When a stranger accidentally discovers an ancient elven grove, Shalendris shows him that some of her people can be 'very' reasonable.
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Shalendris knew little of what was happening outside the borders of Stonetalon. She'd only been told that invaders - beings of green flesh - who had landed on Kalimdor's shores. More troubling were the whispers that great Cenarius himself had fallen soon after.
Her sisters had been called to war while she had been ordered to remain at her post, guarding the Barrow Dens where the druids still slumbered.
A noble charge, if somewhat lacking in excitement.
That had been nearly a week ago, and she'd not yet heard word from her sisters.
She adjusted the wrappings beneath her armor - a constant reminder of Aessina's peculiar gift.
Over the millennia that followed the War of the Ancients, the Kaldorei had learned to keep her blessing contained, both literally and figuratively. The ability to absorb magical energies within her bust had proven both boon and burden, requiring careful management lest the proportions of her chest grow beyond what her armor could conceal.
A weary sigh left the Kaldorei's lips as she rested her chin to her upturned palm. Through the window of the modest dwelling she shared with her fellow Sentinels, she watched and waited as her kettle slowly came to boil. The glow of a nearby moonwell, pools sacred to her people, illuminated the surrounding foliage with its silvery light.
Once more, she'd sent Brightbeak, her ethereal avian companion, out to survey the surrounding lands. Though she doubted enemies would come so far inland so soon, she remained vigilant. If nothing else, it might grant her watch a little more excitement.
The whistling of her kettle pulled her from her reverie, and she rose to prepare her evening tea.
Horror startled Shalendris, and her cup nearly slipped from her grasp when the frantic hoots of Brightbeak made themselves heard.
Though the spectral bird could not speak the language of the Kaldorei, Shalendris understood well the urgency of its warning. Visitors were approaching - unknown ones.
With luck, she'd bothered putting on her Sentinel armor that day, for she'd quite nearly absconded from the task that morning. The elegant filigree of her armor glinted against the starlight above as she burst from her dwelling, picking up her bow and quiver in one fluid motion.
With the preternatural grace of a Nightsaber, she climbed among the branches of the nearest tree, waiting for signs of the intruders.
Her wait proved short indeed when, ascending by the only path to the small grove came an odd creature. Its pale skin and hair were oddly reminiscent of the moon above. She nocked an arrow, her silvery gaze following the strange, robed creature, as it approached the moonwell.
Before she could even consider a course of action, the creature - evidently male - knelt at the edge of the sacred waters, cupping his hands together and bringing the enchanted liquid to his lips.
Outraged, yet still cautious, she held her position, watching. Brightbeak landed on a nearby branch.
She quite nearly fell from her perch as the fool disrobed, slowly allowing himself to sink into the blessed pool. Her eyes followed him still, as she took in his toned physique, admiring the musculature - and the firm, rounded backside - she beheld.
It had been years since Shalendris had last beheld the nudity of a male, and she found the sight soon stirring long-dormant thoughts.
The sight of a male so nude, and with musculature so appealing, quite nearly distracted her from sacrilegious act she was witnessing.
His rounded ears marked him not as an elf of any kind. Perhaps some pale-skinned demon, come to steal the moonwell's magic?
As she watched the intruder wade into the moonwell's waters, a familiar sensation prickled at her senses - one that brought to memory the betrayal of the Highborne.
Arcane energy, forbidden in the lands of the Kaldorei, seemed to radiate from the male like heat from a flame. Her people had banished the Highborne for these trespasses millennia ago, and now this outsider dared bring that same power to their sacred groves.
The bindings beneath her armor grew tighter as her gift responded unbidden to the arcane energies surrounding him, confirming what her other senses had detected.
Seeing no other recourse, she called out. "Leave this place at once. Or be slain."
Her voice came cold and hard.
She watched as he turned his head, eyes watching his surroundings for a moment before he closed them for a few heartbeats.
Heeding her words, he rose, making his way out of the well. His movements bore no signs of aggression, and Shalendris briefly considered climbing down from her hiding place to greet the visitor.
"Forgive me," came the confident tones of his reply, "I was compelled to reach this place from the magic permeating around it, but I see now that it is a sacred site. I wish no quarrel, madam; I shall comply if you would but spare me the forest's wrath."
Even as she listened to his words, she could sense the candor of his words. She opened her mouth to reply before her eyes caught sight of movement between the trees. The vile forms and weaponry of demonkind were unmistakable.
All reason and caution fled her, and she found herself crying out to the male, alerting him to the fiends' presence. As she did so, the largest of the three demons presently visible turned its head towards her, flinging from its open palm a bolt of purple-hued shadow in the elf's direction. Much of the tree's trunk exploded from the impact, sending Shalendris hurtling towards the ground, landing with a soft thud on a carpet of thick moss.
Barely cognisant from the spell's impact, Shalendris watched the white-haired male begin his spellweaving. His fingers moved with precision as he uttered the arcane syllables to launch frozen missiles at their attackers.
The first two demons, smaller than their leader, were frozen in place and shattered in but a few heartbeats.
The last of the demonic trio, a horrid Doomguard, raised its spear towards the mage and, with a single flap of its wings, flew towards its target in a straight line, baring its yellowed teeth.
Despite its frightening speed, it did not get far, for it soon found its powerful, leathery wings covered in ice.
Shalendris expected the fiend to tumble to the ground, yet it flexed its powerful abdominal muscles, bringing its legs back underneath it to land on the ground. Those powerful muscles would flex to continue closing the distance between the mage and itself, but the white-haired stranger's spellcasting caused the demon's legs to soon be encased in ice.
