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Several seemingly short years passed, and eventually Laronar's pet, which he had cleverly named Storm, had to go and live with the other Nightsabers in the stables. The handler was a kind person though, and she offered to feed and house the young sabercat, provided she could use his lineage to improve her other mounts.
While Laronar had no idea what that meant, or entailed, his parents agreed. He went to the stables every day, learning how to care for not just his pet, but all the other Nightsabers as well. It was clear to anyone that the boy had an affinity with the animals, and though his eyes suggested a great destiny, a Saber Handler was still a respectable part of their society. Even the bigger, meaner mounts softened at his presence not to the point of being tame or 'nice' but they tolerated his efforts to brush their coats and feed them without snarling, and neither of the handlers who worked the stables could quite understand why. The persistent immature noble gave them one less time-consuming chore to do though, so they let him stay, when it became clear the cats treated him like one of the pack after only a few short weeks helping out.
It seemed as though he would actually become a handler himself, in time, as his lack of sorcerous finesse was obvious. He could use magic, and cast a spell as well as any other his age, but he never liked doing it, and that showed in his glyph work and casting forms. The spells the mages used brought only destruction, and the ones that didn't were only taught after the basics had been mastered. The Priestesses of the Moon had much more interesting spells, but they were a Sisterhood, and his request to join and learn had been softly, but stoically denied. At first, he'd been skeptical that his sister could hear the Goddess, and then, she'd started glowing with the light of the moon, a sign of her potential. Naturally, their parents were around to see this, and shortly after, her priestess training began.
Given that their mother was also a Moon Priestess, her age had been overlooked, as it often was for those in the order who brought in a daughter. Quite a few daughters, if they lacked sorcerous potential, ended up joining Elune's faithful quite young and to do so was a great honor, even in their arcane-drenched society. Alaria spent much of her time at Eldarath's temple after that, going so far as to actually lodge there, with other novitiates. Laronar, for his part, was stuck at the Academy. He hated every second of it, though that was more due to the fact that it was often Vehlar who was in charge of teaching him and his younger peers. His cruel elder brother did not care that he regularly embarrassed his younger sibling in front of his peers, and whatever hope Laronar had of making friends vanished once it became clear that anyone being overtly friendly with the shirtless wild child wasn't good for their future prospects. Though they were young, the other children knew to avoid the lightning rod for their instructor's anger.
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As he grew older, Laronar's 'special eyes' began to take in more and more of just how badly the Highborne treated 'lesser Kaldorei'. Where his parents, and even his sister, saw the so called 'huddled masses', he saw elves. Ordinary, regular Kaldorei just trying to live their extraordinarily long lives the best they could in a society that spat on them because of the circumstance of their birth. They had entrusted the Highborne and the magic-wielders with their safety for their power had all but conquered the known world, and yet, all Laronar saw his fellow 'elites' do with this status was abuse their power, and authority, often to demean others. The whole thing baffled the young elf.
His lack of respect for magic made many of his instructors sigh with disdain, though when it came time to grade the student's levels of skill, he managed to pass. Had he applied himself, he could have easily matched his brother, despite the age gap. That's what the Headmaster had told him at least. But when the young Kaldorei had explained why he found sorcery so distasteful, so…wrong, all he received was a strange look, one he was, by now, very used to seeing on the faces of adults. To the ancient Headmaster of a respected academy of magic, the concern for the well-being of something as mundane as a squirrel, especially from a Highborne, was strange indeed.
It had happened slowly, but more and more, Laronar began to feel out of place in their society, as if some part of him wanted to be something else entirely. He just had no idea what he was supposed to be. He wasn't good with a bow, though he had fair skill with a dagger, his parents had insisted that if he was going to use bladed weapons, he was going to use proper ones, not ones suited for skulking in the shadows. Despite their best efforts, he did manage to learn to pass unseen in the night from one of the Saber Handlers, and was rather good at it. Before long, he could walk as quietly as Storm, and the two often snuck out of the city.
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Laronar was not the only one of his family to advance in the passing years. Alaria had eventually been fully accepted into the Sisterhood, and unlike her mother, chose to live at the temple full time, claiming it was her duty. Vehlar, for his part, had advanced in rank. Though it wasn't due to his skill, he often told anyone who would listen that he had been due a promotion anyways.
Many of Eldarath's Highborne magi had been called away to Zin Azshari to work on some new mysterious project their beloved queen, Azshara, was creating. Nobody suspected anything untoward, for the sorcerers of Zin Azshari had often called on the skilled magi from around their empire when such projects were underway, and Azshara's guidance was, of course, without flaw.
