Megaly,

I reported to work this morning, thinking nothing different of the day. Little did I know the Lich King would be sending his minions today! The docks were repeatedly attacked by undead dragons and lumbering undead…organ donors. I’m okay and hope to see you soon.

Garilos.

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With a sigh, Garilos settled into a chair in Megaly’s apartment. After a rough day on the docks, he was bone-weary. Sinking back into the chair, Garilos reflected upon the events of the day.

Garilos stormed into his small rental room in Goldshire and threw his buzzbox into a corner.

“Cursed by Elune! What’d the Anchorite mean by ‘Let her find her feelings on her own?’ Can the Anchorite read my heart? The harder I try, the more she will push away? Does she mock me?” Garilos fumed, “How’d the Anchorite known I had seen Megaly? And what of this subtlety she talks of? Sounds like the craftings of the nobles, with their twisted truths and lies!”

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Megaly stumbled back to the apartment in Stormwind after finally being released from her “duties” watching over a certain spoiled aristo wench. She wanted to know what the girl’s father thought she needed “protecting” from. Maybe from the ire of her last bodyguard… or anyone else that had met her for that matter. Meg was definitely looking forward to a long, relaxing night with Garilos.

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(( This continuing story is written in collaboration with Garilos. You can find it on his blog here. ))

Megaly woke slowly to the rising noise of traffic through the cobbled Stormwind street outside the window of the small apartment. She could see the soft glow of false dawn just starting through the gaps in the curtain. She stretched and started to go over in her mind the work of the day. Next to her she felt Garilos begin to stir as well. She smiled contently and gave him a light kiss before sitting up in the small bed.

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Though she chose to move at night, the streets of Silvermoon offered no covering shadows. The city was never dark, its golden streets and buildings lit from within and without by magic lanterns. Arcane Constructs roamed the streets patrolling for those that were seen as “subversives” to the greater good of the Blood Elves. Silvermoon Guards patrolled as well and Ansuela knew they would recognize her all too easily.

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Megaly stormed into the small apartment in Stormwind and slammed the door roughly behind her. Lilbit squeaked in surprise then settled on the bed, her green scaly head tucked under the pillow. Meg continued to pace the confines of the room, unable to calm enough to rest. Several times she started to reach for her flask only to change her mind. Her own drunkenness seemed to have gotten her into this mess in the first place.

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Megaly stomped into her room and threw her fishing pole roughly into the corner. She splashed some water into the basin on the dresser and scrubbed vigorously at her face, trying to wash away the events of the evening. Wiping her face on a nearby towel, she looked around for a bottle, a flask, anything that contained something strong and alcoholic. Her flask sat on the bedside table and she snatched at it, drinking the liquid within down. It burned her throat and she coughed after a minute, gasping for air. It burned in her stomach and only intensified the sick feeling she had.

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Word spread quickly through the city that the orcs were coming. A force greater than any we had faced. They were changed as well. As if they had become part of the fel magicks they turned on us. The scouts reported that they were like man’ari. Something so evil as to be nothing like they once were.
 
We did not have to be told we had no chance against them. The decision that Velen made we all accepted with resignation. We could not all flee. They would hunt us and wipe out our entire race. Some of us would have to remain. Not to fight, though. To give the appearance that the city was fully occupied. That those left were all that remained of our people.
 
One could see the decision broke Velen’s heart. Each person, each family, that he chose to remain behind left yet another line of pain etched forever upon his face. They accepted it, those chosen to die. They would give their lives for the chance that some of our people would still live. They would fight, but we all knew it was a fight that could not be won.

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