Name: Velirra Dawnstrider
Race: High Elf (formerly), Blood Elf (current) - (Quel'dorei & Sin'dorei, in their respective terms)
Appearance: Velirra stands about five feet tall, and is lithe and graceful. She has long brown hair that falls to her waist when untouched, and is mildly curly. Velirra has soft, elegant features, a voice that is musical and feminine and peach-coloured skin. She is very fit and agile, and that attribute is only further bolstered by her skills and training as a hunter with both her people and the tauren. Like all sin'dorei, her eyes are bright emerald and glow softly.
Class: Hunter (Pet: Female crimson dragonhawk named Emberfire)
Allegiances: The Horde, Silvermoon City, Regent lord Lor'themar Theron & Ranger-General Halduron Brightwing, Thunder Bluff, Chieftan Baine Bloodhoof
Personality: Velirra is known to keep a cool head while under stressful situations, and is slow to anger. She hungers for peace and wishes for the inane fighting between the Horde and the Alliance to end. While she is these things, she is also unafraid to end her enemies' lives, especially if directly attacked, threatened, or faced with the fact of a close one threatened. She does however show mercy to those that deserve it, and is kind, caring and gentle. She is at home with the wilderness, and loves nature as much as any druid, shaman and hunter does.
The five figures, hidden in the shadows of the large, golden trees - resplendent even in the midst of night - detached themselves from their cover. Each graceful and quick, the figures that seemed no more than ghosts slipped down the hillside, which was dotted with beautiful flowers and other plants, and moved swiftly from the open to another corpse of trees. There, they stopped and took a moment to catch their breath.
Velirra Dawnstrider pulled her hood back, and let the warm breeze that wafted through the forests of Quel'Thalas caress her long brown hair. She sighed, feeling as at home with this place than ever. She had been born and raised here, and like all her people had felt her heart torn when the orcish Horde had first come and razed the beautiful golden forests. She had helped rebuild, and now the beautiful golden forests that had once been charred and dead were thriving and bursting with life. The sight filled Velirra's heart with joy, and for the first time in what seemed like ages, she felt that peace may finally come.
Her sapphire eyes quickly scanned the forest ahead of the rangers, but she saw nothing. What is wrong with me, she thought, annoyed. She felt like jumping out of her skin for no reason, and reached for her bow for reassurance.
"It's awfully quiet all of a sudden," one of the rangers murmured, sounding no less agitated than her. She found herself agreeing wholly, and nocked an arrow cautiously, silently.
"It's just you, Kellear," another whispered, mirth colouring his tone. Velirra's head snapped in his direction, and she hushed him. The ranger fell back, chastened.
"It's nothing," she muttered fiercely, though her heart felt as if it would explode, hammering so hard in her chest was it. She did not know how the others could not hear it. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face, and she scanned their surroundings once again.
She saw nothing.
"Let's go," she whispered to the rangers, and they started slowly advancing when suddenly, the sound of a twig snapping reached her ears.
Velirra froze and flattened herself against a nearby tree trunk, bow ready, eyes darting from one shadow to another. She had not seen them, but she knew her rangers had done likewise, taking cover. Each ranger was well-trained and would not cower before a threat, but she knew they did not like being taken by surprise, especially in their own homeland, where they knew the forests well.
Velirra took a moment to calm herself, breathing deeply and closing her eyes. When she opened them, they flashed for a moment before she moved from the tree and dropped into a crouch.
"Follow me," she whispered, and her rangers fell in behind her in a loose triangle. They once again advanced, booted feet making no noise as they slipped through the trees. What Velirra next saw stopped her in both fear and curiosity.
"A dragonhawk," she murmured, sheathing her bow and slowly approaching the fallen creature. She froze as she saw the predator's body next to it, then relaxed, recognizing the stench of charred flesh. A smile spread across her face as she realized what had happened.
