Margaret; or Yune, as she had called herself her past few years as a Bruxist, gazed back into King Alford Menethil's eyes with only traces of recognition. Alford felt a pang of sorrow for this woman who had once loved him, this woman who had borne him an illegitimate heir, Tileot. Tileot, who Alford had masqueraded as his brother's offspring.

Her lips parted and she spoke to him, her voice broken and lacking the sweetness it once enjoyed. Her words had once been gentle and reassuring, but now Margaret croaked menacingly. "You - you cast me aside when you were finished with me. Stole my son from me."

Alford folded his arms, shutting out her scorn and protecting himself with his authority. "I did what was necessary; and I pensioned you off and left you to live a luxurious life in Strattania. How long has it been? Twenty years? Did you ever once feel the pains of hunger or need? Now I find that in your gratitude you rampaged through the countryside with a ridiculous title like 'Yune the Bloodmaid'?"

Margaret's mouth quivered. "You have no idea what you are talking about."

There was one thing that Alford had suspected of Margaret's family. His Witch Hunters had turned up Bruxist ties to her bloodline a generation ago, but no charges had been pressed. One could assume that a few slit throats or well placed bribes had ended the investigations. Alford's time with Margaret had not allowed him much of a glimpse into her background.

"So tell me what I am talking about, then?" Alford asked. His former lover looked away. "Amron came to us from his realm of perfection. Amron, bringing a message of hope and a cleansing fire. He burned away my impurities, my failures. He gave me a new purpose. Brux fills his followers with the passion of life. You, Alford, left me to rot."

This was becoming pointless and ridiculous. "What am I to do with you, Margaret?"

She rose from her seating position and clambered to the window, overlooking Lake Lordamere. "I never gave up the truth of Tileot's heritage, that he was my own. I could have caused an uproar. The Maroon crusade would have used that information against you, and I would have loved to see you fall, Alford. But I chose to protect my son's secret, to keep him away from even further danger."

"For that I am grateful. For Tileot's sake." Alford admitted.

Margaret spat at him. "I want Corin's Crossing back. I am Margaret Corin, and my family has ruled that town for generations. It is my family that founded it. I want to see my dear son, Tileot. Tileot Corin. Not 'Menethil'. I will not tell him who I am. I just want to see him. I will make you regret it if you hold these things back from me. I am not a helpless woman. I was reborn as Yune, and Yune I remain."



Thane Skirvar Thaurissian did not expect one thing in particular; for his communication stone to link him up with Featherbeard again so soon. Wiping his eyes free of sleep, the Dark Iron sorceror heard the report of his druidic Wildhammer ally.

Featherbeard brought dire news. "Thane, s'ah. We found Relgast in Cary'leh, the raptor city of the Wetlands. Bad news, however."

"What's wrong?" Skirvar asked nervously.

"Relgast been poisoned; I can't cure him without killing him. Some troll in this cave claims that we were betrayed, that Relgast was poisoned by one of our own. Per'aps Blackhammer cudda' seeded a spy in our ranks, if he is so bold."

Skirvar nodded grimly. "What can be done, Featherbeard? Why have you contacted me?"

Featherbeard sighed. "I need a fellow Thane to help me reach a decision. This troll priest offers to heal Relgast, but doing so would brand him with the mark of a god. He has just said that this god of blood will be a friend to Relgast and all generations henceforth. It seems too good to be true, am afraid. We can't let the new Highthane be a slave to some dark power, nor can we just let Relgast die. Think, Skirvar. What can we do? And how shall we find this traitor?"

[OOC: Spooky was originally writing this piece himself, but I offered to help him finish it since he is so busy with studies. These are decisions he made.]


Within the grand city of Stromgarde, a meeting of a scale not seen for a hundred years was being hosted. Acting as Regent until the return of his brother, Eralas, Dorath Trollbane had called together the aristocracy of the kingdom. A senate of sorts was in the works, to ensure that a decision was reached. Days prior, a messenger had arrived bringing word that the Tribune's legions had entered Hesperia. A cold stand-off had occured between the Tribune and a man calling himself Tiberius Leo, General of Hesperia's Eastern Legion. While the Tribune maintained the right to post his army outside the Thoradin Wall to guard the entrance to the kingdom, the Hesperians had called their might together to oppose what they believed was a charade.

It had turned into a matter of insults between the two parties. The news had outraged the royal court of Stromgarde, and Dorath, privy to Eralas' wishes before his journey to Fenris Isle, took matters into his own hands.

A chorus of cries rose up to the news that the Hesperian colonists were defying the honour and respect that Stromgarde was due. Dorath soon found himself pressed into a corner. The kingdom had been hungering for blood, blaming its ills on its neighbours for a long time. While Fenris Isle was supposedly a meeting designed to ease tensions, it seemed that it was already too late.

The pagan fanatics that opposed the Church of the Holy Light had to be stopped. Amidst an applause, Dorath called forth the oldest and most respected of the Tribunes, the man called Septim. It is Septim whom Dorath sent with the bulk of Stromgarde's military might to reinforce the Thoradin Wall and to prepare for war.

Not forgetting the trollish attacks in the north, Dorath appeased the court and appointed several battalions of Troll Hunters to march into the Hinterlands and seek vengeance.

[OOC: I want Fenris over with. Let's assume we've made pointless chatter for weeks on end in real time, and days in game time. The Summertide has lasted months. So let's do it this way. Post anything strictly necessary and relevant to your faction that you needed to or wanted to convey through Fenris Isle. Declarations can come now or later if necessary. Thaumas' scene will come shortly; but first, you guys need to finish the 'talking'.

Fenris Isle

Through turmoil, debates and arguements, one thing was maintained as commonplace during the time the lords and politicians spent in Fenris Isle. They despised those of the opposite religious faction. While Javali, Dictator of Dalaran, was probably the most serene of the gathering when it came to matters of religion, while the likes of Marshal Sherman in close proximity with Thaumas Proudmoore of Kul Tiras paved the way for absurd amounts of tension.

Nonetheless, if anything had been decided in the debates then it was that neither side was willing to admit to being at fault for the affairs of the Battle of Ambermill, and that the Inquisition of the Church and its Witch Hunters was not going to end. Truly, with the likes of Lord Xie pilfering snacks and reading storybooks, very little had changed by the end of the meeting. Eralas Trollbane seemed to be awaiting some mysterious message, Skirvar watched intently as he took down notes to bring back to Ironforge, and Eaconberth and Sourlan of the Perinany of the Legion seemed calculating as they considered their potential allies and enemies.

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