A flash of purple bounced around the hills in the Howling Fjord. A figure emerged, mask pulled up to his eyes, a cold blue. His hair was orange and cut close to the scalp. His body was covered in leather armor, his boots had footpads to deafen his step on stone. His head turned and surveyed the area and a smile formed through his mask, a grin no one could ever mistake for anything else. He made his way off towards the stone walls in the distance as night fell.

     Westguard stood tall on the cliffside, stone walls that shone in the sunlight during dawn. It was easily defended with very few tactical approaches. If it were assaulted with an army, even undermanned as all the forts and positions were in Northrend these days, it could hold relatively well and likely survive until help arrived. An army did not advance on it this day, though. A lone man, well versed in the walls and hallways of the keep and surrounding area, approached the walls. A few sentries stood on the wall, staring out into the darkness. They were alert, wolves were a common occurrence in these parts. This was not a wolf that evaded their sight, however beastial he could appear.

     Once inside the walls, the man navigated himself into the keep easily enough. Patrols still kept to a pattern he had long since memorized. Even when in the ranks of the Templars, it was good to be able to leave and arrive unannounced and unseen. It was good that the craze was not too insistent today, or else the man would have carved his way inside and paved a path of blood and flesh. Instead, no blood would be spilled tonight if at all possible. The man smiled to himself. There was always a gap, a hole to be found through the eyes of the watchers. The eyes of the sentries were nothing compared to the eyes that always watched him, unseen, from the darkness.

     He turned down the hallway, the last one he needed. A man stood down the hall. He was in front of the door. The rogue sneered. He had come so close to be turned back by such a predicament.

     ‘Unfair!’ he thought to himself, glaring down the hall angrily. ‘Unfair to get so far and be denied!’

     “Who has been denied?” The voice spoke.

     “HUSH!” The rogue shushed his companion down, drawing a glance down the hall from the sentry. “You will expose us! Expose us!” He spoke in harsh, whispered words. “We will not be taken because you failed!”

     “I have not failed,” it spoke again. “You do not have to turn around, my friend. It is one man. You could kill so many more and not be stopped. None can stop you so long as I am here.” The shadowy figure draped its arms around the rogue in a dark embrace.

     “I…can kill him. I can, I can. He can die so easily. He was in the way. His fault, his fault. He should not have stood there. His fault, his fault.”

     “Yes,” the shadow said to the man hiding in the darkness. “Go forth, end his life. Show them what happens when they stand in your way.”

     “Yes, yes. I will get the records. My plans, my plans. They are in motion like so many carrier pigeons, flying, flying away. Letters must be delivered and so must my work. My work will save so many, even if it costs us a few.”

     “Yes, the paladin. She must die. As must the fiery warrior. Your fellow spies, too. They stand the best chance at finding you. No one else has studied you, but they may have.”

     “Yes, Jaffar. Vendon. Arialynn. Koryander. These must be removed. They lead us wrong, and will oppose too much. So will others. Stubborn. Stubborn Jarrick, or that foolish Zenruid. I hope Jamus joins us. His lightning is useful, will prove useful. We should find the necromancer. Have the necromancer bring back the dead ones. Keep the useful dead. Useful dead.”

     He padded down the hallway. The guard noticed him, but a knife took him in the throat as two others buried into his face, one destroyed his eye. He fell and the rogue caught him, lowered him slowly to the floor. The blood spilled everywhere. Everywhere was red, and the rogue’s grin returned.

     “Now, now, it is time to find what I need.” He picked the lock on the door and walked in, the files of the Templars at his fingertips. After several minutes of scattering and searching, the man found what he needed and left. He took so many files with him and left a few padded footprints of blood along the hallway. A flash of purple and he was gone.




     Dawn brought the changing of the guards, a merely an hour had passed since the grisly visitor had departed. A body was found and a man was carried out to be cleaned and buried. They held the body in case the Templars wanted to investigate again. A missive was drafted up, sealed, and sent along to go through the portal to the Templars’ forward base beyond the Portal with Khadgar.




     The Keep of Westguard has been raided, and several files concerning the Templars were removed. The catalogue also seems to have disappeared and confirming these records and determining what is missing could very well prove to be impossible, if not so time consuming as to be a waste of many, many hours. The posted guard was murdered where he stood with brutal efficiency. His blood was used to scrawl along the wall, “The Moon is so full, Templars. Full and calling for more. It will not be sated. I will not be sated. But I will save you from yourselves.” We hope for a response from you immediately so as to know whether we must preserve such a gruesome scene.


     Light find you safe,

         Richardson, Clerk. “

Author Sielic
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