"And a lynx," Kellear noted, kneeling beside the dead cat and turning it over. The face and chest of the great predator were burned badly, and the cat's skull was exposed. Not a drop of blood was spilled in the grass, save the dragonhawk's.
Velirra inspected the thrashing, serpentine-like bird with pity. The dragonhawk's left wing was torn from the lynx's deadly claws, the blood that had spattered the ground the same vibrant crimson as the dragonhawk's skin.
"You poor thing," she said, softly stroking the bird's head. Its beak snapped near her fingers, but her hand was already gone, held close to her breast. As fast as she had taken it away, she began petting it again, murmuring soothing words and stroking her hand along the length of its beautiful red body. The bird's thrashings died down ever so slowly, and its squawking became one less with pain and more confusion at this high elf that seemed so . . .
"Laretyr," Velirra called. One of the rangers stepped forward and knelt beside her.
"Find some bandages, if you could," she replied, and carefully touched the dragonhawk's rent wing. Her fingers came back wet not only with blood, but another sticky substance that smelled foul and anything but healthy. "And some water. I'm not sure how long he's been here, but the wound's already infected."
"Not too long, that much I can say," Kellear said, standing and kicking the lynx's burnt corpse. "That thing is fresh."
Velirra contemplated what she had just been told, then shook her head, dark curls bouncing. "Either way." She met Laretyr's gaze, and the high elf nodded, standing and running south.
Kellear fished in his pack and brought out a roll of woolen bandages, and tossed it to her. Velirra caught the roll easily, but did not begin to mend the dragonhawk's wound. Laretyr returned a moment later, a crude wooden bowl filled with fresh stream water in his hand.
"Now, for the tricky part," she said, handing both items to Kellear. Her rangers watched - one had his sword drawn just in case - as she carefully scooped up the injured bird in her arms. It did not protest, but it did give a little squawk of pain. She looked at it, its pain reaching her, and she carried it over to a spot in the forest that she remembered seeing earlier. "We will set up camp here, and I will tend to its wounds." she told them.
An hour later, the camp was prepared, a fire was burning brightly, and they had laid out a dozen blankets in the grass. It was here that Velirra set the dragonhawk down, so that its bloodied wing was easily accessible. Kellear handed her the water, and she washed the bird's wing gently, so as to not pain it any more. Once the dried blood had been washed away, and she had cleaned it of the infected liquid that had accompanied the crimson, she wrapped the wing with the bandages, pleased to see that the wound did not bleed more. When she finished, she washed her hands with what was left of the water, and picked up the bird. It looked up at her, all fear gone from its eyes, and she felt a little tingling in the back of her mind. Her eyes met the bird's, and she saw a love in them like no other.
The Burning Crusade and the Wrath of the Lich King
Over the course of five years, Velirra healed and cared for the little dragonhawk, until she grew and grew. When she reached adult age, Velirra began training her and continued caring for the bird. She named her Emberfire, and their companionship grew until nothing could stand between the two. Hunter and bestial companion traversed across Azeroth, adventuring and exploring.
Eventually, the Third War came, when Arthas Menethil, crown prince and soon king of Lordaeron betrayed his father and ravaged Quel'Thalas to reach the Sunwell. Once he did so, he used the mystic well's energies to revive the necromancer Kel'Thuzad. Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider, son of King Anestarian - the high elven king who fell beneath Arthas Menethil's runeblade, Frostmourne - vowed revenge. He renamed the quel'dorei Blood Elves - sin'dorei, in their tongue - and found for his people a new, more diverse way to feed off magic, for before many elves began to fall ill and die. The former quel'dorei's eyes began to take on a more green tinge - more demonic, though there was no trace of taint within them - and they traveled to Northrend, to fight against Arthas Menethil. They struck a deal with Illidan Stormrage, The Betrayer, and together put up a plan to break the Frozen Throne and stem the flow of power which fuelled Arthas. They did not succeed, though Illidan did meet his end.
