The Battle at Fallhaven

(All House of Stewards material used with permission, and with much gratitude.  and as always, gratitude to my collaborator Alia!)

Siege of Fallhaven Post Report 
Compiled by Mafius: 

Overview: Fallhaven was saved and the Horde forces driven back. Over a hundred Horde, one catapult, and one siege engine lay in ruin on the field. A blood guard commander was killed, however, the two other commanders and their General successfully disengaged from the conflict and fled. 

Personnel: The toll for the Stewards and allies was severe. One friendly ally was killed, several Stewards critically injured and nearly killed, and all others moderately wounded. Steward current battle readiness is critically compromised at the moment, and it's my recommendation that the forces are withdrawn. 

Infrastructure: The northern bridge, overlook, and trenches running from the bridge along the dry riverbed to the western road have all been detonated. The western bridge has been destroyed, and none of the crossroad barricades remain intact. Substantial damage to all the buildings and the square itself and nearby fields are heavily damaged and pockmarked. It will be a week before the rubble could be cleared away to afford normal wagon travel.

Current Appraisal of the Stewards: While successful, the remaining Stewards are highly vulnerable. Caution should be applied to any engagement within the near future.

The fellow known as Jon Chess sat in his bed, the pain of his burns and other wounds blunted by the healing he had received from the hands of Raelian after the battle of Fallhaven, in which he had participated as an ally of the House of Stewards, attached to the North Bridge defenders and under the command of Minnie.

Minnie was a short and muscular Gnome woman with neatly cropped pink hair, no doubt to keep it out of her wide, green eyes.  She had a line of tattoos various cogs and gears - which started behind each ear and met at the base of her neck, cascading from there down her spine.  Jon had grinned as he had spotted knives hidden in both boots and noted vials filled with either healing potions or poisons at her belt. It was she who Hinik had assigned Jon to work with on the matter of the counterfeit Kul Tiras coinage.  Jon had noticed while working with Minne, that her spoken accent seemed to change quite often. Jon liked the diminutive sneak; she reminded him of Phredaria Goldgears, Jon's forensics mage consultant and close friend.

In the battle, Jon had taken a stabbing across his ribs, a spear had impaled his right shoulder, his face and neck had been lacerated by stone shards from a catapult, and his back had been set ablaze by a Horde siege engine while he shielded the Ren'dorei monk (with a laudatory love of cheese) named Raethian and her patient, the Rendorei ranger and former Farstrider named Falerelan.  He had managed to make it to the cover of the stone steps in the town square before the siege engine had detonated under friendly fire, but the concussive explosion had knocked him unconscious until he had woke to the emerald healing mists from the hands of Raethian. Her ministrations had been enough such that Jon could reach his own medical supplies; a cache of his own healing draughts.  Between her soothing mists and Jon's alchemical crimson vials, the worst of the damage had been healed, leaving Jon ravenous for cheese.

Aside from being delicious and providing Jon cover has a merchant for his espionage and assassination activities, cheese was almost the perfect food for replenishing the resources magical healing invariably used to repair the body; it was high in easily-digestible proteins and fats, both of which were used in abundance by magical healing. Such healing was like butter scrapped over toast; if you had enough, all was well.  If you had too little butter for too much toast, the effect was patchwork and to little effect.  Jon carried cheese with him everywhere in the frost magic-powered enchanted bag for which he had paid a small fortune to a Kirin Tor magister long before he had met Alia Atherton for pragmatic as well as commercial reasons. It was as much part of his arsenal as his F.R.I.E.D. grenades.

Once more Jon pondered whether or not he should continue to recover here in Fallhaven, or if he should ask Alia to take him home to their tower in the Elywnn Forest. The advantage of recovering in Fallhaven was that Alia would not be able to scold Jon for putting his thick, stubborn neck at risk, or at least, at risk without her. Additionally, Jon would not be tempted to tax what strength he could recover by pulling her into bed with him... besides being a mage of no small ability, Alia Atherton was, at least in Jon's eyes, an irresistible, purple-eyed enchantress. But that was a decision for when he was more awake - for now, a healing slumber beckoned to him irresistibly.

