses, then drew her sword from the earth and charged forward to cut down what remained, taking a moment to catch her bearings. 

This is not a great chapter to end up in. This is our battalion’s fateful foray into the Eastern Plaguelands, the one where...

“Raynell!”

The voice of her mentor called out from behind, riding atop her warhorse and flanked by a pair of other knights, their faces concealed by black hoods, and Diliandra’s concealed by a hood and mask, which she quickly drew back as she spoke.

“The battalion is falling back to the Ghostlands border. The captain is ahead in pursuit of the death knight and his legions. I need you to intercept her and bring her back! We’ve suffered casualties, and I fear Vin’sarin hasn’t much time...”

“What do you mean?” Raynell asked. “What’s happened?”

Diliandra fell silent, her expression dark and downcast as she took a breath before shaking her head. “Go, Raynell. Do as I’ve asked, and return swiftly, before you are overrun!” 

Raynell tried to speak once more, but the thundering hooves of the warhorses turned away, charging back to the border. Raynell stood alone, silent in the midst of the plaguelands, a surging panic rising in her throat as it tightened, hands shaking and cold sweat trickling across her brow.

Focus, Raynell. Do not let your vision waver. Remember, you must go -forward-.

As Ozmin’s voice called out to her, she paused, took a knee, and drew in slow breaths. In and out, in a state of balanced trance, quieting the swarm of thoughts in her mind’s eye as she opened her eyes once more, looking forward on the path ahead. She heard a scream in the distance, perking her ears, and nodded firmly. 

There.

She brought her fingers to her lips and let forth a sharp whistle. The whinnying cry of a horse sounded in the distance, and from the gnarled wood, a proud steed rode forth.

Darktreader. Ever my ally in battle. He was cursed with death’s touch during the battle for Icecrown, but found redemption at Light’s Hope during the battle with the Legion.

Raynell took quickly to the horse, lifting herself upon the saddle, then urging him forward through the Plaguelands, across wretched earth and through abandoned villages toward the cry of anguish. As she closed the distance, she could hear more voices, many of them her companions, and that of the captain that led them, calling for them to rally back.

“Hang on, I’m almost there!”

She cracked the reins hard against Darktreader, breaking into a full sprint across the deadened landscape, their destination just over the ridge.

I’m almost there, Fi-

Suddenly, her weight shifted backwards, as if someone had lassoed her from behind, and her vision darkened. She toppled and rolled against the earth below, rolling against what felt like snow. The metallic taste of blood sat bitter upon her tongue, and shooting pain suddenly seized her. As she gathered herself and opened her eyes, she saw a human woman, clad in black armor, her skin as pale as the snow around them, and a runeblade draped over her shoulder. 

Gwenlien Allendare. She was a knight of Alterac raised by the Lich King, and was terrorizing Forsaken caravans passing between Tarren Mill and the Undercity. In truth, it was a ruse meant to lure me...

Raynell gathered herself and her blade, this time a greatsword, and brought her unsteady legs into as steady a stance as she could. 

I...lost this battle. Perhaps another chance...

----------------------------

The silence unsettled Ravaina as she watched both her father and her new ward locked in trial. At the very least, Ozmin had awareness of his whereabouts, quietly turning a page or two of his tome on occasion as minutes passed like hours in the frigid north. She held tight to her lance, ever vigilant as her ears picked up more movement some distance from them, the sound of cracking limbs and schlorping, rotted flesh passing by.

“Father, how much longer must this go on?”

“As long as is necessary to fulfill Raynell’s visions. I am providing her with guidance, but it is her task, and hers alone, to complete.”

Ravaina scowled, looking away as she watched another group of undead shamble across the wastes. She noticed the throngs growing ever more prominent, all with their glowing eyes raised to the spires of Icecrown Citadel in the distance. She shivered as the howling gales seemed to pick up, cutting even through the insulated plate.

“Something feels off. The other knights have told us that Icecrown has long been quiet and desolate...”

