Ti'rae stood infront of the mailbox near the bank in Thunder Bluff. She finished reading the letters from Kombe and Matojo. If ever there was a time for her to realize that her constant running was a bad thing, it would be now. And yet, she wasn't truly running this time.

Sighing softly, she made her way toward the lower rise. She didn't see Kombe as of yet, so she decided that it would be better if she went and spoke with the Shaman Trainer now. Perhaps they would have some thing for her to do.

As she went toward the tower that spiraled, she was assailed by a cloud of smoke. Stopping abruptly, she jerked her her head to the left. There stood a dark haired blood elf, holding up a cigarette. The elf had a amused smile on her lips. Narrowing her eyes, the shaman said, "Whut's so funneh?"

Arching a dark eyebrow, the elf said, "Why you, Miss...?"

Frowning, Ti'rae said, "Ti'rae. An' why I bein' funneh ta yeh?"

Taking a drag from her cigarette, the elf blew a few smoke rings above Ti'rae's head, "Miss Ti'rae, a pleasure. I'm Reisha. As for why you are funny, it's because you are running from what you truly seek."

Ti'rae batted away the smoke as the elf introduced herself. At her explanation, however, Ti'rae paused to took at her more fully. Her aqua eyes were odd for an elf, at least to Ti'rae's knowledge. As was her amused, yet obviously friendly smile.

"Yeh bein' a seer den?" she asked, stepping closer to the elf, who stood leaning against one of the buildings on the lower rise.

"A seer? Oh no, just good at guessing. So, what are you running away from?" She smiled, then took another drag. One eye squinted as the smoke curled past it.

Ti'rae stared at the smoke. What was she running away from?

Kombe Shortusk - or Torrington, to most of his peers - staggered up to the innkeeper in Shadowprey Village. She regarded him warmly before handing a letter over to him and calmly saying, "It is from your mate, Mr. Shortusk." She chuckled as the young rogue's eyes widened and he quickly turned away from her to open the note. The innkeeper pricked her ears as the fellow read the letter - under his breath - and wrinkled her nose slightly as he bolted out the door.

"Mr. Shortusk! You forgot - " she started, then shook her head. The poor troll had forgotten his mask! Sighing, the innkeeper picked up the mask and shoved it into her belt, making a mental note to mail it off to him later.

Before Kombe hopped a Wvyern to Thunder Bluff, he penned this note:

Ti'rae!

Wherever you go, I'll go. We stuck together this far, there's no way I'm leaving you alone now! I will be in Thunder Bluff soon, and will wait around the lower rise for if you need me.

I love you! Whatever you need, I'll give - I promise. When I'm not there, I'll pray for you.

Please, please, please, please be careful!

Love always,

- Kombe

---

Meanwhile, in Thrallmar, Matojo leaned against the outer wall of the inn, the brim of his hat pulled down over his face as he read Ti'rae's letter. His gun lay by his side, his carrion bird - still lacking a name - pecked at a slab of meat on his other side. The old hunter patted the bird's heads, glanced sidelong at it, and rumbled, "Why do Ah 'ave a bad feelin' 'bout dis, boyohs?"

Both heads tilted to the left. He snickered.

Sighing roughly, Matojo pushed himself up off the ground and sauntered over to the mailbox to scribble his reply.

Dear Ti'rae,

Hon, you have my full support. I will stop by when I can, and ask that you keep in touch. Stay safe, kid, you and the baby - and please, if you need help, tell me. Tell us.

I love you, kid. Don't worry about me and Darda, everything will be fine - just worry about you and the baby. You'll be in my thoughts while I'm out here.

Love,

- Mat

As Matojo placed his letter in the mailbox, he found himself unable to shake this horrible, horrible feeling that crept up on him. This' stupid, he thought as he turned away. everything will be fine.

Ti'rae peered into her bags, her long blue hair falling in her face several times as she pawed around looking to make sure she had packed everything on her list. She had everthing she needed for a long, spiritual journey; she hoped. She'd never been on one that wasn't initiated by one of her trainers.

