Lena settled in at the makeshift desk in the Exodar headquarters, writing. The new order had met with the Hand of Argus, the Triumvirate of leaders who policed and served as a force on Bloodmyst Isle and Azuremyst Isle, as well as dispatched to Nagrand.
Watcher Maeorra – oh, how Lena would have to get used to their new titles – had made a rousing speech to the council, urging the Hand of Argus to allow them, the newly formed Shadows of Argus, to invite all members of the Alliance to their ranks. The outcasts, the downtrodden, the murderers, the shifty, the thieves and tricksters – Maeorra was certain that they would all be useful for the Light. “Even those who can no longer touch the light, or who shy away from its touch, can still serve it,” the death knight had stated firmly, stamping one hoof on the floor of the Exodar in punctuation.
It was true. The likes of Maeorra were welcomed back into the fold of higher-brow draeneic orders – why should this order not accept a warlock? Lena shuddered slightly at the thought, frowning as she gripped her pen a little tighter. Her own biases would have to be overcome, in time. But spending so much time amongst the other races, she had learned that it was possible that even the users of shadow-magics could work toward the goals of the Alliance at large.
Lena sat back in her chair and massaged her hand, frowning at it. She herself had been a mercenary for many centuries, even when her mate had found orders he fit into. She would go on missions and journeys based on who had the loosest purse strings. And she had still been welcome in her previous order. Nodding to herself, she sighed.
She would make peace with those who had made peace with themselves.
The order needed strong, capable fighters, creative thinkers, diplomatic ambassadors. They needed to encompass the entire range of skills and personalities and races of the Alliance if they were ever to succeed.
Lena picked up the pen once more and bent over the desk.
And succeed they would.
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