Lathinal

Prelude: Snow

Snow. Lathinal hated snow. The frozen peaks around her were covered in it, and her extremities were beginning to numb. Even her elven magics couldn’t keep her protected from the brutal weather. Though she had to find it... These Alterac Humans had it...

“I see you’ve come...” A voice whispered in her ear. She spun on her heel, snow crunching under her. Visibility was poor; she could only see a few feet in front of her in this blizzard. “I see you...” the voice mocked her.

Lathinal drew her staff from her back, “Show yourself...” She hissed. “By the name of King Anasterian, I demand you show yourself!” She challenged. She spun her staff in her cold hands and slammed the metal thing into the ground. The frozen licked flame at the top of her staff hummed with magic before an aura of arcane magic exploded outward, incinerating the blizzard in a ten yard dome. However, nothing could be seen.

“You won’t find me like that...” The voice mocked her.

The elven women straightened her back, her frozen leathers crinkling. “Then how will I?” She asked the thin air. No answer was heard. However, after a moment, she felt a throbbing pain in the back of her head. Before she realized what was happening, she was on the ground, bound by unseen foes, and dragged off.

“Vynlarion...” She spoke her husband’s name quietly as her captors dragged her off.

Chapter One: A Cold Breakfast

Vynlarion awoke early in the morning. The sun was just rising over the mountains to the east. He straightened his back and threw the silk covers off his still tired form. Slipping on a thick robe, he shivered against the winter chill that clung to the manor. The knight walked over to the window, looking out on Quel’Thalas below.

“Lathinal, are you well, my phoenix?” He spoke to no one. His heart ached for his love, his wife. She, the phoenix of his heart, who had rekindled his heart after the death of Adrynar has so brutally broken his heart so many years ago.

Vynlarion walked over to the hearth in his room, and lit the fireplace. A mage he was not, but such simple spells were easy even to him, a Knight of the Realm. Though even that didn’t mean much right now; the Trolls were hiding away in their disgusting towns, not daring to assault elves.

After changing for the day, Vynlarion looked into the mirror above one of his many chests of clothes. His eyes held bags under them. He looked as if he were sixteen hundred, not eight hundred! He pulled his long, golden hair into a low hanging ponytail and opened the door to the hallway.

The hall leading to his room was much colder; no braziers had been lit yet, as the servants didn’t expect him up. No matter. He was up now, and he’d simply make himself breakfast. “I don’t need a bunch of commoners kissing up to me right now...” He said bitterly. Most of his servants he liked, but they all knew that he had held Adrynar special, and that, even one hundred years later, Vynlarion still missed his company.

The sound of his footfalls was the only thing he heard until he reached the grand staircase that lead to the foyer. Only a few braziers were lit there, and he could just barely make out in the gloom two figures washing the floors. He frowned. Who let them work in this cold? It was barbaric! Probably his bastard father.

He stomped down the stairs, making damn well sure the two servants realized one of the nobles had awoken. They turned, and saw Vynlarion, offering deep bows. “My lord, we were not aware you were awake. We would have lit some braziers in the halls leading to your room. Our sincerest apologies.”

Vynlarion scoffed, “Think nothing of it. Neither of us knew I wouldn’t sleep well. Well, I kind of did.” He smirked, though that died quickly. “Who told you to work in this cold?”

“The lord of the house, my lord. Your father.” The second servant said quickly.

The blonde noble grunted in irritation. Damn his cruel father! “Light more braziers before you clean anymore of this floor. Understood? I’ll not have you suffer like this. The mountains of Quel’Thalas are not very warm at this time of year.” Vynlarion spoke quickly.

The two servants rose from their bows, looking confused. “Well do it!” Vynlarion commanded. He stormed off, though stopped, and looked back, smirking. “And don’t even think of asking me if I want you to make breakfast for me.” The two servants smiled, and nodded, going to light more braziers and warm the foyer.