“Most of them aren’t aware of the lingering presence of the Lich King. The new one, that is.”

Ozmin glanced briefly over his shoulder at the shuffling masses. One ghoul turned his slobbering gaze to the knight. He scowled as they met gazes before the ghoul continued shuffling away.

“They say Fordragon sits upon the Frozen Throne, now, keeping the Scourge tamed and at bay from ever overwhelming Azeroth again.”

His eyes returned to the tome, then lifted slightly to regard Raynell.

“Still...something -is- off.”

“Father?” Ravaina lifted her gaze to Ozmin, eyes betraying a sense of worry.

“These visions are jumping all over. They test Raynell’s focus...and mine. I should be able to control the pace, and yet I find the trial slipping through my grasp.”

He drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, before opening them once more, brilliant Light teeming from his aura as he fought the cold, oppressive dark around him, along with his fears of losing control.

“We should be fine...but stay vigilant.”

Ravaina nodded, gulping softly. She held firm to her lance and steadied her stance, remaining at parade rest...and yet around her, a scene began to unfold, and in the distance, Ravaina could swear she saw flashes of something happening atop of the citadel...

----------------------------

In the snowy drifts of the Alterac Mountains, among the long abandoned ruins of Alterac itself, a clashed played out. Raynell, clad in red and black, her blade clashing against runecarved steel. Gwenlien, the death knight, towering over her and laying down brute force as bitter frost swirled across her saronite-clad form. Swirls of fiery Light followed Raynell’s strikes, trying to fend off the sickly frost of the Death Knight’s runeblade. Fighting through searing pain, through struggled breath, Raynell gained a brief advantage and struck out with all her might, bringing her blade crashing down against the Death Knight’s armor. The human reeled back, down to a knee, open to one last strike. Raynell lifted her blade high, ready to strike down the Death Knight...only to have herself intercepted by dark magic, a clawed, black spectral hand rising from the Death Knight’s outstretched grip. She could feel the air being strangled out from her, struggling and flailing in panic as she tried to rip the hand free from her throat, even as the Death Knight trudged forward, runeblade dragging across the snow.

“You’ve given me enough trouble, elf, and now your story ends HERE.”

Concentrate, Raynell! Do not let your vision fade!

Ozmin’s voice cut through clear in her mind, and Raynell felt a surge of desperation as she found purchase in the dark magic, prepared to break free. As the runeblade thrust forward, however, a sudden flash of Light struck the Death Knight, causing her to reel away. As Raynell freed herself, she hit the snow hard, coughing in fits and coughing up blood as her dazed vision looked up to see a blurry clash unfold. Another had come to her aid, an elven woman with long, braided black hair, bearing the Blood Knight tabard and an ebonsteel zweihander.

Valaane Duskbanish. She came to save me that fateful night, having followed Gwenlien’s trail to the mountains...

She continued to watch the clash unfold, both knights, one of Blood, one of Death, locked in ferocious combat. In a decisive strike, the Blood Knight, Valaane, ran her sword through Gwenlien, drawing it out with dripping ichor splashed across the snow before planting it in the ground. The Death Knight fell to her knees, sputtering in her weakness as final death approached.

“Your wicked reign of terror ends today, cur.”

Valaane’s hands glowed with teeming holy flame, prepared to put an end to the Death Knight once and for all. The human only responded with a bitter laugh and an eerily prophetic warning. 

“You...will join me...in DARKNESS!”

Suddenly, the elf found herself blindsided by a shadowy strike, the same shadowed claw that gripped at Raynell’s throat now slashing through Valaane’s. The once glowing hands suddenly lost their shine, the Light dissipating in sickly, pale violet embers, and the Death Knight charged the woman, sending both toppling over the slopes of Alterac and unto a fate previously unknown. Raynell staggered to her feet and rushed to the edge, huffing and panting as she shook her head and silently cursed herself. 

Gone. Like last time.

She looked to Valaane’s blade, left to the wayside, and drew it from the snow.

