Grim Views

Bal'a dash, Irredeemable of The Grim

I, Eldaeron, Son of Elaerund, Son of Ela’thar shall pledge myself to the Mandate. These are dire times, indeed, for both Silvermoon and the Horde. Sin’dorei flee Dalaran by the hundreds while countless other shall never again gaze upon Anar, resting eternally beneath the vaults of the Mogu. And to what ends … a fractured Horde, nearly consumed by Garrosh’s madness? We are exposed, vulnerable. If Silvermoon and the Horde are to survive until the dawn, it will require not words of comfort, but the strength of arms to see us through the night. Anar'alah belore, I offer my sword thus.

Elama ashal'anore

Eldaeron, Death Knight
House Fenixbourne

Syreena scowled as she read the note. Yet more elves. And why did this one think she cared about them fleeing danger or lying dead? He obviously didn't know her very well. He sounded more concerned about his own race than the Horde. She would have fun overseeing the assignment of his Trial of Sacrifice. If he made it past the interview, that is.

She paused, considering for a moment. She wondered if this was the elf who helped in the defense of Undercity the other night. If so, he certainly was wordy. No surprise. He couldn't just say "Hey, remember me? We fought Alliance together in Undercity. I want to continue to fight alongside Grim." Maybe it wasn't him. There were so many elves coming to The Grim lately, she couldn't keep them all straight.

The little rogue grabbed one of her Office Hours flyers, underlined the part about bringing her a gift, and sent it off, all the while, grumbling about elves to the worg runt at her feet.

Notice!

Office hours this week have been changed to Friday night (instead of Thursday).