Her Gran was no where to be seen, for now. It made her wonder if Gran was only there if needed. Which, of course, made Ti'rae wonder if she was only there when Ti'rae imagined she needed her.

Sighing and shaking her head, she moved to the small table inside her Gran's hut. Sitting down, she picked up a pencil, pulled a piece of paper close and began to write.


Dear Kombe,

The elders of the village fear that I am seeing things. It turns out that the few spiritwalkers we have in the village cannot see Gran. This worries me.

I've decided that the best way to know for sure is to go on a journey. I'm not sure where I will go, but most likely it will be somewhere I have not been yet. I know I promised you that I would stay put and stay safe, however if I truly am seeing things, then it's probably better I do not.

I will keep you informed of where I go. I will write every day. I encourage you to visit me as I will be staying in several places for a few days at a time and I hope to help others as I am there.

My first destination is Thunder Bluff. I've been there only rarely and I know there are shaman trainers there who can, perhaps, send me in the right direction. So, if you can, visit me there.

I love you, Kombe. May the Loas watch over you.

Love,

Ti'rae



Dear Matojo,

I think I told you I've been seeing my Gran's spirit. Elders in Sen'jin tell me that the spiritwalkers cannot see her. I've decided that if I am to have any peace I must discover what is happening.

So I'm going on a journey. I've let Kombe know and told him I'll be writing him often and inviting him to visit me as I go on my journey. I don't want to be alone.

I'm going to Thuder Bluff first. If you have time, pehaps stop to see me. If not, no problem.

I hope things with you and Darda are okay again. I don't like for you to be sad. Real daughter or not, I still care.

Love you,

Ti'rae



Dear Mister Vodral Sir,

You've told me I have light duty and then leave once I'm too heavy and until after the babe is born. Thank you for allowing me that relief.

I have been continuing my light duty and will continue to do so until I no longer can. However, I have a spiritual journey I need to make, as a shaman and a mother. I'd like to request that as I travel I be allowed to take assignments from each place that I go to and that those assignments mainly involve healing or delivery assistance.

Thank you.

Mystic Ti'rae


After finishing the letters and sealing them away, she was surpised by a light fluttering in her belly. Pausing midstride, she waited. It came again, just a faint fluttering. She grinned. She doubt Kombe would be able to feel it again, but she was excited none the less. She'd wait to tell him in person, however.

Picking up her packs, she exited the hut, humming happily as she headed to Orgrimmar. She'd take a wyvern to Thunder Bluff, making sure she dropped the letters off before she took off. She was excited and distracted, which is why she didn't see her gran walking along side her on the way to her raptor. The raptor, however, stared at the spirit of Rae'ki, Ti'rae's grandmother, for several moments while Ti'rae loaded up the raptor's saddles.

Smiling warmly, Rae'ki patted the Raptor's neck, then said a small blessing over Ti'rae before the young Shaman mounted. She felt the warmth of the blessing and looked down in time to see her Gran fade. She eyed the spot where she'd been for a few moments, then nodded absently. Kicking Jade in the withers, she directed the raptor in the direction of Orgrimmar.

XIII.


Lonika absently ran a finger along the rather deep tusk mark "The Tiger" had given her. She was strangely attracted to his presence. She was excited by the chance to partake in a ritual that would be done by someone who'd obviously been doing it for years.

The bite mark on her shoulder throbbed in time with her heart beat. Her hand absently brushed against her breastbone, searching for something that was not there. It reminded her of the other Xa'ru. The one from this world. He'd asked her where her pendant was and kept calling her Xyra.

Her thoughts turned hazy, unfocused. She slumped back to the bed she was renting at the inn in Razor Hill. Her orange eyes rolled back into her head. Then the dream started.


Xyra glanced around wildly, seeing that she was completely trapped by a forest of thick, twisting vines. Having no weapons, she tried simply pulling them apart. One after another she ripped from the mass, yet each time she tossed one torn vine away, another slithered in to fill the small gap.

Growling her frustration, she whirled around, her chest heaving from the exhertion and annoyance. Throwing a glare around her, she shouted, "What do you want from me!?"

A voice hissed in her mind, Your obedience and your blood. I have you where I want you. The part of you that I need, that primal, savage portion of your soul, it is already where it will do me the most good.