Little did I know I would see her again...but immensely changed. The shadow cut more than her throat. It cut through her very being, tainting it so that she eventually became Ren’dorei...a void elf.

She slung the zweihander over her back, then gazed out over the cloud-darkened foothills and peaks below. 

I thought I had lost her that night. Lost her, like I had lost...

She scarcely had time to finish her thought before the hum of a flying blade cut through the air. Raynell quickly ducked it and drew the greatsword once more, charging forth to clash with the serrated glaive of another: a Night Elf this time, clad in the armor of the Wardens...and bearing a fiery fel green gaze in the eyes of her helm. 

Shiane Blackgrove.

The two backed off from their clash, heavy plate boots crunching on the snow beneath them. This time, Raynell was surrounded by the towering pines of Winterspring, the same ones which she found shelter in during her days of reclusion before the Legion invasion. Raynell stared down her new foe, quiet breaths carrying in the cold winter air in soft, misty vapors. Once more, Ozmin’s voice echoed through, though it seemed to hint at confusion.

You...will have to bring me up to speed on this one. I had departed before the Cataclysm to train my daughter afar.

Raynell smirked, raising her blade at the ready as she locked eyes with the corrupted Warden. At the Warden’s side, a pair of snarling felhounds emerged, their bone white faces starkly contrasting the long, black, wiry manes across their heads and backs, and the deep red skin that surged with fel blood. Following them, a pair of burly felguards stepped from the shadows, bearing axes in their massive grey hands, and clad in demon-forged armaments from head to hoof. At Raynell’s side, new allies came to the fore; first, a woman from an earlier vision, the very Avanaya Sunherald, returned as the Killherald, a demon huntress with long horns jutting from her forehead and skin that was scaled and deep red; and to Raynell’s other side, a tall, muscular elven woman with long red hair and a pair of axes in hand, clad in red platemail.

“Ava, Belle.”

“That name is dead to me, as is the woman who once bore it,” the demon huntress replied, “but call upon the Killherald, and she shall lead the hunt...”

“Oh wow, lookit’ you bein’ all cool and edgy...” the warrior, Belle, chimed. “Come off it and let’s just knock some damn heads.”

The demon huntress shot a glance at Belle, or at least as much a glance as one with a blindfold could offer, then grunted. “Let’s...”

Wait, that’s Avanaya? And the other woman, that’s...that Daroen’s youngest! How did that scrawny wretch get to be so...ferocious!?

Ozmin, focus. This is still a trial.

Don’t turn this around on me, adept! You are the one on trial, here!

Raynell chuckled softly to herself. Both Ava and Belle stared at her, then at each other, shrugging indifferently, as if being left out of a joke.

Fine, then. In that case, let me show you how it’s done, Ozmin.

“ASHAL THORI’ANORE!”

The trio of women charged forth, with Raynell leading the way. The Warden and her demons responded in kind, a clash imminent as they rushed forth on a collision course. As Raynell raised her blade to strike the Warden dead on, the scene suddenly faded, and Raynell found herself in a dark, empty void. She looked about in a brief panic, having to take a few steadying breaths to gain her bearings before asking for her new mentor’s guidance.

Ozmin, what’s going on? I seem to have lost the vision.

No response. The void lingered in unsettling silence around her.

Ozmin, can you hear me?

Another long pause. Nothing. Suddenly, a warm, orange glow settled in the distance. Raynell began walking toward it, trying to get a better view.

Ozmin, do you see this? Ozmin? What’s happening out th-

Raynell stopped dead in her tracks as the vision became clearer. She was no longer in snow driven landscapes, or tranquil Thalassian forests, or even among the rot of the Plaguelands. What transpired before her was far worse than anything she had experienced thus far, and just a few paces away, a hooded figure gazed across a firelit expanse of sea, and high above it, a towering tree smoldered and blazed in unquenching flame. Screams of agony echoed throughout, and in the sea, the drowned floated across the surface.

