The Return (Serrar's story)

Serrar looked up at the gates of Silvermoon towering above him and pulled his mask up a little higher. It had been a long time since he had returned to his homelands. The Dead Scar and still-damaged western part of Silvermoon added fuel to the feeling of guilt that had slowly built up over the past few years. When he had last stood on the soil of Quel'thalas, it had been before the atrocities that Arthas had forced upon his homelands, those that had changed his people forever.

He had left his homelands quickly and under darkness all those years ago. As part of the underworld of Silvermoon, the organisation he had been a very active part of was suddenly brought to an abrupt end by the authorities after a robbery at an influential magister's home had gone horribly wrong. As the group, who called themselves 'Blades', were rounded up that same night, he had managed to escape as their base was stormed by the Silvermoon guards and had run for the border as fast as he could. He’d never planned to leave his homeland but it seems that fate had directed him otherwise that day. Fear of recognition by guard and former gang members had meant that he had kept a low profile when he had infrequently returned to his homeland, rarely visiting the City and wearing a hood when he did.

The guards paid him no notice as he strode confidently through the gates. He had been careful to acquire a sun-cured uniform set, keen to look as if he belonged to some part of an organisation that protected Silvermoon. To arrive in the black leather mask and garb of an assassin would raise nothing but suspicion. The large archways of the Hall of Respite loomed above him and he could see two figures sitting inside and deep in conversation. Without faltering his step, he walked into the Hall and stood before them, awaiting the acknowledgement of either of the two. The fair-haired male fixed him with his gaze; the female also looked up at him and although her face held a soft smile, her eyes hinted at a deeper darkness within.

Serrar looked back at the male; "Belore Alandie?"

The male gestured for him to sit.

"I am Ranger Orthos D'Urdon and this is my Blood Captain, Celara Sunshade"

"An honour to meet you Ranger and Captain. I am Serrar."

The female tilted her head slightly as he spoke.

"Remove the mask, Serrar" instructed Orthos

Serrar shook his head slightly.

"What do you seek?" asked Orthos

Serrar held Orthos' gaze as he replied; "I seek a purpose."

"You come here masked, tell me an assumed name and yet you seek a purpose?"

Serrar hesitated before replying, constructing his reply, keen to give no misunderstanding.

"I have reason to conceal my true identity, certainly for now and ask you respect that. I seek training from Silvermoon's finest assassins and in return I pledge my life and my blades to the protection of Quel'thalas and my people."

Orthos' face remained expressionless. Serrar looked at Celara and again received the same soft smile.

”Are you Farstrider trained?” Orthos asked.

Serrar hesitated. He was reluctant to speak of his training in detail, at least not until he had gained the trust of the Ranger.

”I..was trained by the Blademaster of a small organisation but left many years ago and have since learned from experience and practice. I have no formal training, sir”

Serrar tried to hide his discomfort as Orthos’ gaze remained fixed on him, his face giving no clue as to how Serrar’s words were being received.

"Would you die for your people?" Orthos finally asked.

A smile crossed Serrar's face under his mask and he felt himself relax a little. He had faced death many times and dealt it many more times than he could now recall.

"I have no plans to die, sir, but to die fighting for my people would be an honourable death".

The Ranger looked at his Blood Captain and as she gave him a small nod he walked to a small cupboard and took out a folded tabard.

”Wear this with pride and to show your allegiance to Silvermoon” said Orthos as he handed the tabard to Serrar.

Serrar smiled under his mask as he pulled on the tabard, fastening his belt over the top. He had taken a gamble in returning to Silvermoon, and it may yet not pay off. However, he could finally start to repay his debt for crimes once committed and to aid in the restoration of his people.

Serrar sat by the lake in Ghostlands and slowly turned the fish that was cooking over his small camp fire. It wasn't the most salubrious of surroundings but with a Vile Thorn after him and his place in Silvermoon again soured, he needed to keep a low profile so for now it would have to do.

He had only roughed up the Vile Thorn aided by another of Belore Alandie called Chey. The sin'dorei had chosen Undercity above her own people and he wanted it made clear to her that she had no place in Silvermoon if she wasn't prepared to show her allegiance. Dianthaa had left with a bruised and bloody face and threats to take things further should she return again. He had seen the look Dianthaa gave them when she left that night, he'd seen it many times before and understood that the matter had not ended.

Last night the Ranger had spoken angrily with Serrar and Chey. He had stated that one of them would have to go unarmed, and without tabard, to meet Dianthaa the next morning and apologise for the action taken. The Ranger was telling them to choose which would be sent to a certain death. Serrar had argued the point, unwilling to die for what he considered to be a valid action he had taken, and there was no way he would condemn another sin'dorei to death by saying Chey should go. Then the Captain had accused him of trying to destroy all the good work that they had done, of being a traitor. After all the risks he'd taken in returning, it was the final straw and he had resigned and then swiftly left the city, heading to Ghostlands to find shelter for the night.

