The inn was its usual quiet place. Few travelers passed through the mired forests of Duskwood any longer, and fewer still spent their evenings in eternal dusk that shrouded the Darkshire inn. Most of the rooms were again empty, and a passerby would have thought the corner suite to be as well. The low burning fire now smoldering in the fireplace lit the room with a soft orange glow, casting dark shadows throughout. It was in this darkness, in these shadows that the night elf J******* usually found his salvation, his escape from the world. It seemed this evening would be no different.
He sat at the long round table with his back to the door and casually studied the scroll he’d “liberated” from the Blackrock guards in the burning wastes the previous night. Even in such poor lighting, his nocturnally trained eyes had no problem deciphering the intricate runes and markings upon it. “More dragon hunting orders from the Spire,” he sighed to himself. “At least some things stay the same.” He pushed the scroll away disinterestedly and quaffed his glass of brandy. His mind wandered aimlessly about the room, falling for a moment to stare at glowing embers in the fire. He was snapped back to focus by a sudden stir outside his door. He calmly froze in place, focused his mind and then disappeared into the darkness around him.
There was a light wrap on the heavy wooden door. “Master N********, I bring a visitor to see you. I’d normally not disturb you at such an hour, but he says he bears important news.” The sweet voice of the inn keeper. How many nights had she sheltered him here? How many times had she allowed him and the Brotherhood of Shadows to convene away from prying eyes to conduct their affairs? How many nights had she slyly winked at him unseen as he slipped into the darkness to begin his nighttime adventures? The last thought made him chuckle despite himself and he smirked.
“Very well” he spoke. He heard the latch of the lock fall and the door creek on its tired bronze hinges. A tall slender night elf strode effortlessly into the room. His long green hair was wildly spiked in seemingly random directions. His sword and dagger swung gingerly at his side, moving in time with his strides. He made not a sound as he crossed the room, silently gliding over the worn wooden floors that usually creaked under the strain of footsteps. Still in his seat, the master rogue smiled to himself. “I know those strides.”
The inn keeper followed the elf into the room, though with much less silence and grace. “Now this is no setting suitable for such company” she chided as she went about the room, lighting the lamps on the wall and the candles on the mantle. As she lit the last lamp near the door thus completing her circle of the room, she turned to the visitor and smiled. “Much better.” She bowed to the elves in turn, then backed her way out of the room and eased the door closed.
“I bring word from, Stormwind, my Lord” the visitor said.
J******* smiled to himself as his assumption of the visitor was now confirmed. He rose from his chair and turned slowly to face his companion. “Derek, my friend, my brother. How many times must I ask you to not call me that?”
“At least once more, as always friend.” His smile warmed the master’s heart. Those in the Brotherhood rarely went without their masks, even in casual social interactions. It was a behavior that reinforced the enigmatic mysteries surrounding them. Even the leaders on the much Shadow Council wore their masks during their rare formal meetings. But between these two kindred spirits, there was nothing that the masks could hide.
In a feigned sarcastic, disinterested tone, the master rogue spoke. “So, what matters from Stormwind are so pressing as to disturb my respite?”
Derek skipped the lighthearted banter than usually opened his conversations with his friend and mentor and dove straight to the heart of the matter. “Marshall Windsor has been freed, my Lord. I have it on good word from reliable sources that even now he makes his way to Stormwind to confront the betrayals within.”
J******* paused at this news, not from awe but from curiosity. Windsor’s freedom from the dark prisons of Blackrock Depths was indeed a triumph for the Alliance but it was hardly noteworthy news - at least not to the Brotherhood. The infiltration of Stormwind by outside forces was widely rumored but seldom proven. Why even the rogue himself had found countless evidence to pointing to the “fair lady’s” corruptive influence over the city and its surrounding areas. The bureaucrats within the paladins’ Order of Law however, could never find a way to bring the truth to light without revealing their own incompetence and corruption. Thus the rogue shrugged slightly at the news and turned to speak.
As if sensing the master rogue forthcoming objection, Derek spoke again. “The Devils ride with him.” The words hung in the air thicker than the gloom surrounding the secluded shire. The rogue did not move, lost in that one word. How long had it been since their name rung in his ears? How many of his minions had he brutally beaten simply for uttering their name in his presence? How many sleepless nights did he spend stalking in the shadows simply to focus on something other than his inner torments that the memories of his former companions invoked? Shaking his head from his thoughts, the rogue turned slowly, failingly trying to maintain his composure and air of control, and began to walk toward the bottle of brandy sitting on the hearth mantle.
“She rides with him.” Derek spoke again.
At that the rogue suddenly wheeled about on his companion sweeping low, his daggers flaring into his hands, their normally dull magic glow flaring brilliantly in reaction to his incited rage. An instinctive and unexplained fury now burned within him. His fists clenched tightly in his gloves, the ebon leather taunt around his now white burning knuckles. His body coiled taunt, ready to strike.
Derek uttered not a word, did not flinch, did not move. With his wrists laid relaxed over the hilts of his blades, he simply closed his eyes and slowly nodded.
It was then that the rogue enraged rogue noticed the tabard his companion was wearing. It was light blue with pale white trim, and emblazoned with a great white tree. The Tree of Nobility – the chosen mark of the Devils. The master lost his focus on his provoker and now saw his long-time friend standing there again. He turned his head to his left then his right blade as he noticed their glow subsiding. He eased his grip on their hilts and slid the weapons back into their sheaths in shame. The sudden wave of guilt and anguish he felt nearly made him swoon. Catching himself he stood limply up again, letting his gaze fall to the floor. “Forgive me, friend. I…I don’t know what came over me.”