Teldrassil. No...

----------------------------

Ravaina stirred as the undead nearby began to wail. The startling cacophony even unsettled the stoic Ozmin, whose focus wavered as he looked back to his daughter.

“What’s going on!? My connection to Raynell is unstable! No, no...this can’t be happening!”

Ozmin flipped through his tome rapidly, as if searching for a solution to his predicament. All the while, Ravaina looked up toward Icecrown Citadel, noticing something stirring in the distance, signs of distant battle as it appeared pieces of the glacier were falling from it.

“Father, it’s the Citadel. Something is happening up there!”

----------------------------

Raynell quietly approached the shore, recognizing the besieged Lor’danel nearby, but still drawn to the great tree collapsing under the all consuming flame. The hooded figure stood quiet as she approached, not even turning to regard her approach. As she stepped within a foot or two of the figure, a sharp pain spiked through her skull, and the knight reeled back, holding her temple as a harsh voice whispered in her mind.

Behold, all of your sins laid bare. The culmination of your failures, your lack of loyalty. A doomed world, created by your own hand.

Raynell hissed in frustration, raising her head to glare at the figure. “Sylvanas...” she spat, before reeling again as the figure seemed to respond.

No. She is carrying out his will, as am I. What she does will save your doomed world. What I do, I do to save you from yourself...

The figure turned, revealing herself as an elven woman, raven hair tied back in a neat ponytail, silver earrings sitting at the lower lobes of her ears, and an inscribed scimitar at her side, drawn now in her hand. Raynell’s eyes widened, staggering backward.

“No...Lunisara? You...you fell at Winterspring, after you tried to ambush us with Blackgrove in tow...”

The woman raised her blade, the tip pointed at Raynell. Again, the shooting pain bombarded her head, more agonizing now. 

You have been chosen. All must return to him. All must return to the Maw. You will usher them forth, as one of the champions of death, as a liberator of The Jailer.

“Ozmin! Something is wrong! Ozmin! Ozminnn!” 

Raynell stumbled backward, suddenly losing her footing. She felt herself plummeting into a dark pit, flailing about as she sought to catch herself on anything around her, even though there was naught but black surrounding her. 

You will be reunited with her. Don’t you want to see her again? Don’t you remember what happened? Or has she become Nameless to you once more...

THUD.

Raynell once again found herself on solid earth, groaning softly as she picked herself up from the ground. Her vision cleared, and she jolted as the familiar stench of rot assailed her senses. The dull brown sky, the gnarled trees, the tattered grasses. She was back in the Eastern Plaguelands.

I don’t understand. Why am I here, again, of all-

“There’s...nothing you can do for me, R-Raynell...”

The knight snapped around quickly at the sound of a pained whisper nearby, accompanied by familiar, mournful sobs. She stepped around a ruined tower wall. Huddled against it was a woman with short, golden locks, and in her arms, she cradled another woman, this one with silvery white hair. The woman in her arms lay wounded and pale, and a sickly looking green vein seemed to stretch up from her neck to her cheek. Tracing it back down, one could see the wound causing the most suffering, what appear to be a grisly clawing of her side, tearing through armor and flesh. The silver haired woman reached up, a shaky hand gently stroking the cheek of her sobbing compatriot.

“You’ve grown so s-strong...you’re going to...make a fine knight, Ray.”

The other woman shook her head, tears streaking across her cheeks as the sobs grew louder. Raynell watched the scene in helpless awe, her face pale and her eyes filled with the same sense of sorrow that gripped the grief-stricken blonde before her. 

“I can’t...I can’t! Please, Fia, you have to hold on! Lady Sunspeaker...sh-she can...”

“No! No...she won’t make it in time...I can feel it...t-turning me!”