Vynlarion stepped into the kitchen, finding his elder brother Xanlor perched upon one of the counters like a child, a hefty tome in his hands. Xanlor had in fact recently turned one thousand, though you wouldn’t guess it, he had defied age like the rest of their people. “Good morning, brother.” The elder brother spoke without looking up.

“Good morning. You’re up early.” Vynlarion commented as he lit the cooking stove to fire up some bacon and eggs.

“As are you. Why is that?” Xanlor said, still perched upon the counter, reading his tome.

Vynlarion scoffed, “You know the reason, Xanlor. Lathinal still hasn’t returned.” This caused the elder brother to laugh.

“You’ve such a bleeding heart, Vyn. She’ll be fine. You keep worrying like this and you’ll look as old as father in a decade.” Xanlor jeered, smirking into his book, his azure glowing eyes sparkling with mischief.

“And you’re a boring bookworm. We all have our flaws.” Vynlarion quipped back, allowing himself a grin all too similar to that of their uncle Varinal’s. He cracked four eggs and put probably one pig’s worth of bacon on the metal frame above the fire.

“Somebody’s wishing for a portly belly.” Xanlor spoke, still not looking up from his book. Vynlarion rolled his eyes.

“It’s not just for me.” Vynlarion rolled his eyes.

“Sure it’s not. Fatass.” Xanlor chuckled.

A few minutes passed and Vynlarion was seated at one of the servant’s dirty tables, contently eating his breakfast. Xanlor had still yet to move from his perch, or steal his food. Which was concerning. “Not hungry, Xan?”

“Oh, I’m plenty hungry...” Xanlor said. The familiar hum of magic rung in Vynlarion’s ears, though he was too late. The next moment when he looked down, his pile of eggs and various meats had been replaced with the book Xanlor had been reading. In Xanlor’s hands was the plate of food.

“You thieving kim’jael!” Vynlarion gawked, launching himself up from the table. “Give me my breakfast back!”

Xanlor smirked calmly, holding the tray. “You know exactly what will happen if you try to grab this from my hand, Vyn...” He said in a relaxed tone. Vynlarion grumbled, if he ran over there, Xanlor would simply reverse his spell and the plate would be back where that stupid book was!

However, Xanlor’s scheme was broken by a much younger elf. The plate was quickly stolen from his narrow hands by a lithe figure, her hair jet black, in comparison to the pure white of Xanlor and the blonde of Vynlarion. Lorynthia, their youngest sister, held the plate in her hand, biting into a piece of bacon. “You undercooked the bacon, brother.” She spoke with a mouthful of food, causing Xanlor to cringe.

“Sunwell’s light, girl, close your mouth when you’re eating!” He complained. Lorynthia rolled her eyes.

She began to retort, but her comeback was interrupted by the loud groaning of the main doors to the manor. The three noble children of Vornelius the third and Alenyia shared confused stares. It was far too early for visitors of any sort.

The three made their way out to the now brightly lit foyer, where an elf in slim leathers stood. Auburn hair poked out from a mask he wore on his head. Vynlarion was the first to speak, approaching the cold looking man. “My name is Vynlarion Bloodmyst, heir to Viceroy Vornelius Bloodmyst. Can I help you?” He kept his tone friendly, but official.

The traveller looked to Vynlarion, his azure eyes shining with some unknown thought. He removed his head-mask from his face, long auburn hair falling down his back and chest. The man was clearly older than three of them, and by his form was a ranger of some sort. “It’s more what I can do for you, Vynlarion.” The man said calmly. “Your wife missed her rendezvous with her contact in the Alterac Kingdom. She’s been declared missing in action.”

Chapter Two: Tracker

Lathinal awoke with beleaguered groan. The back of her head throbbed and her entire body ached. However, from what she could tell, she was out of the cold, which was better to an extent. She tried stretching her limbs, but found her ankles and wrists bound together. It then occurred to her; her eyes were open, but she couldn’t see! Had she gone blind? Was she bewitched?