Feeling the bloodrage well up in her mind, Xyra clutched at her head. Her eyes burned hotly as they changed from silver to red. Tusks shot from her mouth. Her pale fingers and toes grew together, melding into only two one each hand and foot.

Throwing her head back, Xyra let out a scream.


Jerking to her feet, Lonika's eyes now a deep red, she slowly roved around the inn. It was empty. This would not do. Picking up her mace, ritual dagger and pack, she slipped from the inn, the light of the moon more than enough to illuminate her path. She hungered in a way she had not before.

Sliding around the outer fence, she came upon a lone, patroling orc. The soldier was female, several inches shorter than Lonika and rather scrawny looking as well. The troll could smell her blood, feel the thump of her heartbeat in hollow of her exposed collar bone.

"Time to feed," she murmured as she slipped into place behind the orc.

XII.

Xyra ran her fingers through her pale hair as she stared at the notes the "other Xyra" had made. Apparently the "Xa'ru" of this world was her live in lover and had already taken most of the letters off her desk. He'd neglected to take along Xyra's notes, however. Or perhaps he hadn't seen them, they were wedged rather haphazardly in between a set of books on Alchemy.


- Father is a druid of the Fang, he's been disguising his allegiance for millennia.

- Mother knew after I was born, father told her then.

- I was born over four hundred years ago. They covered it up! (The rest of this note is blackened out completely.)

- They attempted to summon their Patron, whomever that might be. I cannot figure out who it would be, they give NO indication.

- They also give no indication why they are summoning the Patron, though I'm sure all of the recipients were well aware of why.

- Father mentions the spirit of the Wind Serpent (Hakkar??) and speaks of seeking them out in the different places they populate.


Xyra stared at the notes, absently tracing the line of tattoos that ran from her cheeks to the tips of her ears as she read. She shook her head. Similar to her own experiences only her father had succeeded in summoning his patron. And he had become her first kill as a result. Her mother had been her second. There were times when she wondered if one so young should have been forced to kill their own parents. Then she remembered what her parents looked like, deformed into the slithering demonic copies of the very creature they revered.

Shoving away from the desk, Xyra prowled the room. In the far corner, the saber, Nox, growled low in his throat, his body tensed as he stared at her pacing form. She shot him a glare, growling in return, "You think I like this arrangement any better? Your Xyra is a pansy and a soft touch. Undisciplined and pathetic, she could do worse than to be replaced by me, saber."

Nox jerked to his feet, openly snarled at her, roaring his discontent at her words and her demeanor. For a moment elf and saber stared at one another. Xyra slowly relaxed her stance. She said, "Look. You help me get around so that I can find a way back and hopefully we'll get your Xyra back at the same time. Deal?"

Slowly settling down onto his haunches, Nox growled softly. Xyra nodded, then turned on her heels. Jerking on the dark hood and dark leathers she'd found in the other Xyra's bank, she picked up the glowing dagger and sword she'd also procured from said bank.

Stopping by the mailbox long enough to scribble a note and send off the notes the other Xyra made, she headed out into Shattrath. She was bemused by this strange world, but she could hardly let the opportunity to kill demons pass. Perhaps the demons of this new world, this Outland, would provide her with some challenge.


To Xa'ru T'Cor,

Enclosed are notes Xyra made of those letters you pilfered. Perhaps it will benefit you to know that I was forced to kill my parents because of the events she describes. I was fifty. That was three hundred and fifty years ago. Apparently they lied to Xyra about her age. Not surprised.

I'll be talking with the Circle members soon. It's possible I can re-create what happened once I get more information from them.

Xyra Blackstar
*A Black Stylized Star is etched here.*

Ceire:

Ceire ran her fingers over the near-scribbled letters, considering the oily slickness of thought she felt mixed in amongst the borderline madness that came with such dreams. She was all too familiar with the latter sensation, but this other thing spoke of some outside influence on Xyra's dreams. It was puzzling, because she couldn't quite sense the source. The letter was otherwise clean, so there was no reason to think it was the messenger's trace she was reading. No, it definitely came from Xyra's writing, but not from Xyra.

