The golden Quel’dorei man poured over the pages of the book in front of him. He was absorbed in his task when she arrived. Dressed in leather armor in a vibrant red and gold, she still had a fine coating of dust from the road. She took a moment and wiped herself off with a cloth, grumbling at herself.
Gilræn’s ears twitched, though he didn’t turn or acknowledge her presence. Sulime cleared her throat in an attempt to let him know she had arrived. “I heard you, Sulime. I am not deaf.”
The woman winced, replying softly. “Apologies, Your Grace. My frustration was not aimed at you.”
The mage held his hand up, silencing her. He took a deep breath, though is irritation did not abate. “What do you want, Sulime?”
“Two bits of news, one possibly minor, the other, probably more.”
Gilræn sighed heavily, placing his fists down onto the table. “Give me the minor one first.”
“There are Ren’dorei in this Realm, Your Grace.”
He looked up with sudden interest. “Are there now?” He turned to regard her.
“And they reside with the Alliance,” she continued. “It seems Umbric is a fool in many Realms, Your Grace.”
“Some people do not change,” he grunted. “Shame they are on that side though. With Lor’themar refusing to renounce Sylvanas…” He sighed heavily.
Sulime, in an attempt to disrupt his annoyance, quickly added to the information. “There is one bright spot to it. It seems their new allies are not particularly fond of them. I overheard a couple of them cry over it in Dalaran.”
Gilræn smirked. “No real surprise there. With war breaking out, suddenly having former Silvermoon citizens in their ranks…hmmm. I wonder if it can be used.”
Nodding, “It is causing tension. The humans, in particular, are suspicious they say.”
And odd twinkle flashed in the Lord Protector’s eyes. “Oh tension I like. Tension is very useful. It makes it much easier to sway those who might not normally come around to my way of thinking.” He steepled his fingers, tapping the tips together a few times. “Contact the Warrant Officer. This calls for members of the Order. Tell him what we have found thus far and tell him I want the Hierarch to join me here. I need his people among the Ren’dorei so that we may properly gauge their receptiveness.”
Sulime’s shoulder slumped for a moment before she quickly corrected herself. Am I not good enough for this? Why must he bring them in? She banished the thoughts as fast as possible. “Your Grace is wise as ever.”
“As if that will ever change,” he sneered.
“Would Your Grace wish to hear the rest?” Her tone lifted, hopeful that she had found something of greater significance. Something that might, for once, earn her a bit of consideration. He motioned for her to continue, finding a chair to settle into. “As I suspected, I was able to move among the Demon Hunters here, provided I was not forced to actually display my abilities.”
“Good,” he replied, pointing to the bottle of wine. Sulime moved to pour him a glass. “What were you able to glean as a result?”
She carefully filled the vessel before wiping the rim with the cloth and handed it over to him as she spoke. “I made my way onto their fortress ship, the Fel Hammer. It resides on a demon word in the Twisting Nether. The Illidari faction maintains the vessel as a base of operations even now that Sargeras is chained.”
“They are acting as though more will come?” He sipped the golden beverage that matched the perfectly groomed hair that cascaded down his shoulders.
“Their attitude is that even though Sargeras is gone, the universe is still crawling with remnants of the Legion, which must be stamped out.” The Lord Protector nodded in response.
“Aboard the Fel Hammer, all Demon Hunters are equal. The faction squabbling does not hold sway there,” she continued, “With Demon Hunters of all backgrounds mixing there, I was able to listen in on a few conversations among those of Kal’dorei origins.”
The man tapped a finger on his glass, waiting for her to come to her point. “I see,” he said tersely, indicating she should move her point along.
Sensing this, she shifted in place uncomfortably. “There is a former commander of the Illidari who seems to be creating a bit of a stir among the Kal’dorei.”
“Former Commander?” He seemed genuinely shocked. “I was under the impression there is only one way to leave the service of the Illidari. Do they have different allowances in this realm?”
She shook her head. “I believe the circumstance was likely unusual, I was unable to learn more on that. However,” she explained. “They spoke openly of this one’s current activities. It seems he has taken the reins of a Kal’dorei Great House. Even so far as claiming a seat on the House Council.”
He let out a breath, impressed for the first time. “A male on the Council. How innovative.”
“Yes, Your Grace. He sits in the ancient seat of the House of Silverthorn.”
Gilræn narrowed his eyes. To her special vision, his anger was already swirling around him. “Are you telling me that not only do the Silverthorns live, but also there is a Demon Hunter, male Silverthorn on the Council?”
Sulime shrank back. “Y-yes, Your Grace.” He growled, throwing a hand in the air. He stood and started to pace the room. She went on, “I interjected myself into they conversation. I said something to the effect of, ‘Silverthorn? Surely that House died out long ago?’ and they laughed. One of them turned to me and replied ‘So everyone thought. But you know the old saying.’ And I just shook my head.” She took a deep breath. “He laughed again and said, ‘The Silverthorn grows back, always.’ I am afraid the phrase was lost on me.”
The golden man stood, nearly vibrating in his anger. The air around him seemed to have dropped a number of degrees. Through gritted teeth he fumed, “I stamped out that weed before. It doesn’t always.” Sulime bowed her head. “Damn him. So it seems here the tables are turned. And I have yet to locate the bloodline here. It would appear that the Gilræn of this realm was alive at the time of the Scourge attacks. And disappeared shortly thereafter. Within the last 60 years, he lived.” He reached back, picking up a large book from the table. “They prospered off and on here. Never achieving truly great numbers. But there is a chance.”
“What will Your Grace do,” she asked gently.
“What kind of question is that, girl?” Sulime winced and took a step back. “You know what I will do. What I always do. He must be found.”
Sulime bowed low. “Of course, Your Grace.”
“I have made the appropriate overtures here in Silvermoon. But until he is located, I cannot do what must be done. I think it is time to get ourselves properly established.” He stood, pulling the ends of his sleeves sharply down to his wrists.
Sulime arched a long eyebrow. “As Your Grace wishes, of course.”
“Always as I wish, child. The floating city of Dalaran. Is it neutral territory in this realm? A place where I might meet with Borænin without issue from the conflicts?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Shall I secure us a place there?”
“Immediately. And when you speak with the Warrant Officer, requisition yourself different armor. That color is garish. I will not lay eyes on it again, am I clear?”
Sulime’s long ears drooped, but she nodded. “Yes, apologies, Your Grace. I will acquire something more suitable.”
“Burn that one. And next time, wash yourself before you enter my presence. You stink of the field.” He waved her off dismissively and returned his attention to his reading.
Sulime bowed low and scurried out before he added to his insults.