“Looks like you’re awake.” A familiar voice said calmly. She heard the sound of footsteps on stone before a blindfold was removed from her face and the light of a campfire blinded her. “Come now, Lathinal Bloodmyst, it’s not that bright...” Slowly, her eyes came into focus, and she saw she was in a cave. The howling of the wind was a quiet hum in the background, and the crackle of the fire near her was the main source of noise. It was rather irritating, she had to admit. Her gaze drifted over to the other figure. He seated against the opposite wall of the cavern. He was a Human, likely in his mid thirties, and was rather slim.

“And just who are you?” Lathinal inquired. The man looked at her with an intense stare. His eyes held a deep malevolence. Whether it was for her or something else, she couldn’t quite make out.

“I am called Tracker.” He said simply. Lathinal raised a fiery brow.

“That’s a strange name.” She commented. “For a Human, anyways.” Evidently that angered the man, since he rose and paced towards her. Tracker grabbed Lathinal by the hair and slapped her across the face roughly.

“Don’t talk down to me, woman... That’s what I hate about your people... so haughty, so self assured... it’s disgusting!” He hissed angrily. Lathinal gasped, no one had dared to handle her so roughly before!

“I see... This is about what I am, not who I am, is it?” Lathinal inquired. The man dropped her back to the ground, and she landed with a painful thud.

The man shrugged. “Perhaps.” He said vaguely, and returned to leaning against the wall. Lathinal was a magister, and yet she could not read this man at all... He had no magical prowess that she could sense, but there was something... off, about this man. “Now, Lathinal... There’s something I need to know...” He looked at her, his gaze intense.

She met his gaze. “I’ll tell you nothing. And how do you know my name?” She inquired.

“Your questions are irrelevant, my dear... The only truth you need to know is that you will answer my questions.” With that, he slowly got back up, and drew a wicked looking dagger from his belt and drew it towards her midsection. “Now, tell me, Lathinal... How do I get into Quel’Thalas?” He hissed into her ear.

“I’ll tell you nothing, you--” Though her words were cut off by the pain of his knife slicing through her thick leathers like paper and gouging at her stomach. She cried out as an intense burning sensation rippled through her body as the knife pierced her flesh and rended it. “Wh-what is this sorcery?” She coughed violently.

“It is the venom of my fangs, Lathinal...” He spoke lowly, before digging his finger into the freshly made wound, “Now tell me, how do I get into Quel’Thalas?”

~

Vynlarion paced from his dressers and clothes chests, tossing various pieces of armour, weaponry and the like into a haphazard pile on his large bed. The machinations of war clanged together angrily, though he paid it no heed. “Hobson! Where’s my greatsword?” He called out, a servant rushing to him, and spoke quickly.

“I do believe my lord left it in the courtyard after his last spar with master Taloxus.” The man spoke timidly. He was short, very short, and was losing his hair. Vynlarion did not care for this man very much, no. He was too timid and nervous, it irritated him to no end.

“Well then go get it!” He barked as he began to pull off his doublet and affix his breasplate to his chest. “Every minute we waste here is a minute Lathinal is trapped in that miserable Human kingdom.” He grumbled, tightening the heavy plate of metal to his chest. He then slung his pauldrons on, tightening the straps and buckles. Next the legplates were attached to his legs, and following them he slipped on his greaves. Finally he pulled on his gauntlets, and tightened all the straps, and left his helm in his bags. “I’ll have to take a charger... A hawkstrider can’t carry me and this junk...”

He sprinted down the hall, practically running Hobson clear over in the process, who was very slowly bringing his greatsword. Vynlarion grabbed the massive sheathed blade from the smaller elf, and hurried down the stairs into the dim foyer. The same ranger was waiting there, apparently insistent upon accompanying him.

Vynlarion was angered that he could not find Taloxus in time, but this ranger would have to do. As young as he looked, he clearly had the experience of a veteran. “Come, Vynlarion. Before your father notices you’re gone.” The ranger said hurriedly, ushering the young lord out of the manor.

“How do you know my family so well?” Vynlarion inquired, casting a curious gaze at the ranger.