Serrar placed the spit-roasted fish to cool as he lay back on the grass. It had taken him long enough to return to Silvermoon and he wasn't going to abandon his people again, and he wasn't one to run and hide any more. The sin'dorei should be returned to their former glory and he was determined that he would be a part of that resurrection. He would find some other way, somehow, but would keep his assumed name - he'd not used his real name since leaving all those years ago and those were tracks he wished to remain hidden.

Serrar sipped the overly sweet herb-infused warm drink under the watchful eye of the Farstrider medic. The pain had subsided a little, thanks to the care received, although he was advised to get to Silvermoon when rested so that he could receive further attention to his wounds and thus reduce the scarring he was most certain to have.

The Thorn had appeared from nowhere, the first he knew was the sharp blade cutting into his throat as she forced him to kneel. His memory of the attack was fuzzy; words were exchanged – he was sure of that – and Dianthaa had laughed as she slit his throat then drove the dagger into his back, leaving him bleeding and barely conscious on the Ghostlands road. A girl, a Farstrider he assumed, had found him and moved him to shelter. She had cauterized his wounds to stem the bleeding and in doing so had most likely saved his life. He remembered her saying she would go for help as he drifted back out of consciousness and she was true to her word as here he was now, alive and under treatment from the medic based at the Farstrider Enclave in Ghostlands.

The Farstriders asked no questions, how he came to be found so close to death was not of their concern. Serrar looked around the outpost, yes, these were his people. They fought selflessly to protect Quel’Thalas, both its borders and further afield to neutralise any threat before it even reached his homelands. However, the rigour of the Farstrider order wasn’t for him, they had the right ethos but were still constrained by the Regent Lord Lor'themar Theron’s wishes to have his people allied with the primitive masses of the Horde.

Serrar spoke softly to thank the medic as he took the now empty cup from him and lay back to rest. What his people needed was for those who truly believed in the glory of the sin’dorei to work together to restore the independence that his race were perfectly capable of sustaining. The Horde were a drain on the resources of his people, sending them to fight wars that were not of concern to Quel’thalas. The offer from the three Alliance earlier that afternoon to fund him in setting up such an organisation was more than he could refuse. With the right backing, he could establish such a resistance movement, publish literature and thus find the like-minded individuals to help him. The Alliance had asked for little in return, certainly nothing that would harm the standing of the sin’dorei and in fact they seemed sympathetic to the plight of his people.

A few hours rest and then he would get to Silvermoon and seek further medical attention and then to plan what he needed to do to make his ideas a reality. The ultimate goal would be to restore the pride of his people and encourage the purge of those that had seemingly forgotten the ideals and purpose of the sin’dorei.

Serrar read the note in his mail with some dismay;

”There are implications to cancelling the contract now, not to be discussed by letter. Find me in Shattrath, Mortificare.”.

He had foolishly taken a contract out on the Thorn, Dianthaa, but now having suffered at her blades and learned more of the camaraderie of the Vile Thorn, he had tried to cancel it – he didn’t want a gang of blood-thirsty assassins after him to avenge the death of one of their own. He was tired and felt drained. The trip to Tanaris the day before to get the flyers printed had taken more from him than he realised. He was still weak from the attack but a few days before, the blood loss had been significant and the potions he took only dulled the constant pain from the healing wounds. Still, he had distributed the flyers late last night and it was the first step in sowing the seeds of discontent amongst his people. True, they were basic as his funds were low but as soon as he received funding from his benefactors, he could step up the campaign. Serrar ripped up the letter and threw it into a plant pot; better he dealt with the issue with the mercenary as soon as possible.

The Lower City Inn was quiet and it was easy to find the lone forsaken sitting in the alcove. Serrar pulled his mask up a little higher as he walked over and stood before the contractor.

“I got your letter, the situation has changed and I want the contract cancelled.”

“Too late” replied Mortificare simply

“She still lives, I don’t see the problem?” replied Serrar with thinly veiled sarcasm in his voice.

“The assassin has started to make preparations, takes a lot of preparations to kill a Thorn”.

Serrar looked at the forsaken, trying to determine if he was making some sort of joke.

“One way of another he is going to come back with an elf head” continued Mortificare, “yours or hers”.

Serrar shook his head in disbelief, “Unbelievable...”

“Or you can cancel and pay the charge for cancellation of a contract?”

“Fine” replied Serrar tersely “How much? Just give me a couple of days and I’ll get you your gold.”

His funds were low but he knew that he could get gold very soon from his benefactor and settle the debt.

“Ten thousand gold” replied Mortificare, fixing his gaze on Serrar.

Serrar paused, speechless for a moment. There was no way he could get his hands on that sort of money, short of holding up the bank in the Silvermoon Royal Exchange.

“I..can’t get my hands on that sort of gold, you are being unreasonable” he finally replied.

“Then you die. He can find you in Silvermoon I expect” replied Mortificare as he returned back to his accounts.

Serrar stood and looked at the forsaken. There had to be a way out of this, he could out-think this stinking corpse surely? But his thoughts were fuzzy, he was so tired, staying standing was enough right now.

“You’re..you’re being unreasonable”; it was the best he could manage and he knew it was pathetically inadequate.

Mortificare sat back in his chair and again fixed Serrar with his gaze.

