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| - The death knight paced slowly down the western bank of the Dead Scar, watching the lessers of the Scourge shamble on restlessly. Gritting his teeth, he mused, contemplating the inferiority of these weapons...feeble, mindless, reactive to only the enticing smell of the living. A good strategy -strength in numbers- but lacking in honed skill, ferocity, and intelligence. He dragged his feet a few more steps, whispering to no one in particular, "You may have been a true, undeniable King, but you are losing your grip, and I have more...personal matters to attend." The thoughts in his head churned. Why he was compelled to return to the Deepwoods, he at first could not lay a single icy finger on. Letting the notion pass, he came to the road and turned, with a soldier's precision, towards his once-home, Windrunner Village. Just a matter of a month prior, a voice -stronger than that of his lord Lich King- had begun to pry at his shell, filling his head with memories, with images, and the faintest hint of guilt. Rounding the outskirts of the village, and coming to a stop at an aging manor near the western coast, the knight kneeled before the ruins of his home. Ceron Edouard Solaire, once a ranger of Silvermoon, had passed on the very steps before him; here he was resurrected, but he was not the only one. "Traitor. Unfaithful swine...," an efforvescent voice whispered in his ear. "You dare return to the grave you put me in?" "Ah, my dear Genica," his hollow voice replied, "Seems your silence was only temporary." A light, rhythmic laugh resounded from the shade of a woman standing behind him. The once alluring mage, now reduced to a mere forlorn spirit, refused to allow Ceron's mind rest. She ran her ghostly hands over his shoulders, right down to his flesh, and rested in an embrace around his chest. "My pride still lives on, husband. Make no mistake, your children will know of your crimes. The sins you have committed in undeath will not be the ones to fell you." With that, the specter planted a single, soft kiss on Ceron's cheek, and collapsed with a flash into a ball of light, penetrating his very consciousness. "Let them find me then,"... Inesra stared at the lightly crumpled letter in her hand. Crisp, fancy Thalassian writing adorned the parchment. It must be from him. The penmanship, the doodles..it is all so familiar, she thought to herself. It had been quite some time since she aided in her brother, Balthazar's, escape from the Silvermoon guard. Every place she traveled, her agenda under the surface had been to find him again, but to no avail. But here, now, the chance was lying right in front of her. It was too simple. She shook her head at the parchment. As happy as she should be for this news, Ines could not help but worry more with each time she read it. "Urgent news? Imperative I come alone?" Inesra shrugged, letting out a small sigh as she began packing her things for the trip, finally choosing to go alone despite the protest. In the distance, the faint trudge of footsteps in the dry sand could be heard. Ceron's ears flicked, a tainted smile spreading across his face. "...and it looks like I will not have to wait long, Genica." "Fool. Trash. You should have been left here dead to rot into the ground with the rest of us.." The knight waved his hand in front of his face as if to hush her voice. He focused his eyes on the figure of a man with a cloak wrapped around his shoulders walking up from the beach towards the manor. Quietly, he crouched down, observing until the young elf stopped within ear-shot. Balthazar stared off into the setting sun, talking to himself, "Come on, sister, we do not have much time." As if on cue, the cold knight stepped out of hiding, making his presence known to the young man. "Welcome home, son," his voice reverberated as he removed his helm. Balthazar turned, watching his father approach him, one hand on the runeblade at his side. "Father. I knew you had returned, but I had hoped I would have more time than this." "Does she know?" Ceron asked coldly. Balthazar shook his head no, a look of acceptance in his eyes toward the end he was about to receive. The knight stepped close to his son, placing a hand on his shoulder, drawing the blade he had used to slaughter countless others. Genica wailing anguish in his head, Ceron slid the blade, with little resistance, through his own son, then quickly pushing the young man off with his foot. "Quiet, you infernal woman! The girl will be no threat. I will leave this little...family reunion, to this. For now." Inesra rounded near the coast, nearing the village. Her cowl tied particularly tight and her cheeks red from the sting of the wind, she had wasted no time to gaze upon the beauty and ruin that was Quel'thalas. Slowing Borvo's swift gallop to a trot, she dismounted with a cool fluidity, patting his rump as he trotted away. A ways up from the beach, she spotted the form of the white-haired elf, in a half-sitting position with a blanket wrapped around, she knew must be her brother. Inesra smiled as she loosened her cowl, pulling it back and approached the figure. As she drew nearer, her smile began to fade. She had not made it a point to arrive quietly. No, she was too excited. She had spend far too much time searching for him to not make it a celebration. As she placed her hand on her brother's shoulder from behind, his body slumped, lifeless and unresponsive. A flood of confusion, anger, and tears washed over her as she spotted a single, icy wound mid-chest. Only the corners of the blanket and his shirt had soaked up what blood was thawing. Almost frantically, Inesra took to the village, ignoring the specters, searching for sign of whoever caused this foul play. Falling to her knees, on the ground in front of her lay a ring bearing the Solaire seal. Over the rhythm and volume of her sobs came a familiar voice. You know who did this, my girl. It is not -fair- for you. So much time, so much effort. Honor your brother. Avenge him. The drive, the strength Inesra had was beginning to betray her. Nonetheless, the voice was right. In the setting sun, she wrapped the blanket underneath Balthi's body, pulling him down, little by little, to a clear spot on the beach. Dragging her feet, ears drooping, she gathered tinder and driftwood, building a-top his body a pyre. One spark was enough, and into the night as the fire was blazing, her gaze keen on the sight of the lapping flames, the smell of her brother's flesh melting away, the sizzle, the cracking of the wood, Inesra did not sleep.
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