“Oh your dad and I used to be friends, back in the day.” The ranger said passively. “Ancient history, now.” He chuckled, waving a hand dismissively through the air, apparently unaware of the bite of the winter morning. The man mounted his horse, a sturdy stallion with strong legs and a long brown mane.

Vynlarion mounted his charger, a pure white stallion with a beautiful white mane. The horse threw its head back and let forth a satisfied neigh as its master mounted. “By the way, ranger, what’s your name?”

The ranger didn’t look over as he tightened his satchel to his saddle. “It’s Silarion.” He said simply. Before he straightened in his saddle and kicked in his heels.

Vynlarion followed suit, and so began their trek southward.

~

Lathinal’s body cried out in agony. Her stomach was torn open with numerous puncture holes, and her appendages were little better. She knew she had lost a great deal of blood, and was indeed still losing blood. However, her captor, the Tracker would not stop. “All this ends when you tell me how to get into Quel’Thalas... I’ll even heal you if you do... It’s a win win for you...” He said boredly.

“I’ll never tell you, you scum...” She spat at him, which he responded to with another sharp slap across the face. Lathinal had begged and pleaded for the Gods to rescue her, to save her from this agony. Her body was weakened, and she was so terribly hungry and thirsty. And tired. How she just wished for sleep. But Lathinal knew better. Were she to fall asleep, she would never wake up. She could not give up... her son needed her... Vynlarion needed her...

“Why not give up?” He spoke darkly, as if he had read her mind. “You seem tired... why not lay your head back and sleep? A quick respite... I’ll allow you that.” He spoke venomously. He was deviously calm. His voice soothing.

“Never!” Lathinal cried out, one of her bleeding lungs crying out in sheer agony as she shouted, causing her to cough violently, which caused even more pain. “I’ll never give up... You’ll never get into Quel’Thalas... You’re going to burn in the deepest circle of hell, you snivelling bastard!” She felt her magics burn within her. She began to realize that she was beating back whatever inhibiting magic he had used on her. “It doesn’t matter what you do to me... I’ll never break... I am a daughter of Quel’Thalas... the immortal kingdom of the elves... You’re just some human who’s got a grudge... You’re wrong... We’re not haughty... We’re good! We love and lose just like humans!” Her magic surged into her hands.

The ropes binding her wrists snapped with an exploding fireball. And with renewed energy, flung a fireball at Tracker’s face. Tracker screamed out, “You whore!” He roared, batting the flames off his face and screaming in agony. Lathinal wasted no time and burned the ropes around her ankles. Though she was too weak to stand, she quickly crawled away, her body burning with pain, but also with renewed purpose. This was her opportunity, he was distracted. She had to escape.

The cavern became cooler against her hands and the howling wind began to assault her. She crawled to a stand, and she looked out into the nighttime blizzard that was before her. However, her worries were interrupted by the sound of footfalls behind her in the cave. She hurried into the blizzard, her boots sinking into the deep snow. She trudged through as quickly as she could, her stabbed and defiled skin crying out in agony. However, after a time, she could go no further, and fall backward into the snow.

Time began to drift away as she lay in the snow. She saw her parents, her siblings... Vynlarion, her love... her son, Adrynar... “I... can’t...give up...” She whispered to herself, her eyes burning with tears. “I won’t...” Her voice was dry and hoarse. She closed her eyes and calmed her mind. She would need every ounce of concentration to do this. She shut out the cold that assaulted her bloodied and battered extremities. She shut out the gnawing hunger that tore at her stomach. She shut out the intense pain her body was racked with. All was quiet. She recalled a mountain she saw when arriving in the Alterac mountain range... It was on the northern edge... She had to envision that cave she saw... It had... a large rock on the right... and some shrubs growing in front of it...

Her magic began to funnel into her tired body. It pierced every fibre of her being, her wounds cried out, but she shut them out, and began to call magic to that cave, and to her place in the snow right now. The magic was tingling against her frostbitten limbs. Her magic encapsulated her, and the cold began to fade away, so too did the wind. She opened her eyes, and was now laying in a cave. She looked down to her body. Some of her wounds had healed. “Good... now I won’t die in my sleep...”