Ceire scowled, then stood to look at the view from her treetop resting place and sighed. Ah well, she thought. It shouldn't hurt anymore than the last time. Maybe she'd grow used to dealing with this sort of thing. Maybe it was what she was truly meant for, will she or no. Ceire shifted, sprouting wings, and flew towards the mountains guarding Shattrath to find Xyra.


Graen:

Graen placed the letter into an old, worn backpack. Xyra's letter was nearly incoherent, but the mention of Hakkar was troubling. One didn't have to live in the Hinterlands long to hear of the name. Of course, Hakkar had less to do with a dwarf living long, and more to do with their chest cavities being opened atop ornate stone slabs. Chants and invocations optional.

Graen scratched his cheek, and then ran his hand through his beard. There was a lot of axe work to be had of late, and he knew that there was usually only one reason a person requests the aid of a dwarf.

"Come on, Krulk," he said to the large gorilla sitting nearby. "We've got some walkin' to do." Graen rested the head of his axe against his shoulder as started to move. "And after that, thin's might get interestin'!"

XI.

Lonika watched the retreating form of the male troll and his tiger. She was intrigued that, after having returned from her normal sacrifice in Duskwood, she would find another of Hakkar's worshipers. He seemed bemused, or perhaps lost. He was surprised by a great many things.

She frowned then, realizing that perhaps he had been playing her for a fool. He looked to be of Zandalari heritage, so perhaps he was seeking out followers of Hakkar in order to kill them. Swearing a blue streak, she clicked her hearth, thankful she'd set it somewhere else besides Ratchet.

Settling into a rented bunk, she absently felt at her neck. The scar was still there, throbbing with life and the reminder that she was one of Hakkar's own. She felt no silver chain, though why she should have, her drowsy mind could not fathom.

As she fell into a light sleep, she had images of her sacrifice, a white haired, female elf, running through her mind. It put a smile on her lips.

X.

Xyra felt her skin tighten uncomfortably, as if there was more of her inside her skin than there had been a few moments ago. Attempting to shake it off, she set the letters aside, pulled out her journal and began to write. Her hand writing was jerky, unsteady. Then her vision blurred.

Her head hit to the desk with a resounding Thuwank!


She stood at the top of one of the portals that led to the Emerald Dream. She thought perhaps this was the one where she'd seen her mother almost a year ago, yet she could not be sure. Turning this way and that, she tried to remember why she was even there. A hissing noise, coming form the portal itself, had her whirling on the balls of her feet.

From the portal Sage, the wind serpent causing her so much trouble, slowly undulated. His passaged sent the portal rippling. He hung in the air before her, slowly flapping his wings.

After a time, he hissed softly into her mind, You done well Xsssyra. Sssso much we have dissscovered. Now it'ssss time to ssssay goodbye.

The serpent lunged at her slowly as if the dream state stopped him from moving quickly. Her reactions were slowed as well, but she seemed to know that this was still a dream, regardless of where it was at. Her body turned instinctively as she lunged for the portal.

As she landed on the opposite side, she rolled to her feet, then thumped to her rear in a daze. She sat staring at her hands for a few moments. They were her own, yet the backs were covered in a strange tattoo design she'd only seen one other place; on demon hunters.


Xyra moaned in her deep sleep, turning her head from one side to the other on her desk. She did not hear the door open, nor the sound of Xa'ru's entry. She did not awaken when he gently picked her up, nor when he laid her in bed. After he moved away, dark symbols slowly began etching themselves across her body.

IX.

Xyra prowled around her room, absently kicking or punching objects as they came into her path. Nox sat in his corner, his ears flat against his skull. Every so often as Xyra stalked past he'd let out a whining growl. Xyra was not happy, thus Nox was not happy.

Xyra muttered as she stalked, "Druids... parents! And the lies and secrets, I swear-! ... Fang. What were they-", occasionally she'd punctuate the raising of her voice or the cutting off of speech with a kick. Her desk now had several small dents in the legs.