*     *     *

Jon felt her before he had the presence of mind to know he was conscious.

Alia’s side of the link was remarkably open to his searching, though the maelstrom of thought and emotion made him spin; longing, adoration, fear, doubt, gratitude, anger, and no small bit of underlining confusion with this anger. She held his hand, thumb pressing gently on the ring that denoted their bond, and had chosen a mostly bandage free place on his torso as a resting place for her head while her body awkwardly leaned over the bed from a chair. Alia wore what he supposed was the mage version of traveling leathers; a slim, almost body suit like a blend of cloth and light armor dyed in blacks and dark purples, with shoulder guards wrapped in scrolls to the point they dangled down her back behind her. The scrolls had strange runes written on them, the origins of which he could not make out in this state of halfness. Her signature hood and cloak were pulled tight around her and a half-curled lump of disheveled hair hid her face from him, making it difficult to see her eyes, but her breathing was even, if short. Out of the silence of the room, she sniffled.

She was awake.

A nosy inn staff member tried to talk to her when she briefly stepped out for more coffee, something about needing rest after her journey and not having eaten a full meal since her arrival the night before, but she waved them off, and when they insisted, she whipped her head and growled at them, her eyes flickering with unchecked arcana, though dark with exhaustion as they were, before closing the door behind her. They understandably did not disturb them from then on, unless purposefully called upon.

It seems the Gilnean Rook had rubbed off of the Dalaran Magna.

Prophecy of the Voice of the Raven God:

From the darkest night shall rise again the raven, shall take flight in the shadows, shall reveal the nature of its kind. Prepare yourself for its coming, for the faithful shall be elevated to take flight with the raven, the rest be forgotten to walk upon the ground, clipped wings and shame.

Steel your minds and guard your thoughts. The dark wings will cloud and consume the minds of the weak, a flock of thralls whose feet may never leave the ground.

The Old blood will flow once again with the coming of the raven, the return of the darkness in the skies. Scarlet night, and the rise of the old.

The raven was struck down once for flying too high, unready. The eons have prepared the Dark Watcher for its ascent, to draw the dark cloak across the horizon.

Researching the Arakkoa

The would-be researcher some knew as Jon Chess woke, becoming instantly aware of the pain in his lower back; he had fallen asleep while translated the Time-lost scrolls he had taken from chronally-phased arakkoa in Skettis.  Skettis was the hidden capital of the arakkoa, located n the high mountains near the Terokkar Forest in an Apexis ruins. It was built by the ancient king Terokk as a refuge for those outcast and unwanted in arakkoa society, and a prime source of secret knowledge about their Shadow magic used by their Talonpriests.

Jon had obtained a loan of a Ravenspeech language guide and had spent the last few days translating the crimped written glyphs of their written language.  He had been particularly fascinated by a scroll which talked about the arakkoan history:

The origins of the arakkoan race and its two distinct subcultures are tightly bound to the three primal gods of the Draenic region known as Arak: The strong and graceful Rukhmar, mother of the kaliri; the slight but clever Anzu, father of the dread ravens; and the cold and scornful Sethe, father of the wind serpents. Preceding the creation of the arakkoa, Sethe and Rukhmar clashed above the Spires. Rukhmar, forewarned of Sethe's attack by Anzu, managed to cast the serpent down from the skies—but it was Anzu who stepped in to deliver the killing blow. With his last breath, the defeated Sethe cursed his own flesh and blood to rot and corrupt all that it touched. As Anzu devoured him in an attempt to contain the curse, a trickle of blood escaped, creating the Sethekk Hollow where it touched the ground. The curse crippled Anzu, making him flightless and pained by dark visions.

Anzu could not bear to present himself to Rukhmar, for if she had not seen him worthy before then surely she would now be disgusted by the aberration he had become. He disappeared into the forest deeps, and he ignored Rukhmar whenever she called for Anzu to show himself. Though Sethe's curse weakened Anzu, it also gave him new power: the power of the Void that Sethe had once commanded. As Anzu grew more familiar with his abilities, he shrouded himself in a realm of shadow to hide from Rukhmar forever.