The tall elf walked over to his mentor, and placed his hand on the master’s shoulder. “But I do, my friend. I do.”
His head felt as if it was chained to the floor, as if bound by stocks, and it took all of his effort to look up again. When his gaze finally found his friend, he saw him looking at him and smiling. His body swooned even deeper now, and Derek caught him in his arms. He guided his companion’s limp form back to the table and sat him down gently. He then strode to the fireplace to fetch the brandy. He poured some of the dark brown liquid into empty glass on the table, while his eyes trained fully on his sullen friend. “How long are you going to punish yourself? How long are you going to let this torment consume you?”
He slid the glass in front of the slumped night elf. The sullen form looked at it for a moment, shrugged, and then returned his gaze blankly on the table in front of him. Derek again placed his hand on the rogue’s shoulder. “How long will you deny your love for her?”
The rogue was again stung by his friend’s bold words. He turned his head quickly to face him, again ready to confront such audacity. But again the sincere and heart filled look on his companions face melted away his rage. His gaze again fell sheepishly down to the table. He gave in to the torment. “Is it so obvious?” he croaked.
“To all but you, it seems, my friend.”
J******* was lost in these words. How long had he denied such forbidden possibilities? How long had he hoped that she would feel for him as he did for her? How long had he regretted not confessing his true feelings for her before his abrupt departure? How many times had he wished he’d taken her with him? He now felt as if all in the world could see his true feelings – and felt a fool for not having had the strength and confidence that he normally displayed with swaggering flair to do that which his heart told him.
After a moment that hung long in the tension thick air, Derek spoke. “Go to her.”
The directness and firmness in his tone again caught the rogue off guard. Immediately a thousand questions, a thousand objections raced though his mind. The same tormenting questions that had driven him to his recent solitary existence. The same lashing doubts that drove his rage as he fought countless enemies, yet never saw his it fury abate. Without conscious thought these never before spoken questions that had plagued his mind and heart came uncontrollably spilling forth.
“What if she won’t have me? What if she scorns me for my actions? What if she doesn’t feel the same?” He caught himself as the next thought stung him, deeper than he’d ever allowed before. “What if she does not…love me?”
Derek sighed and sat down at the chair to his friend’s right, running his fingers through his wild mane as if to clear his mind. “You and she are very different, but also very much the same. You both seek your own path and destiny, separated from that our people. You’ve both walked a solitary path, seeing little aid from others except when necessity demanded it. You are both headstrong and stubborn, even with those closest to you.”
The elf rose from his chair, turned and paced a couple of steps behind his companion and resumed. “But with your convictions also comes greatness. Comes great emotion, great passion, great love.” He turned and faced the rogue again and spoke in slightly harsher tone “You are not as unlike as your stubbornness would have you believe.”
These words again stung the rogue, though not in pain, but rather in truth. These were the truths that he’d always truly known, but never let himself fully believe. The truth of these words, now becoming accepted and realized, began to feed him and he felt his strength returning. The sullen form of the night elf began to melt away, replaced by the true image of the confident master. He rose tentatively from his chair, the resolve continuing to return to his extremities. He looked Derek in the eyes and saw reflected there a confidence he’d not seen in a long time.
“Go to her” he said. “I’ve made all of the arrangements. The innkeeper has been taken care of. I had the stable master bring Swiftmane from his stall. They wait for you outside in the square.”
J*******’s chest swelled with pride and joy. His breathing was now labored and he fought hard to keep his composure. He strode over and grabbed the tall elf in a tight embrace. “Thank you, my friend,” he said in a restrained voice. “Once again the student has taught the Master.”
Derek put his hands on his master’s shoulders and pushed him out of the embrance gently to look him in eyes. “Go now” he said with a sly smirk and tossed his head back slightly, motioning to the door.
J******* nodded with a smile and patted his friend on the shoulder. He dashed from the room, grabbing his pack from the chair on his way out and swinging it over his arm. He was down the winding stairs in an instant, leaping down two and three steps with each stride. He passed briskly by the innkeeper behind the bar who smiled as he passed. Derek followed slowly down the stairs, nodded to the innkeeper, and strode to the door.
When he had arrived outside, the master had already mounted his horse. Derek had to pause at the sight. The palomino was a beautiful mix of tan and brown and its taunt muscles shown through the light armor about its body. Its beautiful form seemed a perfect compliment to the night elf mounted upon it. It was rare that the humans of Stromwind would entrust their noble mounts to those outside of their race. Yet it seemed strikingly appropriate to him. Much about J******* N******** was an enigma – was unusal – even amongst his kind. This was no different. It simply looked right. It felt like destiny. And with that thought Derek spoke. “Go now my friend. Windsor will be closing in on Lakeshire soon. With luck you can arrive at the gates of Stormwind ahead of them.” He raised his hand, offering it up to his mentor.
J******* reached down and took his arm in a firm embrace. “Thank you my friend. You have done much for me this night. I am as ever in your debt.” Derek simply nodded and smiled again. The rogue sat up in his saddle, pulled his ebon mask down tight around his face and then grabbed the horse’s reigns. He leaned down, patted the horse’s strong neck and whispered “Ride now, Swiftmane. If ever I needed your speed, it is now.”
The palomino reared up and whinnied as if in triumphant understanding, and then bolted up the road to the north. The mist along the ground swirled about in a torrent as the steed sliced though like a freshly sharpened blade. Derek waved as they sped off, until their image finally faded into the enveloping night. His arm dropped heavily to his side as he looked to the ground. He shuddered slightly and sighed away the weariness that the evening’s encounter has instilled in him. He turned again to the northern path, staring into the distance, and smiled to himself. “Go to her my friend” he whispered. “Go find the love you seek.” Then he too faded into the darkness.