Felwood

[moonshadows]

The kaldorei man has that ancient-but-ageless look that means he predates the World Tree. He sits, slumped, against a tree as though exhausted and his blades are nowhere in sight, but at my approach he leaps to his feet and summons them, blindfolded eyes staring straight at me.

“You’re the demon hunter that’s been killing druids.”

He hesitates to attack what looks like a young kaldoeri girl, blind eyes probing at the spells that cover me, but I know what he’ll see. I crafted the illusions to fool demonic eyes as well as physical ones.

“I am,” he says warily. “Have you come to kill me?”

The hug takes him by surprise. I step away and beam at him. “Of course not.”

“What-“ the glaives are banished again and he stares at me in confusion. “Why?”

“Illidan wouldn’t like it if I killed one of his first students.”

The wariness is back again. “How did you know…he’s alive?” he gasps.

I nod. “He’s teaching magic to the south, near the ruins of Eldarath. I’m one of his students.”

“Listen, then,” he says urgently. “The druids I have slain are nothing of the sort. A demon stalks these forests in the guise of a trusted and respected kaldorei, undoing my master’s work. I have fought his minions, but I am not my master – I can’t slay an army single-handedly, nor can I slip undetected into Whisperwind Grove to kill their leader. If you are Illidan’s student, you must get word to him – he is sorely needed here.”

“He knows,” I say matter-of-factly. “Tyrande and Malfurion suspected when the leader of the Emerald Circle outright refused to let him anywhere near. That’s why he sent me.”

The demon hunter frowns. “A budding mage is no match for a demon cunning enough to pass as a druid.”

“It’s a good thing, then, that I’m not a budding mage.” I let my illusions fall and summon my plain but serviceable glaives. “When I said I was his student, I didn’t mean in just magic.”

To his credit, he doesn’t do more than start at my appearance. “You’re very good, but how do I know you’re telling the truth?”

The glaives are banished. “You’re the one who found my Kal’shan just after his transformation. You nursed him back to health and never once shied away from what he’d become. That was the kindest thing anyone had done for him in ten thousand years, aside from Tyrande breaking him out. You know some of what the demons did to him in Zin-Azshari?”

He nods.

“My father is a dreadlord. I inherited his skill at manipulating minds, and I spent three years fitting the pieces of Illidan’s back together.” I lay the knowledge of where the keep is on the edge of his mind, watch him pick it up. “I won’t tell him you’re coming. It’ll be a happy surprise for him. And I’ll take care of the demon.”

“He’ll know something is up if you don’t come back with my head. He sent you to kill me, didn’t he?”

“Give me a lock of your hair?”

That startles him. “Why?”

I grin. “Magic is so destructive…when I killed you, your head didn’t survive intact.”

He grins back, then summons his glaives and cuts a thick chunk of hair off. After a moment, he slices one forearm and lets the blood soak one end of the clump before handing it to me. “Here. Good hunting. I’m off to visit my master.” The shy smile looks out of place on his ancient face.

My disguise cloaks me again. “Travel safe. May the stars guide you.”

==================================

The Sentinel stares doubtfully at the clump of bloody hair in my hand. “Go on up. The archdruid will verify that the blood matches what was found on his druids.”

“Thank you.” I smile gratefully and do a credible impression of post-battle fatigue as I make my way up the spiraling ramp.

“Oh,” Navarax says with disdain as I peer around the doorframe. “It’s you.” Then he sees what I’m holding. “What’s that?”

“I found the demon hunter and took care of him. He’s gone.” Ambiguity is a beautiful thing.

“Give it here,” he demands, then turns around while muttering spells over the bloody hair.

His disguise is as good as mine. Too bad I can see the tell-tales because I know what to look for. I wonder what kind of demon he is.

“Well done,” he says grudgingly, turning back around. “I didn’t expect Illidan’s whelp would be able to take on a full demon hunter and survive. I suppose you’ll want a reward for this.”

“There’s just one thing,” I say in the language most commonly used in the Legion.

“What’s that?” he replies in the same language, not seeming to realize that we’re not speaking kaldorei.

I let my disguise fall. “Your presence here is unauthorized.”

He pales and lets his own illusions fall. The satyr scowls at me. “I’m here on orders from Lord Banehollow. You’ll have to take it up with him.”

“And where do I find him?”

“He’s in the Shadow Hold, to the south.” Xaravan grins nastily. “He won’t be happy that you interfered with the re-corruption of Felwood.”

I smirk back at him, my fingers already in his mind, breaking structures quietly and forcing seals open. “That’s okay. The Nathrezene council won’t be happy with him for trying to poach Lord Illidan’s territory, but you don’t have to worry about any of that.” One final snap, and he trembles with the realization that I’ve disabled him. “You just have to worry about how angry Tyrande and Malfurion are going to be.”