After much fruitless searching, Rukhmar gave up. She was humbled by Anzu's sacrifice, but she was also horrified by the curse that now darkened her home. Rukhmar took to the skies and left Arak, eventually settling atop Gorgrond's highest peak. It was Rukhmar who went on to create a new race of children. Rukhmar decided that if she could not find Anzu to thank him, then she would reward his sacrifice by creating a new race in his honor. Using her own life energies, Rukhmar transformed some of her kaliri followers into the arakkoa: "heirs of Arak". They embodied Rukhmar's physical grace and majesty, as well as Anzu's intellect and cleverness.

Rukhmar intended that the arakkoa would one day return to Arak, but not yet. Sethe's curse still lingered, and she did not want her children to suffer from it. After they had matured and become wise, Rukhmar intended to lead her children back to their ancestral home. Her only fear was that she would not live long enough to do so, for she had expended much of her life essence in creating the arakkoa. She would never be as powerful as she had once been, and she knew she would eventually grow old and die.

For many generations, Rukhmar watched the arakkoa develop from afar. Occasionally she communed with them, telling them stories of Arak, Sethe's evil, and Anzu's nobility. She taught them the rudimentary ways of commanding the Light, and they were quick learners. They mastered the Light and became adept healers and seers. Much of their primitive customs revolved around the worship of Rukhmar, who they revered as the goddess of the sun, which they saw as the source of their Light magic. But they were not content with the Light alone. Due to Rukhmar's teachings, they revered Anzu just as much as they did she, and they studied the arcane that he had excelled in, becoming great sorcerers as well.

Rukhmar felt her own life fading. She communed with her children one last time and urged them to claim Arak for themselves. Rukhmar took to the winds and soared south, and the arakkoa followed. But just as they reached Arak, Rukhmar breathed her last breath. Flames consumed her form and she burned like a second sun in the sky. The arakkoa saw Rukhmar's passing as a sign of their ascendancy. They vowed to create a grand civilization that would outshine any other culture, in order to honor her. The light of their knowledge and their power would blaze in the heavens just as Rukhmar had.

Calling themselves the Apexis, the arakkoa claimed the highest reaches of Arak's spire. They harvested timber from the surrounding woods and metals from the nearby mountains, and built illustrious gilded structures around their new home. Using their mastery of the Light, the Apexis crafted enormous lanterns burning with enchanted flames that hung along the length of the spire. Guided by tales of Anzu and his noble sacrifice, arakkoa sorcerers investigated the Sethekk Hollow. By carefully studying the cursed pools, they unraveled the mysteries of shadow magic and developed the unique ability to combine the arcane with the Void. Embracing both Light and Void, the Apexis believed they were both natural parts of life. 

Two factions formed within the Apexis: the Anhar order studied holy magic, while the Skalax studied shadow and arcane magics. Both groups occupied the upper echelons of arakkoa society, sharing equal prestige and influence.

As the arakkoa solidified their power in Arak, they also began to explore the rest of Draenor; though not expansionists, they were curious. Outposts were forged across the land to observe local flora and fauna, and by studying and mapping the forests and mountains they were in awe when they realized that many of these were the remains of ancient creatures that had once walked Draenor. Based on stories from Rukhmar, the Apexis realized the Primals and Breakers were the primordial giants' offspring. They watched the endless warring between the two with pity and fascination. However, they never intervened; they had inherited a touch of Rukhmar's arrogance and to play a part in the lives of land-dwellers was seen as beneath the Apexis.

Centuries after defeating the Evergrowth and 1,200 years before the opening of the Dark Portal, the Apexis had flourished into an empire and their population had swelled. They saw themselves as the most powerful force in the world, that not even the mightiest of Primals had been able to contend with. With nothing to threaten them the Apexis dedicated themselves to the advancement of science and magic, and knowledge became their culture's most coveted resource. The Anhar and Skalax became the caretakers of wisdom with the duty of cataloging history, the study of magic, and information about the world and its various creatures. Rather than keeping this knowledge in tomes or scrolls, the Anhari and Skalaxi sorcerers combined their magic to develop Apexis Crystals. By merely touching one of the crystals, an arakkoa would consume all of the knowledge contained within and could even experience the memories of whoever had crafted it.