Azshara had never led them astray, and had ruled their race for uncounted millennia. Through her wisdom, and the power of their beloved Moon Goddess, the Kaldorei had carved an empire from the wild lands of Kalimdor. With magic and faith, they ruled supreme over every race, even the Zandalari. Laronar however, felt anything but superior. Long years of forcibly learning spells at the hand of his brother had turned him increasingly bitter towards elven magic, and by the time he got an instructor who wasn't sadistic about torturing the animals used for target practice because they knew it bothered Laronar, he was already quite against using the power of the Well. All he had ever seen it cause was pain, and the convenience it brought was no excuse to ignore the destructive potential of arcane magic. It was only his visits to the stables that kept the young Kaldorei from being utterly miserable.
The only benefit he gained from magic was the use of several basic, minor spells or 'cantrips' as his superiors called them. He found Mage Hand and Prestidigitation rather useful, but his mind had been thoroughly blown, when he'd found, in a rather unused tome within Eldarath's Academy, a spell that actually allowed one to speak with animals. In those days, mages still used spellbooks to record their knowledge, and Laronar was no different, though he had never bothered to inscribe anything more useful than a fireball, and the aforementioned cantrips into his own. When his professors found what he was copying down, they had sighed, but had allowed it anyways, and had even led him to another useful, but low level spell, one that allowed the user to comprehend foreign languages with naught but glyph, and a pinch of salt and soot. With Laronar finally showing an interest in some part of the arts, even linguistic ones, his instructor nurtured that inquisitiveness.
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Once Laronar had reached the age of ten, things started to change. He didn't know how, but he could feel it in the air itself, something was wrong. He wasn't the only one who felt it, either. The Nightsabers of the realm had become uneasy as the skies darkened, and public unrest began to rise as the Well of Eternity began to churn with enormous waves, or so the rumors said.
Stolen story; please report.
Nobody in Eldarath had actually seen the Well's turmoil. Azshara and her Highborne had, to the knowledge of those in Eldarath at least, closed themselves off from the public. Those Highborne who were left outside Zin Azshari, like Vehlar, were more than a little insulted by the exclusion. Despite this, life continued on, even as tempers frayed.
The people, hearing no word from their Queen, looked to Elune for guidance. The priestesses worked nightly to calm the people's fears, claiming that their Queen had never led them astray and would not do so now. To Laronar, he still lacked the perspective to understand why people were so worried, but he did know that if the Well was acting violently, it was because the Highborne were drawing massive amounts of magic from it.
Whatever they planned to do with such power would be grand indeed, though in his mind, it would just be another story for him to learn about later. Truly, nobody that far west of the capital worried about what the Highborne would do with such magical might. Azshara would keep them in line, as she had since the dawn of their mighty empire. Nobody could match the Queen, after all. Not if they drew from the Well for a hundred years.
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Life continued on somewhat normally for a few weeks, and then, more strange happenings began. At first, the magical devices throughout the realm flickered, as if something was trying to cut them off from the Well. Vehlar noticed this first, and was bold, or arrogant, enough to claim that it was those in the capital who were responsible for the brief but increasingly more frequent power failures.
Nobody could prove him wrong, for even among the Highborne, there was intense jealously directed towards those Azshara favored. It wasn't just devices though, sorcerers from all skill levels had varying degrees of success with their spells, and as Laronar saw the unrest this caused, he began to wonder if there was another way to use magic, that didn't involve the Well of Eternity.
He was old enough to have been taught of the other races, and although he doubted much of what Vehlar had taught him, he did know at least that the Zandalari would try to attack, if the Night Elves were left defenseless. They had been enemies for as long as their empires had existed, and many Kaldorei believed the trolls, more than any other race, coveted their Well and the magical might it gave them.
He doubted the Furbolgs would attack though, for he had met some once in his wandering through the woods. They refused to harm a child, and he had no desire to harm them. Making good use of his tiny repertoire of spells, he had talked to the forest dwellers in their own tongue, and quickly befriended them, finding them a bit odd, but kind, if one didn't insult them with every other sentence. Eventually, he made friends with their own young, occasionally wrestling with their cubs alongside Storm, who was now large enough for the gangly child to ride. The only other race that was close to Eldarath were the Tauren, another race the young Kaldorei didn't know how to think of.
His people called them monsters, but to him, Vehlar was just as much a monster as a rampaging bull-man, and he was a Highborne, supposedly the best a Kaldorei could possibly be. Surely not all the Tauren could be bad. They were scary, though. Giant horns, hooved feet, and the sheer size of them was said to match that of a full grown Nightsaber, but on two legs. These tales, and his own general tendency to be aloof, kept him far from Highmountain, where he knew several tribes resided.