After the Third War, Kael'thas and his people joined the Horde, and were accepted into the more brutal lifestyle of the Horde, led by none other than Thrall, once a slave and gladiator to the notorious Aedelas Blackmoore.
Velirra herself participated in much of the action in Outland, even being one of the many adventurers that raided the Black Temple and slew The Betrayer himself. She helped defeat the remainders of the Burning Legion, before returning back to Quel'Thalas. There, The Shattered Hand, a group of both draenei and sin'dorei that worked together to fight off the Burning Legion in Azeroth. The Sunwell, healed but in no way less powerful or dangerous, was being used to bring the demon lord Kil'jaedan into Azeroth. Velirra was also one of many that adventured into the high elves' sacred fountain of energy and stopped Kil'jaeden once and for all, and she personally witnessed the Sunwell's full healing, as it was made whole once again.
Almost two years later, the Lich King awoke from his dreaming slumber, and the Scourge returned. She and Emberfire had actually been in Orgrimmar, and they watched Garrosh Hellscream - son to the famous Grom Hellscream - challenge and almost defeat Thrall in a one-on-one duel. They were interrupted, however, when a death knight and a legion of Scourge arrived and began attacking the Horde capital. During the attack Velirra had taken a wound to her arm, which then had almost been infected with the blood plague, a notorious death knight disease. Thankfully, there had been a druid on hand who had cleansed her wound and healed it.
Velirra had been among the first that had accompanied Garrosh Hellscream to Northrend, along with many of the Warsong Expedition. And, as she had with their first steps on Northrend, she was also among the first that fought alongside the Ashen Verdict - a group composed of both Argent Crusaders and Knights of the Ebon Blade - when the raid upon Icecrown Citadel was initiated. She was also partially responsible for the killing blow dealt to Arthas Menethil himself, though many brave heroes - both Horde and Alliance - were slain during that fight.
She sat upon one of the many ledges and railings that bordered Dalaran. Behind her, visitors coming in and from the city of magi were using flying mounts and portals for transportaion. This area of Dalaran, known as Krasus's Landing, served as the magical, floating city's entry point for those coming and going using mounts. Deeper inside the city were portals to each faction's capitals, as both the Horde and Alliance shared an uneasy and tense relationship with one another. Because of this, both factions had different areas of Dalaran dedicated to each respective faction and its members.
Velirra, a blood elf though she was, had made a few friends within the Alliance. It had been no simple task, to gain their trust and win their respect and loyalty, but sometimes political issues were best dealt with using peaceful communication and actually attempting to speak to the opposing faction, not blindly slaughtering them on sight. This way of thinking had gained her few friends amongst the Horde - save those that, like her, wished for peace - and few within the Alliance. Also because of her points, many Horde thought her a disgrace, cowardly, unwilling to defend herself against her 'Alliance dog friends' that she had heard many orcs sneer at her about. The thought filled the huntress with fury, but quickly she tempered it down, using her visions of peace to calm her, as she had done many times before.
Beside her, her lifelong companion, Emberfire, squawked, her wings keeping her aloft. The dragonhawk's resplendent scales caught in the fading rays of the sun, making the bird almost glow. Velirra stroked the bird with love, and Emberfire squawked again, quieter this time, but no less loving.
Years ago, before the transformation of high elf to blood elf, she had been scouting with a few quel'dorei rangers when she had stumbled upon a rare find: an injured young dragonhawk, who had barely been able to defend herself against her attacker; a massive lynx, one of the many predators that stalked the woods of Quel'Thalas. Emberfire's left wing had been rent by the lynx's deadly claws, yet still the dragonhawk had managed to defeat her would-be killer with a direct blast of fire to the huge cat's face, charring it and effectively cooking it. It had taken time - though Emberfire's wing had festered rather swiftly - but eventually Emberfire's wound had fully healed. Once this had happened, Velirra began training the young dragonhawk, and their friendship grew until nothing could possibly stand between them.