In comparison to the freezing blizzard outside, this cave was a hearth heated cabin. She sighed, and laid her head back. She could sleep, for a little while.

Chapter Three: Loss

Vynlarion and Silarion rode hard and fast for four days straight, and had just arrived in the Alterac Kingdom. It was the height of winter, and although it was the smallest of the seven human kingdoms, it was still a vast area for two people to scour. “We need to find her... but how?” Vynlarion said irritably.

“Well, that’s not impossible.” Silarion said, looking over. “Do you have anything on you that she gave you? Something that means a lot to you both?” Silarion inquired, dismounting his horse.

Vynlarion thought to himself. “Our wedding rings?” He asked, removing his gauntlet and eyeing the bejeweled band. “How will this help?”

Silarion motioned for it, “Give it here.” Vynlarion nodded, handing him the ring after a few tense seconds of trying to remove the thing. “Your wife is a mage, Vyn. Her magical signature is all over this thing. If we turn this into a homing beacon onto her, we’ll find her.”

Vynlarion furrowed his brow. “That seems easy enough. But how do we turn my ring into a homing beacon? That seems like something a Gnome would be better at.”

The ranger smirked. “Oh ye of little faith... Just shut up and watch.” He took the ring and removed from a satchel on his horse a scroll. Silarion unrolled the scroll, “A scroll of attunement, quite useful, you know.” He placed the ring on the scroll, and for a long moment, nothing happened. Vynlarion stared on with an irritated expression.

“...Well?” Vynlarion raised a golden brow irritably. This was a waste of time! The longer they sat here staring at a ring on a piece of dirty parchment, the less likely it was he would find Lathinal unharmed.

Silarion blinked. “Oh. Right! I forgot...” He placed his hand over the ring and muttered something in Darnassian, when finally the arcane hummed from the ring. “Your wife is due south of here. Let’s move!”

“What about the horses?” Vynlarion called out as Silarion burst into a sprint. Regardless, the knight followed, his armor clanking loudly as he caught up. Needless to say, running in armor was not the easiest thing in the world.

“Leave them! They’ll just get stuck in the snow!” Silarion said between breaths. The ranger was clearly more equipped for this type of long range run, but Vynlarion was already beginning to feel the effects. After a few minutes, his lungs were beginning to burn from the weight he was carrying, and his legs were becoming heavy. Though he would not be deterred.

“Lathinal...” He huffed.

~

Lathinal awoke a few days after her escape. However, she did not wake up alone. “Little whore... you thought you could escape me?” It was Tracker’s voice. “I’ll show you what I do to little flies who escape my net... and it won’t be pretty...” He paced forward to her, his knife drawn. He savored his walk towards her, she was too weak to get up, too weak to cast.

“N-no... You... I... won’t...” Lathinal said weakly.

He kneeled before her, and pressing the flat side of the wicked knife against her cheek. “Feels cold, doesn’t it? Cold... you’re cold too... it’s the chill of death... all that effort to escape... you’ll die here, defenseless... alone...” With that, he slid the knife down her cheek, blood dripping from the wound. She winced, but was too weak to even cry out in pain at this point. “Hm..” evidently, Tracker was not pleased. He placed the blade against her lower abdomen. “A woman’s greatest joy is to have children, or so they say... have you any children, Lathinal?”

“She does. My son.” A voice bellowed from the entrance of the cave. Tracker stood, turning. “What in the hells?! Who are you?”

Lathinal recognized the new voice, “Vy... Vyn...!” She called out, though it was little more than a whisper. Tracker screamed in anger and charged madly towards Vynlarion.

“The day you charge at a Knight of Quel’Thalas is the day you die, bastard...” He said confidently, and drew his greatsword. The blade was a thing of pure beauty, its hilt, bejeweled with the finest gems that Quel’Thalas could offer, and its blade was incredibly long, curved and wide. The sword itself weighed a great deal, but Vynlarion remained young and could handle it with ease.