The silver-haired knight began to seize up, wracked in agonizing pain as she let out a hoarse, dry-throated cry, the sickly paleness of her skin beginning to turn a dull shade of green. Raynell choked back a sob, reaching out in vain to the pair as she stumbled back. The blonde cradling her only mourned all the more passionately, hugging tightly to her dying compatriot in her waning moments. She sobbed into her ruined tabard, running a hand through her silver locks as they came undone from her ponytail, unwilling to let go, even as life quickly faded from the woman’s eyes. 

“F-Fia...I love you!”

“Raynell...I...”

The words remained choked in her throat, the woman suddenly pushing herself off of the mourning blonde and staggering backwards with inhuman speed. She began to rise with an unsteady gait, her voice croaking out in a wordless, thoughtless cry as she gazed back with glazed over eyes, the rot crawling up her form as the last of her conscious life slipped away, overtaken by the madness of undeath. As Raynell drew her blade once more, she steeled her gaze on the shambling corpse that was once her Captain, her friend, and her first love, fighting through tears to see her clearly.

“I’m sorry, Fia.”

Before she could strike, though, the sickly woman burst into holy flame, her body consumed by it. She collapsed in a skeletal husk, left to smolder in embers as across from her, the blonde stood wide-eyed, hand outstretched as embers of holy flame flickered from her fingers. The shrill whinny of a warhorse sounded in the distance, and charging from the north came a trio of familiar knights rushing to the young woman’s side, the forefront of which threw off her hood. 

“Raynell! What happ-”

The knight reeled back at the sight of the fallen captain, her body left in smoldering bone, the tattered tabard slowly burning away in smoke and ash. The blonde looked back to her mentor, her surrogate mother, and cried out in a broken voice.

“What have I done...what have I done!?”

She fell into the other’s arms in mournful wailing. The woman knelt aside her, holding her tightly in a comforting embrace, even as the dark, rot-filled air around them offered no comfort. The other knights stood back, unsure of how to respond, if they could at all.

“Lady Sunspeaker, what-”

“Leave us.”

“Pardon?”

“LEAVE US! NOW!”

The other knights stumbled back in shock before returning to their horses, riding off into the distance as mentor and ward remained to mourn their loss together. Raynell watched on, sorrow heavy in her heart as she gazed at the smoldering corpse left by her own hand all those years ago. 

“I’ve seen enough, Ozmin. Take me back.”

She watched and waited. No response.

“Ozmin, the trial is over! You’ve made your point! Take me-”

Behold, all of your sins laid bare. 

Raynell reeled again, feeling the sharp pain strike her head once more. As she raised her gaze, she noticed that the two mourners, her younger self and her mentor, were staring at her. 

“Is it not fitting?” said the shade of Diliandra, her expression menacing as she stared daggers through the knight. “All you have ever laid hand upon, wreathed in fire. You leave naught but destruction in your wake.”

“No,” Raynell stammered, “No! That wasn’t...my fault. She was turning...I had to!”

“You didn’t save her,” said the shade of Raynell, raising a hand to point at her future self. “You didn’t even -try-. You let her burn, like you let Teldrassil burn.”

“No! NO! Stop it...STOP IT!”

She shut her eyes, trying to force out the voices laying accusations upon her. She suddenly felt a cacophony of accusations fill her head, so many that she could not discern their origins. She gripped her head, nearly screaming as she pleaded them to cease, and as she opened her eyes, her gaze suddenly settled on a new, unsettling visage: that of the skeletal remains of her long lost Captain, her lost love, Fia’delis Brightblade, now bathed in a new flame, one of eerie blue lichfire.

“All must return...to the Maw.”

The visage suddenly became clad in dark steel. Ebon wings burst forth from her shoulders. A clawed gauntlet grasped at Raynell’s throat, choking the air from her as the Death Knight did before. As she flailed and struggled, a deafening boom sounded above, and like shards of glass, the sky began to splinter, opening toward some desolate expanse high above, and from the black, a menacing spire emerging from on high. As the figure ascended, carrying Raynell in tow, a flash suddenly blindsided the winged knight, loosing its grasp, and Raynell began to fall once more, and for a good while as the ground below gave way to an infinite, ethereal expanse, her vision quickly fading as the figure above seemed locked in battle with another...

