Light and Shadows

Mortal Reminders: An Illusion

Takes place before the imprisonment of Denathrius, approximately a week after "A Spilled Tea."

"Are you quite comfortable?" asked Renathal, with the sort of razor-edged politeness that would have cut another Venthyr's sense of self-importance to ribbons.

The mortal across the table from him, however, merely shivered, taking care the motion did not disarrange his long, well-coiffed blond hair.

"Hardly. It's freezing," he berated the Dark Prince. "And you'd think with the number of candles in here you might actually be able to see something."

Renathal's eyes fluttered briefly closed. His well of inner patience was deep, but not infinite, and it had been centuries since anything had tested its limits like his on-going quest to discover more about the Maw Walker.

To add insult to inconvenience, it should have been a straightforward task. Any other time in Renathal's existence, he could have consulted the Curator, or the Master's private library. The Master himself would probably have known much about the Maw Walker's people offhand. But both the Curator's memory and her archives were ruined, and Denathrius and his library were no longer at the Prince's disposal. Still, with the surfeit of mortals currently residing in the Shadowlands, Renathal had expected little difficulty in locating another of the Maw Walker's kind to interrogate.

Recent events had illuminated the intriguing possibility that the Maw Walker might not be averse to negotiating new, more intimate, terms to their friendship. It was a tantalising prospect, though one fraught with difficulties, and while none were insurmountable, Renathal thought it prudent to collect more information on her before deciding how best to proceed. Besides, his curiousity had been salivating for some time for further details of the rebellion she had mentioned in passing but refused to fully explain.

He had sent Draven to Oribos with the task of retrieving a less recalcitrant Nightborne, but the mortal the General returned with bore only the barest resemblance to the Maw Walker. A shorter, paler elf with long, blond hair and small, green eyes, he introduced himself as a Sin'Dorei. But Blood Elf was the translation, and the term most familiar to Renathal. There were more than a few of those souls in Revendreth.

"What sort of information are you looking for?" asked the elf, adjusting himself in his chair with a long-suffering implicative of a cushion filled with nails.

"I would like the history of the Maw Walker and her people," said Renathal, ignoring the elf's show of discomfort. "And please, spare no detail."

The Sin'Dorei raised a long, blond eyebrow.

"I do have another job, you know."

But he gave Renathal an hour.

In that time, the Prince of Revendreth learned a great deal about the history of the elves of Azeroth; their descent from one race called the Highborne, and how its splintered factions became the variety of elves their world now contained. Despite his protest of busyness, the Sin'Dorei recounted many tangential tales of his own people, but his font of garrulous knowledge dried up considerably when Renathal pressed for more about the Shal'Dorei, or Nightborne. Except, this elf called them something different.

"Why do you refer to them as, Nightfallen?"

The Sin'Dorei's eye roll was the very picture of elegant disdain that, on anyone else, Renathal could not have helped but admire.

"Well, I shouldn't really, anymore," said the elf. "I suppose they're all the same now. But the ones who rebelled called themselves 'The Nightfallen' and, you know, old habits." He shrugged, and made it look like a move in a dance. "I suppose they called themselves that because they'd fallen from their once grand place in the world. Suramar City used to boast itself as the 'jewel of the Night Elf kingdom'." He wiggled his fingers skeptically. "Not hard since the majority of them live in trees but it's nothing compared to Silvermoon."