During the height of Apexis culture, a small group of Anhari priests sought out the remains of Rukhmar. They found her charred bones near the spire, and they used their magics to resurrect her. But it was only a partial success. This new Rukhmar had only a sliver of the original's power and intelligence. Nonetheless, the Apexis worshiped her as their goddess reborn. The Anhari infused her with their Light powers, granting her a long life so she could soar the skies for millennia.

The Anhari priests constructed a gleaming sun temple around the Breath of Rukhmar used centuries before. Hundreds of arakkoa gathered each year to commemorate the Apexis victory and honor Rukhmar. Other arakkoa visited shrines carved into the solid rock near the foot of the spire where the Skalaxi sorcerers performed rituals to honor Anzu and his ancient sacrifice. Though Apexis culture seemed destined to continue its rise, a rivalry developed between the Anhar and Skalax as each vied for the support of the greater populace. The Anhari knew that to seize power they would need to control knowledge. Their leader Priest-Lord Velthreek order his followers to gather as many Apexis crystals as they could, and the Anhari did so in secret over a number of years, storing them in their sun temple atop the spire.

The Skalaxi and their leader, Sorcerer-Lord Salavass eventually uncovered what was happening. They believed that knowledge was a basic right for all arakkoa and Salavass called for the immediate release of the crystals. However, Velthreek ignored the demand. He declared the Anhari the sole rulers of the Apexis and that they would decide who would access the crystals and their knowledge. In addition, he claimed that he and the Anhari were the living representatives of Rukhmar herself. Therefore, following their teachings was the only way to attain her favor. Salavas was cunning and knew what would happen to his order if they did not act: the Skalaxi would become marginalized in society and gradually lose influence. He gathered his followers and struck at the sun temple to take the Apexis crystals by force.

The battle that erupted at the gates to the sun temple quickly spilled into the lower levels of the spire, with some arakkoa allying with the Anhari and others with the Skalaxi. The civil war engulfed the spire for many months, and to turn the tide of the conflict the Anhari harnessed the Breath of Rukhmar. As the weapon ignited and they prepared to incinerate the Skalaxi, Salavass knew they would be doomed against it and led a handful of his most gifted sorcerers to the top of the spire where they stormed through the Anhari guards. As the Ahhari cut down the intruders Salavass weaved a spell to destabilize the Breath of Rukhmar. It worked, but the result was catastrophic: a furious explosion erupted from the Breath of Rukhmar, instantly killing most of the arakkoa on the spire and shattering the land. After the light dimmed, all was dark.

The explosion had split Arak's spire into many smaller spires and the surrounding region was left a barren wasteland. It would take generations for life to bloom in the area again, and even longer for the surviving arakkoa to recover from what had happened. The Apexis society was no more.

Jon knew that Apexis Crystals were still found periodically, and it made Jon want to go on an acheology dig unearth Apexis secrets, perhaps even more of the curious admixture of the arcane and Void that was the backbone of arakkoan Shadow magic.

He sighed, and used his telepathic link with Alia to send her an apology for falling asleep over open books, as he had often seen her do.  Alia and Arexzia may have cured Jon of his addiction to the narcotic Sa'diablo drug, but it seems that Alia had given him a new addiction.

Research.

Coins and Commerce, Part II

The private investigator commonly known as Jon Chess felt strangely more comfortable in the town of Freehold, even more so than he did in Boralus.  Located in the southern part of Tiragarde Sound, Freehold was not within the jurisdiction or rule of Kul Tiras; it was a self-proclaimed "free people's port", with no rules or regulations about what vessels are allowed to dock. Privateers, mercenaries, pirates, smugglers - all were welcome.

The change had come when the Irontide Raiders, under the command of Harlan Sweete, had seized the town and demanded that any freelance crews swear loyalty to him; he had been in the pay of Priscilla Ashvane in her plot to overthrow the Admiralty of the Proudmoores and take control of Kul Tiras for herself.  Sweete had armed the pirate raiders with Azerite weapons and deployed them to various plots; he sent Richard Tornsale to forcibly take over the smugglers cove of Anyport in Drustvar, he had sent Captain Leadfist to establish a base at Chandlery Wharf and raid deeply into  House Waycrest lands, to keep them from coming to the assistance of the Proudmoores.

