Written by | Posted November 19, 2013 – 4:46 pm Deconstruction

Bad things are happening in Stormwind – and beyond.

The Hand of Lothar, they call themselves.

Yva Darrows was their first target.

Tirith and Aely were their second and third.

They have since… expanded their reach and escalated their methods …

filed under Feature, Old Enemies, Roleplay, Writing
Old Enemies: Intellect, Reason, and The Self
comment 1 Written by on August 2, 2013 – 5:48 pm

This post is brought to you by Hinote. For my readers who are not part of Feathermoon, Hinote is a member of the Order of the Rose, and to say that she and the Wildfire Riders have bad blood is a bit of an understatement (Tarquin once threw her into a volcano. She got better. Yes really). However, this does not extend to our out of game interactions, and… well. You’ll see.

Previous posts in this series include Coming forth by Day, The Magical Rogue, and Demonology 101.

It had been some time since Hinote had made a commitment to stop asking too many questions about how she ended up doing some of the things she inevitably ended up doing. Fate, she’d noticed years ago, was not without a sense of humor, and often an ironic one at that. But there were some things she couldn’t help but dwell on in spite of it. Her current situation was a perfect example of both; there were few things she wanted more than to just not be a part of this, but here she was, coming to the aid of…sworn enemies was perhaps too strong a term – in the grand scheme of things, the Riders were more like an irritation she couldn’t seem to get rid of – but nevertheless people she couldn’t trust and, in all likelihood, didn’t trust her either. And it wasn’t as if it was by coercion or happenstance. Just the opposite, she’d volunteered. And, as a result, she’d spent an inordinate amount of time since then wondering just why she was even bothering.

She stood now in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, alone save for the translucent reflection that stood just before her. It was an antique piece, dating back to the days of the Highborne who originally produced it, and, like most Highborne designs, it was lavishly decorated, with gold filigree around the frame and an old kaldorei inscription along the top that Hinote had never bothered to have translated. Ordinarily she wasn’t prone to such vanity, but the soul mirror was one of the first projects she’d brought home after she’d started digging around old ruins in her spare time, and there was some practical use in a mirror that projected a three-dimensional reflection of whoever stood before it. And what good would it do to just let it sit unused?

So before it she stood, absently combing her hair in the company of her own simulacrum while her mind wandered to current events.

Just stay silent and walk away. You don’t owe them anything. That was her first impulse. Spite was always her first impulse with them. But she’d forfeited the opportunity to follow that impulse when she walked in the door of the Pig and Whistle that night instead of just setting fire to it. It was irksome, but if Pandaria had taught her anything, it was that the cycle was hers to break and nobody else’s. So, for better or for worse, the warlock had elected to be helpful instead. There was no going back on that now.

Hinote shifted her head to the side a bit to get a better angle, then resumed combing. It’s not about debts, she thought to herself. The teeth of the comb snagged on a small knot of hair, and she winced slightly as she pulled it free. The momentary discomfort it afforded her was somewhat indicative of her instinctual response to the whole situation, but both soon subsided. She knew she was right: it wasn’t about debts. It wasn’t about gaining anyone’s favor. That was a game she tried to avoid playing as best she could. It wasn’t even because Shaila had been watching at the time.

She paused for a moment to look over her reflection’s straight, auburn hair. Satisfied, she set the comb down on the dresser adjacent the mirror. The warlock stood there for a bit longer, staring at her own image as if in search of something. Why was any of this even up for questioning? She had her answers; hell, she’d given them to Tarquin when he asked. More importantly, though, she knew they were right. To some, that sort of conviction was irrelevant, but as things currently stood, the knowledge that she was doing the right thing was likely all that was going to carry her through the whole mess.

At least this time it wasn’t her mess.

A knock at the bedroom door got her attention, followed by a girl’s voice. “Mooooom, are we going or what?”

Hinote remained fixated on her reflection for just a second longer, then looked to the door, the beginnings of a smile forming on her lips. “I’ll be out in a minute.” She turned back to the mirror, staring into her own green eyes for another few moments. Finally, she stepped away and towards the door, her reflection disappearing without so much as a sound. Sarah was there to greet her as she opened the door, and she couldn’t help but smile in earnest at the sight of her.

She was worried that Arrens might have gone rogue; that was part of it. She also didn’t trust either of the other warlocks that had been present that night; that was part of it too. More than either of those reasons, though, was the fact that even though she knew almost nothing of Aely or her husband, Hinote understood the predicament she was in, understood the feeling that came with having loved ones just disappear, without notice or warning or explanation. She’d been that person before, and it had occurred to her that night that what she was seeing unfold wasn’t unlike what she’d done to Sarah, to her family, to the Roses, to everyone, a number of times before, whether by choice or by circumstance.

She’d called it sympathy when she told Tarquin, but the truth was it was guilt as well; the somber realization that she had put people through exactly what Arrens was now putting his wife through.

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