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Several days after the initial losses in power, the magic vanished completely. The magi of the city were stunned, and the people, upper class and low, panicked. They were far from Suramar, and Zin Azshari. Without a full Moon Guard garrison of their own, all they had in the way of defense were the local guardsmen, and the Sisterhood of Elune, though Eldarath's sect hadn't seen combat in millennia.
Then, roughly a week later, strange reports of large scale slaughter came in from Suramar. Massive beasts were, supposedly, rampaging through the capital of Zin Azshari while the Highborne in the palace simply watched. For the first time in his life, Vehlar did not go around boasting about his status, for these reports were confirmed by the Priestesses, and the attitude towards the aristocracy in the city turned dark indeed.
Then, two weeks into the crisis, word came from Lord Ravencrest of Black Rook Hold. All available soldiers, priestesses, and magi were to ride for Suramar to supplement an army that was being formed from all over the empire to fight the invading monsters. Though many in Eldarath still doubted the veracity of these reports, the leaders knew well enough not to refuse the house of Ravencrest.
He and his kin were not like most nobles, and would not have bothered sending a messenger had the situation been easy enough to handle alone. That Kur'talos Ravencrest called for aid was proof enough of the dire situation. Laronar himself had admired the lord, for out of all the many living legends he'd been forced to learn about, General Kur'talos Ravencrest was the one who seemed the most…genuine. His deeds spoke for him, and none doubted his skill. If the Highborne kept their race ahead of their enemies with magical might, it was Black Rook Hold that kept them strong in the way of soldiers, armies, and siege engines.
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Laronar's parents elected to not answer the call, as did many who had small children. His father would remain in the city to watch his son, and his mother would continue trying to keep the huddled masses calm under the light of Elune in the temple of Zin-Malor, alongside his sister, while the other sisters rode for Suramar.
Vehlar however, relished the chance to strike at the beasts terrorizing the realm. He left abruptly, with no farewells to his family save a hastily scribbled note. Laronar didn't know quite how to feel. He almost wished the source of his torment to be torn apart by the mysterious invaders, but at the same time, he was still blood. Still his brother. It was a confusing set of emotions. Either way, he did not expect to see Vehlar again.
The mood in the city turned to one of constant fear, and with all eyes trained on the east, Laronar had no trouble sneaking out to the west on Storm. He had discovered that neither he, nor Storm, particularly liked the saddles used for young sabercats, so they often rode bareback. With a mount under him, Laronar had been able to ride much farther out than he had ever gotten on foot, and although the forests were dangerous, most animals shied away from the young pair.
Someday, Laronar planned to ride all the way up to Mount Hyjal's summit on his loyal mount. He had no idea then, that he would be bringing the rest of his people with him when the time for such a ride arrived.
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Several more weeks passed, and suddenly the magic returned, as strong as it had ever been. While Laronar hadn't really missed it, it was nice to know it was available if he needed to use it. He wasn't very good at duels, however, but he knew that Storm would be able to distract whatever enemy they faced long enough for him to at least conjure a bolt of Starfire. Such spells kept him safe in the wilds, though he was always hesitant to use them, unless threatened first.
His parents expected their eldest son to return any day, but Laronar knew better. Now that the magic had returned, his brother would stay and show everyone just how strong he was. The young Kaldorei didn't quite know how, but he swore he would find a way to be just as strong as his brother, without using the Well. He'd looked into other magics, now that the Academy was no longer under Vehlar's thumb, or even holding classes. A few bored librarians were all that remained of the magical might in Eldarath, and they were fine with helping the amber-eyed child discover more about magic.
In his now eleven year old mind, this disaster had only proved how dangerous and unreliable their magic was. He had read stories of the Troll's magic, and even magic among the Tauren. Surely theirs would be different, given that they did not have the Well to fuel it. Since they were strong enough to be considered a threat to the massive elven empire, whatever they used had to be strong, though when he asked how he might learn such things, the librarian had warned him away. He claimed the Trolls practiced blood sacrifices and cannibalism, while the Tauren worshiped more primitive powers, like those wielded by Cenarius, the Forest Lord. Laronar had immediately tried to learn as much as he could about the figure, for he was regarded with the same respect as Elune, but he never had the time to learn much of Cenarius and his teachings before Eldarath learned of what exactly had come to their world.
With the magic back, the citizens calmed, and life began to return to some semblance of normalcy, despite the fact that much of their population was now gone. Ravencrest had called in everyone. The young elf sincerely hoped that their General would be able to quell whatever new threat had arisen. Eldarath, and many of the settlements this far west, were simply too poorly defended to stave off an invasion.