The wind suddenly shifted, sending a cool breeze Velirra's way. The soft wind toyed with her curly brown hair, blowing a strand across her face. Little less than irritated, the blood elf tucked it behind her long, pointed ears and gazed out upon Crystalsong Forest.
Northrend, missing its undead armies, its ruler, and any other evil manifestations, was actually quite beautiful. Crystalsong Forest in particular was by far Velirra's favourite place. The enormous trees that made their home here seemed to be made of illuminant crystals that, when gazed upon, forced you to divert your gaze, so bright were they. But it was for this exact reason that Velirra had been so drawn to them. Being a hunter, she of course felt at home in the wilderness. But these trees were so . . . different . . . and so pretty. She had once asked one of the magi that resided in Dalaran, an older man named Pentarus whose head was bald save for a crown of greying hair, about them.
"They are creations of magic, my dear," he had told her, a hint of a smile on his lips. His blue eyes twinkled as he spoke. "Ever since Northrend was discovered, they say, and I have only been here since our city was re-located. Yet they intrigue me as much as they do you, my dear."
Velirra's curiosity still craved for more answers, as she felt they were somehow connected to . . . something . . . yet she did not know what. Even as this thought once again occurred to her, her emerald eyes fell on the splendid crystalline tree, the largest one that made its home here.
Squawk. Emberfire nudged her arm with her beak, and Velirra sighed, sounding none too upset about the fact, and fished in her pack for a strip of dried meat. Her much-more-bestial-yet-no-less-civilized companion eagerly snatched up the snack and swallowed it whole. Velirra grinned, happy with life, happy that the war against the Scourge was finally over. After so long, both sides had lost so much, and yet had emerged victorious. It was more than she could have dreamed for, yet was true.
"I thought I'd find you here," a voice said behind her. Surprised but not unhappy, Velirra rose and, with careful, agile balance hopped off the ledge. She landed in a crouch, and stood, dusting off her hands. Emberfire simply rose almost five feet into the air and dived down gracefully to come hovering by the blood elf's side.
A human warrior, clad in full plate armour and wore two massive greatswords on his back, stood just in front of her. He held his full-helm in his gauntleted hands, and his dark eyes met Velirra's.
He had dark skin, and short, cropped black hair. A goatee circled his mouth, and his voice was deep and rough. And though he stood almost seven feet tall, thus towering over Velirra, she held no fear of this man.
"Adravian," she said, her smile not diminishing but growing wider. "I didn't think to find you here."
Adravian Fortwright gave her an unpalatable shrug. "Neither did I, to be honest with you," he said, not smiling. Velirra saw happiness in his eyes all the same, happiness that she had made it safely through the war against the Lich King, and even to the monster's fall at the Frozen Throne. "I just happened to remember how much you like Crystalsong, and figured that if I were to find you anywhere in Northrend, it'd be here."
Velirra chuckled softly, still smiling. She knew Adravian to be a hard and sometimes cold man, a fierce, ruthless warrior and not one to show mercy to his enemies. Yet, when she had chanced upon him in Dragonblight almost six weeks ago, she would never have gotten to know him better.
They had met, weapons in hand, as one was Alliance and one was Horde. They had fought, fiercely at first, but eventually more for fun as they realized that a champion would be hard-pressed to show him or herself. Finally, Velirra called for a draw, and he had accepted. Afterwards, they had both departed, but not without not being able to forget that unexpected encounter and its equally-unexpected outcome.
Later, the two had fought together against the Scourge in the Icecrown Citadel. An interesting battle, with both Horde and Alliance fighting. Together.
Suddenly, Adravian's words registered to Velirra. "You were trying to find me? Why?" she asked, curious.
Now Adravian smiled, white teeth showing through the black goatee and in striking contrast to his dark skin. "The Horde and the Alliance have signed a peace treaty - temporary, not permanent, might I add - because of the losses we have all incurred. Both Thrall and His Majesty, King Varian, have agreed that we have all lost much, and should rebuild our two peoples instead of hacking away at one another until nothing is left but food for the carrion eaters."