Sweete had been killed in Freehold, but the Irontide Raiders had continued to serve Priscilla Ashvane, and had attacked Boralus at her command during her final gambit to control Kul Tiras. They had been largely neutralized, but while their main force had been captured or destroyed by the Kul Tiras fleet, there were still plenty of ships that had been deployed elsewhere.  Freehold had recovered somewhat from the Irontide occupation, but the survivors still held a great deal of influence.

Anything was available in Freehold - if you had the gold or the steel.

Except for cheese.  Which was why Jon periodically "borrowed" the identity of Matt Fieler, a seller of cheese based in Boralus.  As Master Fieler he could visit the dens of inequity and vice of Freehold, being almost invisible in the leathers of a less-than-wealthy merchant.  Fortunately for Jon, his natural hair color of silver-white took hair dye fairly well, and Jon Chess, private investigator became Matt Fieler, seller of cheese, a subject about which Jon knew... far too much.  As Matt, he had built connections in the "best" taverns in Freehold - the Stranded Rats, home of the Bilge Rats crew, the Blacktooth's Grin, watering hole of the Blacktooth Brawlers, and even supplied Rummy Mancomb, the bartender of the hall where the pirate captains met to discuss strategy.

Since Jon had been made aware of the counterfeit Kul Tiras coinage in circulation, Jon had found large amounts of the coin in the pockets of Irontide Raiders, but also carried by employees of the Ashvane Trading Company, both in Vol'dun at Redrock and in Boralus.

He had traced some of the newer coins to the Kelp Club in Boralus.  The Kelp Club was a nightclub in the rougher part of Hook Point in Boralus, and was the place where rich scions of Boralus gathered to prolifically spend their allowances in drink and recreational narcotic use, riotous dancing, whoring, and gambling. The place was owned by Don Adams, the leader of the Scrimshaw gang, and the place was lousy with the criminal members of the Scrimshaw gang.  Jon had traced a particularly new set of the counterfeit currency to their gaming tables, and it had occurred to Jon that a gambling hall was the ideal place to spread counterfeit coin = take in the legitimate coinage in exchange for gambling tokens, and then redeem the tokens in the fake coinage. Unfortunately, that path of the investigation had not worked out; it turned out that the Scrimshaw smugglers had stolen Azerite dust from the Alliance ordinance supply depot, and had sold the illicit material to the Ashvane Company for several chests of the stuff.

Well, it had not all been bad news - Jon had been able to work over quite a few Scrimshaw operatives before he learned the truth, and for Jon that was something of a reward in and of itself.

Still, when that trail had gone cold, he had stumbled across another

The Isle of Kezan, rent asunder by the eruption of Mount Kajaro, was now festooned with Azerite in the aftermath of Sargeras' assault on Azeroth. Mogul Razdunk, to no one's surprise, had focused the Venture Company's efforts on weaponizing Azerite and selling it to the highest bidder.  Jon had hired one of the few trustworthy - well, mostly - goblin colleagues he knew, a goblin named Noxblade, to take a look; Jon's agent had found the fake coinage all over the Venture Company base of Crapopolis. Noxblade had sold Jon several samples, and they seemed to be the work of the same engraver.

All roads seemed to head back to the Ashvane Trading Company.

Lady Priscilla Ashvane, as far as Jon knew, was rotting in a cell in Tol Dagor.  Jon had, unfortunately, had a great deal of experience with "impenetrable" prisons, and did not doubt that someone with her resources would be able to continue to direct operations from durance vile.

And what better place to keep an ear to the ground that Freehold? The Ashvane Trading Company had been allowed to continue operations because a large portion of the Kul Tiras economy was still intertwined with the fortunes of the company, but they were under scrutiny, although by whom Jon was not quite sure.  Any agents of hers would be able to operate much more freely in a place whose lifeblood was illicit activity.

Jon sighed.  He suspected he would be spending a lot of time in Freeport...

Moar Jon art!

Done by the marvelous Alekah! http://aleklah.tumblr.com/