“Well, you could always work for me and pay off the debt. If you think you are up to that?”

Serrar felt offended, of course he was capable with a blade.

“Of course I am, I know how to kill if that’s what you mean” he replied in an annoyed tone.

“No it’s not but..” continued Mortificare “..you can do a few jobs for me until your debt is paid. Take it or leave it.”

Serrar signed tiredly and nodded “Fine, contact me when you have contracts you need dealing with”.

“Silvermoon, I’ll find you.” Replied Mortificare.

Serrar nodded and turned to leave. Working for a forsaken made his skin crawl, he was no lapdog of the Horde but right now agreeing to this disagreeable arrangement was the only option he could think of. He didn’t need trouble brought to him in Silvermoon, it was essential that he kept a low profile to ensure he could follow his true purpose. A few contract killings, that was bound to be all that was required to satisfy his debt to that aberration of nature that had tricked him into this situation. Serrar walked from the Inn and looked across the thoroughfare to see Dianthaa walking across towards the Inn; stepping back, he slipped to the shadows.

Serrar turned the key in the lock and hesitated slightly before pushing open the door and entering his small apartment. Closing the door he unsheathed his blade and slipped to the shadows and silently made his way around each room, listening for the slightest sound of movement or indication that anyone had been in his apartment since he left it earlier that day. If Arli Sunblade had found him so quickly, then who else might now be on his trail? Finally satisfied that he was indeed alone he slipped from the shadows and pulled down his mask, reaching for the bottle of bourbon and pouring a large one as he leaned against the kitchen counter, already lost in thought.

The day had gone well. Buoyant after the unexpected meeting with Halduron, he and Chey had risked speaking out in public and had headed to the far corner of the Bazaar area of Silvermoon. It wasn't long before a small crowd has assembled and although they were heckled by some, it was clear that their words struck home with others. As the guards stationed at the bank started to take an interest in the growing crowd, they had quickly finished their speech and handed out the last few remaining flyers to those interested before swiftly leaving the city. They needed to arrange for better flyers to be printed, maybe a few posters too. It was clear he would have to make contact with the Alliance sin'dorei sympathisers. Perhaps he could send Chey to meet them this time, she needed to know who was aiding them and besides, she seemed to have an easy way of winning people over to her side.

Serrar sipped the bourbon, resting the glass against his chin. What to do about Arli Sunblade. He had spent a lot of time and effort in concealing his true identity, and when Arli stood before him laughing in recognition and off guard, he had readied himself to remove this link to the past and retain his anonymity. At the last moment he had decided against it, Arli was now a Vile Thorn and wouldn't be an swift kill, especially with Serrar in his still-weakened state. He would just have to trust him to honour his pledge to a Blades brother and not reveal his identity.

The Belore Alandie had not contacted him since he had walked out. He wasn't sure how legally bound he had been to them when he had signed-up to join but since no magisters had come to his door, flanked by Blood Knights and waving legal documentation, he assumed that their interest in him had ended as he had walked from the Hall of Respite.

Serra finished the remaining bourbon in his glass and yawned tiredly. He would catch a few hours rest before the evening. He needed to speak to Chey and tell her to get to Shattrath to look for the alliance sympathisers, a description of their distinctive tabard should suffice. And then perhaps time to befriend a few of the sin'dorei in the Horde warbands and gauge their allegiance to Silvermoon.

Serrar unfolded the map and smoothed it out on the small circular dining table, almost covering the table completely with the detailed map of the Undercity. It hadn’t been very easy to come by, he’d finally found a cartographer in Orgrimmar who had a map with sufficient detail to enable him to start to plan his attack.

The Vile Thorn, Mortificare and then Ráz had convinced him that the forsaken had too much hold over his people and that they should be the first target should he need to escalate the actions of Sin'Anindoth into violence. He hadn’t spoken to Chey of his plans yet, probably better she didn’t know until the time came, just in case she should be caught during one of their protests and then cave in under the pressure of questioning. However, he would need explosives and he would ask Chey to ask their Alliance benefactors if they could provide them with what he would need. He would ask her to trust him to let her in on his plans when the time came.

The map showed few pressure points in the City although the lift would be the prime point to attack, well-placed explosives in other parts of the city could also cause significant disruption – perhaps by the bank would be a good location as well.

Serrar started to mark-up the map with potential locations for placing explosive devices. He would need to scout the city later, mentally note the locations of storage crates and darkened alcoves where he could place the explosives without chance of them being discovered before a timed detonation could take place.

Suddenly there is a loud banging on the door followed by a gruff voice;

“Open up, now!”

Serrar jumped in surprise, knocking into a chair and causing a small vase on a stand to crash to the floor behind him. His mind raced as he quickly folded the map and shoved it to the back of one of the kitchen cupboards...Blood Knights...they’d found him out, knew he was behind the recent propaganda. Or..or perhaps his superiors from ‘Blades’ had tracked him down and had come to ask just how he had managed to escape that night the rest of them were rounded up.

More banging on the door.

He ran over and with shaking hands he unlocked the door and hesitantly opened it...