Silindra halted on the winding road of Deadwind Pass, a travel sack slung over the rump of her Moonsaber and her ever-present staff tucked securely at her side. The great Karazhan tower loomed just over the next rise. The air, heavy with magic, felt as if it draped her in venomous cloth. The scent of decomposing wood and dried leaves filtered through her nose. The
occasional caw of a crow or the moaning of dried wood in the night breeze were all that the elf’s expert ears could pick up on.
After a rather intense encounter with one corrupted-khadgar, Silindra had sought the wisdom of the higher priestesses. Many had agreed with her decision to protect the city, but Silindra was not comforted by such praises. The wizard’s last words to her still sounded clearly in her memory… “Salvation? Please, I can’t obtain that.”
The Burning Legion had been a torment so great that it had nearly destroyed all of Azeroth. More than once. It was no surprise that one man could fall so easily under it’s sway.
Recently she had found herself aiding the people of Duskwood, as they had faced many horrors in recent months. With Karazhan so close, Silindra could not resist at least a peek at what horrors of the Legion still lingered in this land. She needed to know the extent of Azeroth’s corruption. She needed to know the extent of the Archmage’s corruption.
She needed to know the extent of her own resolve.
She urged the Moonsaber on once more, the familiar glow of the Moon reaching her even through the tangled canopy and offering her comfort.