Mosur was only halfway to his destination before the winds began to howl and the softly falling snow picked up in pace and density. The weather in late Dragonblight evenings was always unpredictable, and Mosur knew he needed to speed up his travel.
The wolf’s coat kept most of the chill off and made the travel that much faster. He traveled low to the ground, his mind still racing and the fire still stirring in his gut. In the past, he had described Sielic to Cael as a chess master, and so he proved to be just that. The evening had been rough with change. The trial was a travesty; it was a show for show’s sake and the order maintained at the tribunal had been loose at best except when applied to Kanta. The death knight, a third of the tribunal council, seemed addled and Mosur was unfamiliar with him or his reason for being there. In the grand scheme of things, the tribunal had been stupid. While it had always, objectively, been the way to proceed, given Templar’s current situation it had been a waste of time and resources.
But to discharge Kanta? Mosur had no love for the man, one could even say he hated the elf. More than once he had desired nothing more than to make him hurt. But to discharge him from the Templars with the wolf loose and snapping at the gate? To lose such a strong piece on the playing field and gain nothing in return? In the great game of chess that could only be described as a blunder.
Granted, he tempered his thoughts, there could be hidden reasons for this. Mosur wasn’t so enraged not to consider what they could be. Was the piece truly lost? Would it hold loyalty despite being cast aside? There is no graveyard in chess after all; only in the real world. It was also possible Maewood sought to bolster Templar’s numbers by placating the Blood of the Rose and securing their aid? It wasn’t like they hadn’t already been assisting?
Cael had run off; he imagined the stress of everyone’s rage, or trial’s outcome, may have upset her. She had been found now somewhere in Grizzly Hills. Where? He didn’t know. How was she? He didn’t know.
A poisoned pawn.
His absence might be for the best though. He’d already let her get too close, not that she could cause him to waver. Duty, one could call it. What he was more worried about was creating a rage-blind opponent that was only focused on him. Maybe he gave himself too much credit. Either way he didn’t want to hurt her.
His feet carried him without thought, like he knew the way even in a swirling storm, and he might have. A shift and he stood up straight and adjusted his heavy robes before walking through familiar walls and finding his way to the crackling hearth. His strain against the weather had tired his limbs and set his fire to a low simmer. He shouldn’t be here though, he had a face to keep up� but a day’s vacation would be fine, he told himself. The blizzard had kept him here after looking for the runaway. It was a good excuse.
The outline of a shadowed creature caught his eye as he settled in the corner and for the first time in half a decade a drink didn’t sound too bad.