Velirra's heart jumped excitedly. Impossible . . . and yet Adravian has never lied to me . . . "Truly?" she inquired, shocked and pleased. "A peace treaty? Between our two factions?" She paused, her smile widening all the more at this unexpected news. "That is . . . amazing!" Beside her, Emberfire squawked, as if she understood what was being said and agreed - which, for all Velirra knew, she very well could.
Suddenly, the dark, boring life that seemed to present itself before her didn't seem so dark anymore, she thought.
~Mists of Pandaria pre-opening~
Months later, with things still somewhat quiet, Velirra had returned to Quel'Thalas, and hunted down an old abandoned house they had been told about. With Emberfire at her side, they made their home there, and lived quietly, adventuring often. However, just a week ago, they were informed of on an attack on Fairbreeze Village. Regent Lord Lor'Themar Theron was sending out a call to any adventurers or mercenaries, and naturally, Velirra had been the first to answer.
Velirra walked stiffly, Emberfire trailing behind her. Her swords, sheathed and strapped in a position that gave her complete freedom, glinted in the morning sun as her steps echoed through the empty streets of Silvermoon City. She looked around, mildly surprised at the lack of energy the city seemed to have, but overcome with fury more than anything. Normally, she prided herself on being able to control her anger. But, today, it seemed to boil furiously, incurable. Her emerald eyes flashed fiercely as she increased her pace, turning a corner and approaching Sunfury Spire. She motioned behind her as she heard a squawk, telling Emberfire to stay put. As she made her way up the steps, she was stopped by two Royal Guards.
"Halt," one of them spoke in a musical, commanding voice, tightening his hand around his shield. "The Regent Lord is not holding any audiences this day."
"I'm here to see Ranger-General Brightwing-" she started to say, but before she could continue, the guard interrupted her.
"He is in audience with the Regent Lord as of this moment, and is not hearing any-"
"It's about the attack on Fairbreeze Village," Velirra finished quickly, looking in to the guard's cold eyes. Though she was furious, she softened them as much as she could. "Regent Lord Theron sent out a call to adventurers and mercenaries. My loyalty is to our people, therefore, I have answered. Now, may I see him?"
The guard hesitated, then, with an air of defeat, stepped aside. Grateful, Velirra almost sprinted past him, pushing aside the violet silk drapes that acted as a door. Inside, Ranger-General Halduron Brightwing and Regent Lord Lor'themar Theron stood around a small table, numerous papers and scrolls scattered out before them, along with a map of Quel'Thalas.
Ranger-General Brightwing looked up in surprise, cocking his head questioningly. Theron stood straight, and met her curious gaze. "What may I do for you, my friend?" he asked, his tone soft but filled with authority; the same powerful authority that allowed him to win over much of his people. That, and the kindness that was in it, made him what he was: Which, in Velirra's opinion, was an excellent leader.
"I'm here to answer the call you sent out," she said at once, keeping her tone level, but unable to entirely suppress her fury.
Ranger-General Brightwing looked up. "Ah," he said slowly, walking over to stand by Lord Theron's side. "May I have a word with you . . . ?"
"Velirra," she nodded, and General Brightwing gestured for her to follow. She did, and he took her to a back room, where they stored the transportation orb that allowed one to travel to Lordearon much swifter than flying or sailing. The only thing that could match it was a spell. It stood there in all its beauty, a bright orange that kind of reminded her of the sun.
"Velirra," General Brightwing spoke once they were standing beneath the giant glowing orb. "This attack happened mere hours ago. You were swift, and that makes me confident. The victim was one of our own, and was found in her home, her body bearing vicious wounds." Velirra shuddered at that, knowing he was not one to exaggerate but holding the Ranger-General's gaze steadily.
"Another witness claimed he saw a shadow sprinting out of the village moments after the body was found. He described it as a 'nine-foot tall half-wolf, half-man; something termed a worgen, I believe."