----------------------------

BOOM.

The howling winds suddenly died out. A sound like booming thunder echoed across the stillness, followed quickly by a terrible shrieking. High above the Citadel, and across the darkened expanse of the Icecrown sky, tendrils of energy shot across the expanse like ghostly strands of lightning. Ravaina reeled back at the sudden surge, and Ozmin flinched, losing grasp of his tome as it tumbled to the ground. Raynell’s eyes shot open, but were no longer gold, but a brilliant white. A chain suddenly appeared around her throat, tendrils of shadowy purple stretching along its length, and above them, the sky splintered into glass-like shards, opening to a great chasm above as the darkened sky split to reveal a new endless chasm, surrounded by dull orange and brown coloring, with a spire much like Icecrown’s just barely cresting past the breaking point. The chain seem to stretch to the tower itself, and in the ensuing moments of panic, Ozmin called upon his greatsword to shatter the chain, reeling back as the dark energies repelled him in a powerful rebuke. 

“RAVAINA! WE HAVE TO SAVE HER!”

It didn’t take long for the daughter of Ozmin to leap into action, channeling all her strength, both physical and Light-blessed, to drive the end of her lance into the chain. She, however, met the same rebuke as the edge of the lance struck the chain without so much as denting it, sending her reeling back once more. 

“FATHER! SHE’S BEING TAKEN!”

As the two looked on in horror, Raynell’s body began to rise with the chain, slowly bringing her up from the silken rug she once knelt upon. Both knights hurled bolts of Light, along with a myriad of elven obscenities, in a vain attempt to break the shadowy chain. In their clamor, they failed to notice the shambling undead suddenly begin to turn against them, and as they began to swarm, both father and daughter had to now contend with the swarming undead, leaving Raynell to her fate.

In that moment, the blade of Sunspeaker began to float above the brazier, the clarion call of Shorel’Belore humming brightly as the blade drew from the flame below it. In one miraculous stroke, the blade cut through the chain, the shadowy energies engulfed in shining flame before dissipating into dust, and Raynell fell back toward earth, collapsed against the silken carpet...

----------------------------

Fear not, for in the shadow of death, I shall always be at your side...

Raynell awoke with a start, hearing the shriek of undead pierce the suddenly still air of Icecrown. Raynell scrambled to her feet, grabbing Shorel’Belore beside her and rushing forth to Ravaina and Ozmin, driving her blade deep into the desecrated earth and unleashing a surge of consecrated Light. The undead around it shuddered and burst into holy flame before collapsing, and with a heavy sigh, Raynell collected herself before quickly turning to Ozmin.

“Something’s wrong! The trial’s been compromised. What’s been-” 

Ozmin raised a hand to quiet the panicked knight, then pointed to Icecrown and the shattered sky above. Raynell’s eyes went wide, seeing the familiar broken shards of sky, the gaping maw above, and the shadowy spire at the center of it. She nearly stumbled, taken aback by the sight high above the Frozen Throne.

“Icecrown...what does this mean, Ozmin?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, his faced locked in a firm scowl, “all I do know is that the fate of our world hangs once more in the balance, and the knights will once more have to march into the heart of death itself.”

Their gazes lingered upon Icecrown Citadel. Ravaina joined them, as awestruck as they were at the sight before them, and further unsettled by the wail of the undead in the distance around them, thrown into a sudden fit of chaos. Raynell heaved out a sigh, bowing her head, then looked back to Ozmin.

“This is probably neither the time or place, but...have I passed the Trial?”

Ozmin smirked, glancing sidelong at Raynell.

“As I said, Azeroth is going to need the knights once more. Considering the circumstances...I’d say you’ve more than qualified.”

She motioned quickly to Ravaina. “Ready the horses. We leave everything but the blade. The Argent Grounds are not far. They will be preparing as we speak...”