In the middle of the room she stopped suddenly, then whirled until she faced the small chest sitting on her desk. It was closed. She had yet to open it since she'd brought it back to her rooms.

She had heard from no one. She had not seen Xa'ru since she'd been half awake. She prayed he was okay. She also prayed, half-heartedly, that he stayed away. She feared it would only get worse once she delved into that box.

Firming her lips, she stalked over to the desk, jerked the lid open and pulled out several bundles of letters. The first bundle seemed to be in her father's handwriting. It was written in Yseran. This didn't surprise Xyra since her father had refused to speak to her or her mother in any other language.

Untying the letters, she spread out the first one on the pile.


Master Druid,

Cenarius' blessing and strength upon you. I write this to you, on behalf of Shan'do Stormrage, in order to discover your progress. It has been several years with nary a word from your or your diciples. It has thus been decided that I will personally meet with you and your people in order to view the progress that you claimed would be visible quite plainly from the top of Nordrassil.

We have seen no such thing. Thus it is with this letter that I give you fair warning; there will be consequences if you cannot produce sound reasoning for your obvious failure.

Until we meet, Cenarius guide you.

Master Druid Tridix


Xyra read the letter another time through. She felt some of her anxiety drain away, yet she had to wonder, why did her father still have this letter if it had been sent to someone else? Setting it down, she moved to the next.


Master Druid,

The fake trail of letters has begun. There is little to say here, for fear of discovery. I will journey to you shortly. Be prepared. This time we go to summon Him.

*a letter T with a snake entwined around it is burned into the paper here*


Xyra gaped at the letter. As she stared the letter drifted from her number fingers, to the floor. Her father was a double agent? Who was this Master Druid her father addressed? And who the nether was this Him they wanted to summon?

VIII.

Picking up a pebble at her feet, Xyra lobbed it into the cave entrance. The small stone made faint a cracking noise as it bounced off the walls of the cave. After a few moments the noise stopped. Arching a pale eyebrow, Xyra concluded the stone landed on something soft, or it was caught by something mid-bounce.

Tugging on the dark hood that covered her silvery-white hair, she pulled up the dark mask. Her silver eyes shone brightly as she moved through the evening-darkened underbrush. Her dark leathers made hardly a sound as she edged into the cave entrance.

Glancing around, it occoured to her this was the first time she'd actually entered their den. After refusing, none too nicely, to accompany her parents into the Emerald Dream, she'd only bothered, later on, to find out where the den even resided. She'd been too nervous the past seven years to enter.

Now she had no choice. As she went she prayed to Elune, rather absently, that whatever she found disproved her dream reguarding her father. She hardly knew him, for all the time he'd spent away from her and her mother, yet she still looked up to him, reguardless of the neglect he'd shown.

Finally coming to an open area, Xyra was surprised to see a vat of Moonwell water sitting in a carved out niche on the far side of the room. Its faint glow illuminated the room just enough and yet gave no glow outside of it; not even in the tunnel. Nodding approvingly, Xyra slowly stepped into the den.

On two raised, stone slabs were the shrouded forms of her parents. The shrounds were covered with fresh flowers and herbs. Apparently the watchers allowed others to keep the sleeping druids clean. This comforted Xyra in a way she hadn't expected.

Trying to ignore the lifeless forms of her parents, she paced around the small den, searching for items of import to her parents. Then she came across a small chest. It was locked.

A smile of approval crossed her lips as she set to work on the lock, crouched on the balls of her feet. The soft click of the lock opening pulled a wider smile from her lips. As she pushed the lid open, the smile vanished. Inside were piles of paper, neatly bound with string. Small odds and ends of carved bone, moonkin feathers and a vial of some strange, purple liquid that had glowing sparks of yellow inside.

Shutting the chest, she glances over at her parents still forms. Firming her lips, she turned back to the chest. Picking it up, it's weight negligible to the fit rogue, Xyra exited the den. Slipping into stealth as she did, she made her way to her waiting saber. Slipping onto the saddle, she directed him toward the Timbermaw cave.

Xyra pulled down the mask, her expression grim. There had been several symbols in her parents chest. The most prominent of which was the symbol she most dreaded to find: the image of a fang.