Velirra contemplated this for a moment. "Did you send anyone out to track him?" she asked, tapping her chin. General Brightwing shook his head in irritation.
"I'm afraid not," he replied, pacing around the room. "You see, the problem is . . . Our assassin left no tracks. No way for us to identify who he or she is. We can't even identify the poison that was left in the victim's wound."
"Poison?" Velirra asked, freezing. "Did it have a scent at all? What colour was it?" The questions came pouring forth, and she stopped, closing her mouth and half-grinning apologetically at the Ranger-General.
General Brightwing grunted. 'It was dark green, and smelled like putrid corpses." he said bluntly. He stopped pacing and turned to face her, arms crossed, emerald eyes searching hers. "Why do you ask?"
Velirra shrugged. "Curious, sir. Viewing every aspect of the situation in all detail before continuing on."
General Brightwing nodded in understanding and . . . Approval? "Excellent thinking, Velirra." He began pacing again, muttering his thoughts out loud. "If this assassin is using poison, then he's obviously adept at this kind of stuff. Which obviously points out he could set up a trap for anyone who tries to follow his tracks."
"He's not immortal. He's left something, somewhere. Your rangers just didn't look hard enough, that's all. I bet I could find something."
General Brightwing shrugged. "You may or may not. My rangers are some of the best. If they couldn't find anything, I doubt you will. I'm not saying you can't go ahead and try, though. If you find anything, report it back to me, if you wouldn't mind. I'd prefer you don't run headlong in to whatever he has set up for us."
Velirra nodded, but said nothing. If I find something worth noting, I'll follow it like I'd originally planned to, until I find the heartless bastard that had the nerve to tresspass on elven lands and murder someone who had no quarrel with him. "Sir, if I may ask, is there a reward for finding this assassin?" she asked instead. General Brightwing reached behind him and retrieved a sack jingling with coins. He tossed to Velirra, who caught it effortlessly. "This isn't some quest for a young, inexperienced adventurer, my friend," he said, meeting her questioning gaze. "I've put a bounty on this assassin's head. Bring it to me, and you get the rest. No matter the outcome, what you have there is yours. I don't care what you do with it, but I want the assassin's head. Understood?"
"Absolutely," she said, stowing away the coins and standing a little straighter. "I'll do whatever it takes."
That brought a soft chuckle from the Ranger-General. "I'd prefer you not lose your life to him, if you could."
The soft, cool breeze that travelled through Quel'Thalas rustled the beautiful golden leaves of the ancient, white-barked trees that stood miles high in to the sky, orange with the coming sunset. Velirra sat on her hawkstrider, the bird-like animal's feathers shades of exotic purple and pink, the breeze playing with her long, curly brown hair. She losed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep, calm breath, and for a moment she was tossed back in time, seated back in to her childhood, a young girl who enjoyed nothing more than wandering the breathtaking woods for hours, entranced by the wildlife, the beauty . . . everything before the Horde's invasion, and Quel'Thalas's fall.
Beside her, keeping herself effortlessly aloft, Emberfire was silent, her huge wings flapping softly. One of them was viciously scarred, a token of rememberance to the crimson dragonhawk's past.
A smile spread across Velirra's lips as she, too, recalled the moment; the moment when she'd finally found a companion for life, one that would never turn her back on the sin'dorei . . . as she would for Emberfire. Many thought of her friend little more than a beast, trained to serve her.
How dreadfully wrong they all were.
Proof of this was seen seconds later. Emberfire seemed to notice her master's sudden change in mood and hovered closer to the blood elf, nuzzling Velirra's shoulder with her beak. Velirra responded, running her gloved hand along Emberfire's neck.
"Dreadfully wrong indeed," she said softly, turning her gaze back to the path ahead of them. "Ready, Ember?" Emberfire squawked in response and Velirra nodded, grabbing the hawkstrider's reins. "Off to Fairbreeze, then."
