If you wish to remain undisturbed in Stormwind, being a Paladin is a sound disguise.

Liadrin has not considered the Light as camouflage before: it has been a shield on many occasions, occasionally a haven and even a prison. It remains a calculated risk to hide her in such plain sight, but nobody here cares about the future, or Silvermoon, or indeed anything else right now except themselves.

This is the beating heart of the city, and as is the case on a Wednesday morning, it is all about the business of new beginnings. All humans are obsessed with coin, with questing, and the glory of rewards.

Most humans, Liadrin reminds herself, but not all of them.

This armour remains an excellent fit, and comfortable too: Shaw had been good to his word, that the pieces were close if not exactly to the measurements the Eversong blacksmiths had provided. This was the style worn after Deathwing’s rampage across the continents: not showy, like the earlier conquest pieces, but considered.

The Gladiator shoulders are a decent compliment in colour and style, consideration that she respects the importance of looks in a place that thrives on their currency. Her mare, for the journey to Booty Bay, is a companion she is already hoping can return with her when this task is complete. Quiet, calm and utterly beguiling, she is already in love.

When you have outlasted hundreds of horses, cried for every one’s passing as if it was your own flesh, and then started the process anew without a thought of the consequences, every moment became precious. It is precisely why the humans are as they are. Their lives are brief and fleeting. They are not elves.

A sharp cry pierces the air; nobody is phased, or even affected, but continue their hustle and bustle. Moving from bank to Auction House, from exchange to shop and stall. It takes a moment for Liadrin to place the sound: Zul’aman.

The smile this creates, comprehension of when Weaver had told her she wouldn’t need to petition a horse for their mission, this would be the reason. To her right, from Old Town, under the archway, comes the sounds of a measured, two-footed step. Not hooves, but claws.

This raptor’s colour matches the armour of the woman who leads it and the two pets that obediently follow alongside. One is a Hyena from the deserts of Uldum, the other a Shardhide from Korthia. Here is someone else who uses the hues of her enemy to hide in plain sight.

Nobody bats an eyelid or even stops to nod at the Alliance Champion who brought peace and balance back to their lives, who allows them now to haggle over petty bounties and set off for meagre rewards.

Everything in Stormwind has its place, including Ana.

‘Well met, Huntmistress Weaver.’

‘Good morning to you Lia, I hope the armour is to your liking.’

‘We will only know for certain after a hard day in the saddle, and then I sense I will be grateful for a capable blacksmith who can offer alterations…’

‘I have also bought all the relevant tools with me should we need to alter a fit on the move. I’m sorry for making you wait so long, I made Shaw find something I am reasonably certain will be required on our travels.’

‘Is this a thing you cannot speak of?’

‘No, but it is a thing that I have never read, and as we will have many evenings to negotiate and fill on the way to Gadgetzan…’

Weaver shows her the book, and Liadrin is surprised to feel a flicker of recognition: she has enjoyed but a handful of Human tomes. This one has been seen before, but not read. The cover is a glorious combination of leather and gold leaf, inlaid with Alliance Blue…

‘That is a child’s storybook, is it not?’

‘Indeed, written by the Knights of the Silver Hand. I always wanted a copy, but we could never afford one. When I was at the Broken Shore, I remember seeing Meylissa Fardale with a copy…’

‘Was she the Alliance Champion who was handed The Ashbringer after Lord Fordring’s demise?’

‘Indeed. Has she not joined the ranks of your Order recently?’

This was not discussed around the briefing table the previous day. Liadrin knows that the Alliance Champions are a tight-knit group, not nearly as fragmented and unapproachable as her Horde counterparts. Sylvanas’ actions had reaped untold damage across their ranks, but with her exiled to the Maw and the Undead redirecting focus to making Lordaeron a more welcoming and inclusive capital, things were beginning to improve.

‘Your intelligence serves you well, Huntmistress Weaver.’

‘Sometimes I feel talking in plain language about the business of heroics makes far more sense than taking the official viewpoint as gospel. We are far more down and dirty in the business of questing and exploration than these people will ever want to be.’

‘Indeed, which is why I am already looking forward to what would normally be the most uninspiring of journeys with nobles. Has the itinerary finally been settled?’

‘The plan will be to stay overnight on my Family’s land in Longshore. Our patron has secured space in the Inn at Duskwood for our second night, and we will be sleeping outside in Stranglethorn for the third…’

‘Is that where this Raptor was tamed?’

‘I did not tame Isha, she was saved, liberated from her previous owner. She followed me and slept beside me for three nights, and when it was clear that she had deemed me her new owner, I had no choice but to accept the responsibility.’

Up close, the signs of beating on the Raptor’s skin are apparent. A Troll who held no respect for their companion was not one whose loss would ever be mourned. Trolls in general should never be trusted. Liadrin falls into step with her companion, taking her lead, knowing that they will mount once the city walls of Stormwind are passed.

As the clamour of life recedes behind them, they pass into the Valley of Heroes, to be met with the sight of a number of Alliance soldiers not saluting in respect, but carrying buckets and brushes.

Overnight, and not for the first time, the statues in the Valley have been vandalised.

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