the words in the letter are in Darnassian, the strokes of them lengthened and overly done

Lots of love,
Ty

the words in the letter are elegantly scrawled, the ink blue in color

Always yours [the word is scratched out, almost to the point that you cannot read it] a friend,
Delyst A. Acrise

Delyst stared at the letter for a moment, before laying it aside on his makeshift desk.  He would probably rewrite it later.  There were various other letters, most of them to Ruei, some to his aunt, and one to Alannah Vrusades.  He hadn't the courage to send the messages.  Ruei may reject the ones he'd recieve, his aunt wouldn't care, and Alannah didn't know that he was now under the order of a new master.

The feelings of worry and rejection were not foreign to him, but despite knowing them well, they didn't feel any less uncomfortable.  His heart ached in a way it hadn't for years.  The ache made him sick to his stomach at times, but the gagging never helped.  The green bile that left his body a sign that he was no longer the same.  Never before did an emotional detachment of something trigger this effect with him.  Not even when his parents were killed.  He took it in his stride.

He was gaining his memory back, day by day.  Most of his childhood... he still had a hard time with it.  Who in their sane mind could remember it in any detail, anyway?  Though, what he did remember, was the day that he died.  As a rogue, he ought to have been more cautious, more in tune with the sounds and situations around him.  He was caught off guard, though.  Lovestruck fool.

Delyst shook his head, his golden-brown bangs falling into his eyes.  He flicked them away in anger.  "No sense reminiscing over the past."

Having recently confronted Aloera Nólatári about the absence of Alannah Vrusades, Naij felt frustrated. The encounter resulted in very little... She knew no more about the Mistress of Flame than he did at this point. Her tabard had washed ashore, so close to the Haven that it was almost like an omen. Was it possible that Alannah had been murdered? Naij shuddered at the thought. It had occurred to him that many people probably wanted her dead, and it wouldn't surprise him if that were her ultimate fate...

In his hand he held a Stratholme lily. A small, sad smile on his lips as he remembered the woman who had shoved it in his hand. 'Take this with you,' She had said. 'Give it to someone you love.' Her eyes had been searching, her voice desperate. No doubt, she had knew what was coming. Why Arthas was there.

“Craft,” He yelled, “Where are you?” Naij was vaguely angry, but mostly, he worried… The last time Craft ran off, he was gone for weeks. Upon returning, he had noticed that his beloved companion had acted strangely. Well, more strangely than usual, anyway. Now he was at it again, only this time, he was forced to look for him in Eversong Woods. He much preferred wandering through his homeland woods, to the towering trees of Stranglethorn Vale.

Craft sprinted ahead of his owner, seeking the troll ruins. The Thalassian Cartel, such a prestigious organization, had its base here… He just had to find it.

 

Naij stopped, looking at the troll ruins Craft was ultimately heading towards, his heart sinking. There were still trolls hanging around here, the ones that the sin’dorei couldn’t eradicate. “Craft, I hope to the gods that you’re not leading me to my death.” While he doubted that his panther would do something that stupid, he couldn’t help but wonder why Craft ran this way. Sighing, he readied an arrow in his bow, proceeding into the ruins with caution.

Ha! He had found it, the orb that would send Naij to the Cartel’s safe haven, and his new home. Craft sat, obediently, at the base of the building that housed the orb. He couldn’t help but find this glade beautiful, the shimmering globe, the silence… The serenity. These elves amazed him.

Naij had made it through the ruins relatively unharmed; he had only seen a few of the trolls who still clung to this place as their home. The most harm he came across was tripping over an upturned stump. He grumbled. If he had been paying attention, he wouldn’t have the bruise starting to form on his shin. “Craft!” He groaned, angrily. “Where are you? This isn’t funny, Craft…”

He yawned, stretching. Naij was sure taking a long time to get here. He looked up, his pupils retracting in the light, causing the green color of his iris to stand out. Far ahead of him, he saw Naij picking his way through the high weeds. Craft let out a chuff. He really was a good tracker like his father.

He heard his panther’s chuff, making him turn his gaze upwards. “Craft!” He cried happily, before running towards his companion. “Why do you always run off?” He said, as he dropped to his knees in front of the panther. He ran his hand over Craft’s head, the big cat leaning into the touch. Naij spent a few moments giving the cat attention, before looking up to see where Craft had led him to.

It was a sight to behold, this place. It was, for lack of a better word, beautiful. The building that housed the globe looked much like a gazebo, its columns featured delicate, twining designs that he couldn’t place. He stood, his hand still resting on Craft’s head. “Where have you led me?” He wondered aloud, before moving away from where Craft rested, towards the globe. Narrowing his eyes as he approached it, he reached his hand out. Curiosity had gotten the better of him, as he placed his hand upon it.

At first, nothing happened. He stood there, staring at his hand as it lay on the ornate globe. Then he felt a tugging sensation as he materialized in the Cartel’s haven. He blinked rapidly, his eyes focusing to the dim light. Was it a dream, or…? He moved forward, his chainmail boots making a clunk sound on the surface of the marble floor. The place looked well taken care of, almost inn-like. He noticed the bar to the side of the room, the stairs leading, undoubtedly, to rooms for those whom lived here. He pulled his bow off his back, notching an arrow as he proceeded further into the area.