An hour later they arrived, and the town's unusual silence was the first thing Velirra noticed was out of the ordinary. She stopped her hawkstrider, and Emberfire paused as well, the dragonhawk's dark eyes sweeping over the town.
A ranger approached them, his posture radiating discomfort and slight relief, his expression mixed. "Greetings, huntress," he said, and his voice sounded strained to Velirra. Nevertheless, she smiled.
"Hello," she replied. "How fares our village?"
"Not well I'm afraid," the ranger said, gesturing that she follow him. She exchanged glances with Emberfire, then spurred her hawkstrider in to a slow walk. "I assume you've heard of our recent attack?"
Velirra snorted. "You may call it an attack; I, however, will term it a murder, for that is what it was in reality."
The ranger shrugged. "Call it whatever you wish to, m'lady," he said.
A moment of silence passed bwteeen them, and Velirra rolled her eyes. Ignorance is going to defeat us all. "So," she continued, "who was the assassin's target?"
"Jilanne," the ranger informed her, regret lacing his tone.
Velirra quirked an eyebrow. "The dragonhawk handler?" When the ranger nodded, things suddenly became somewhat-clearer in her eyes. "Ranger Degolien," she muttered.
Degolien nodded again. "Correct. Sareyn is at her post." The veteran ranger paused. "You remember much from your childhood, Dawnstrider."
Velirra bit back a chuckle. "Of course I do. Memory loss isn't something I harbour. I have no reason to do such."
Degolien on the other hand, laughed easily, though his tone was still one of an exhausted soldier. "True enough. I assume you'd like to see the scene of the murder? You were sent to investigate, were you not?"
Velirra nodded, then almost slapped herself, remembering he couldn't see her. "I was. the ranger-general has put a bounty on the assassin's head."
Degolien chuckled again. "He picked the right hunter for the job. Woe unto this foolish child for his actions, with you on his tail." The ranger stopped at what used to be Jilanne's home, stepping aside and looking up into her eyes. "Speaking of which; who is this assassin?"
Velirra met his gaze. "A worgen rogue, tall, black hair, orange-black eyes."
"Tall?" Degolien uttered a harsh laugh. "Interesting way of putting it."
Velirra was still serious. "When I say "tall," I mean this worgen is a monster, even when he isn't transformed. He's at least nine feet tall when transformed, if what I've heard is correct."
Degolien's features hardened, and his strained patience returned to his eyes. "We'll be on the lookout for him, should he ever have a reason to come back."
"Oh, he'll be coming back alright," Velirra muttered, hopping off her hawkstrider, "when I drag him back, binded and subdued."
She pushed through the curtains of violet silk, entering Jilanne's former residence. The first thing she saw was a single, dried spray of blood, crimson as Emberfire's darker-hued scales. Those that had cleaned out the house previously had worked hard to remove the smell, but some of it still remained. Velirra had dealt with much worse, though, and did not care for it. Her emerald eyes scanned the single room for a long, drawn-out moment. Degolien stood behind her, strong arms crossed over his chest.
"See anything?" he finally asked, breaking the silence. Velirra waited a moment before responding.
"Little that could point me in the direction of the worgen," she replied, striding forward. She knelt beside the dried blood, running her fingers along the patch of red. "How bad were Jilanne's wounds when she was found?"
"Her throat was slashed badly," Degolien said, standing beside her, "and it looked as if though she was stabbed in the stomach. I think it was supposed to be a clean kill, but she fought back more fiercely than the would-be assassin thought, I think."
"And yet her soul rests, while his lives on another day, regretless and fully prepared to repeat the same action."
Degolien had no answer to that; he merely stood there, stoic and unresponsive as she continued to investigate the room.
(I would do more, such as what happened afterwards and unto Cataclysm and the beginning of Mists of Pandaria, but I figured you guys have read enough text. I will continue afterwards, though, if you want. )
Please give thoughts, any constructive criticism and praises. Be honest, please! <3