“Overconfident freak! I’ll cut you into pieces!” Tracker shouted, as Vynlarion swung his sword, the air being cut by the massive blade. He spun it to the side as Tracker dodged. However, Tracker was quick, and he dodged that too.

“You’re a quick one... of course, though, you’re just some greasy bastard!” Vynlarion called out, and swung once more. Tracker launched towards him as his blade swung, and landed a blow on Vynlarion’s exposed collarbone, digging his knife into the soft flesh. The knight cried out in pain and responded by grabbing Tracker and hurling him into the wall. The man stumbled to his feet, but Vynlarion would not relent. “I won’t let you have any time to recover! You nearly killed my wife!” Vynlarion shouted, charging into Tracker and slamming his body into the wall. “I’ll make you wish you never crossed her!” He dropped his greatsword with a thunderous clang, and clenched his right fist, dealing a punch that shattered Tracker’s jaw. Repeatedly, he struck his wife’s captor in the face until he fell to the ground, still. Vynlarion wiped his gauntlet off, and rushed over to his wife’s side.

“Lathinal... my phoenix... are you okay?” He said, holding her in his arms. She was so beautiful, even now. Though her eyes had great bags under them, she was somewhat gaunt, and reeked of blood, and was clearly cut and scarred severely, he could not help but rejoice at seeing her still alive.

“Vyn... my... knight in shining armor... I knew you would come...” She said, holding his cheek. Vynlarion nodded and held his wife tightly. She was so thin, and cold... he simply held her tighter. However, unbeknownst to Vynlarion and Lathinal, a figure shambled towards them.

“She...She’ll... die! She will die!” Tracker called out. Vynlarion stood, eyeing the man in shock. His face was entirely unrecognizable; his jaw was shattered, the side of his head bleeding heavily, his right eye completely shut. However he lurched forward with speed impossible of any mortal being, and drove his knife into Lathinal’s chest. Lathinal cried out, “Vyn...!”

Vynlarion roared with untamed rage and picked his broadsword up and swung it around, beheading Tracker with one swing. He looked to Lathinal, and the blade that stuck out of her chest. “Lath...Lathinal?” He spoke quietly, cupping her face with a gauntleted hand.

“Vynlarion... my love... take care... of our son...” She said quietly. Her hands fell around the hilt of the knife embedded in her chest, and with a weak, but agonizing cry, ripped the jagged thring from her bosom, and tossed it to the side.

“I-I... I was thinking, my phoenix... That we could have a picnic... Adry misses you so... I know it’s a little cold, so we could go into the lower forests... Just the three of us... Doesn’t that sound nice?” Vynlarion spoke, tears streaming down his face. He held Lathinal close. “Please, Lathinal! After Taloxus and Adrynar... I... I can’t lose you too!” He cried out.

“That... that sounds... nice... I can’t... wait...” She spoke quietly, her hand caressing his face. “Vynlarion... my dearest husband... I love you... with all my heart... I truly, and deeply do...” Her hand fell to her side, and she lay limp in his arms.

“La...Lathinal? My phoenix? Please...speak... This... this isn’t funny.... Lathinal?” Vynlarion’s eyes were wide with shock, tears streaming onto her still form. “I... I love you so, Lathinal... I will... never forget you... with all my heart too... I love you...” He shut his eyes, and held her close for time unmeasured.

~

Adrynar and Vynlarion stood before her grave. The boy was barely ten, and now looked upon the tomb of his mother. “Ann’da... where’s mommy...?” He said quietly. Clutching his father’s side.

“She’s gone, Adrynar...” Vynlarion spoke quietly. His eyes were bloodshot, and bags hung from them. “She’s gone...” Something in his heart told him... that this was a loss he could not move on from completely. He placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, and held him tight. But it felt wrong, and young Adrynar noticed too...

Vynlarion’s heart had gone still.

“Lathinal...”