It was early in the morning as I approached the gates of Silvermoon City. The place was finally open to the outside after years of engagements between the battered elves and the Scourge. Although they were leaning their alignment towards the Horde at this point, hating both humans and the Knights of the Silver Hand after the crap we pulled during the Third War, the elven paladins were apparently in a bit of a crisis. Their faith in the Light had waned and for a time they lost control over its power. Since their victory repelling the undead they sought to regain it through new guidance.

Now normally I would resist going to elven lands of any type but this took it to a whole different level. I was walking right into the maw of all that is evil in this world. Magic elves of privilege, filled with self-righteous hatred of humans and the Alliance, and they were soon to be welcoming Horde emissaries. As I stood by the gates I felt a headache creeping up on me. My hand glided over the handle of my hammer in anticipation.

Although I knew my value to the Silver Hand was paltry I didn’t think they’d send me on an outright suicide mission. Indeed, these Blood Elves as they called themselves came to us. Their choice in sending me wasn’t entirely misguided either, as I wasn’t officially aligned with the Alliance and I’d had experience working with the Horde in the past. Still, I got the feeling I was being hung out to dry again, just like Azuremyst. All the other Knights saw me as that guy. You know the one. You’re off doing the good work of the Light and then oh here comes Sir Abrams, hung over and smelling like the Lion’s Pride Inn again. What an upstanding member he turned out to be. Well, I always said you can’t spread the Light if you never go in the shadows. And it just so happens the shadows I choose have beer and hookers. But I digress.

Even though I was an, eh-hem, “official consultant”, I needed an escort while in the city to make sure I wasn’t going to cause any mischief. I was also to report back to the Knights what these elves have been doing since their self-appointed exile. While I waited for the escort to arrive I was eyed over by two elegantly adorned city guards. These guys made the Draenei look modest, I’d never seen such lavish uniforms. They weren’t gaudy like the Draenei either. The elves had a unique sense of style. Too rich for my blood though. I was proud of my armor, simple as it was. Sure it was mismatched and repaired half a dozen times over, but I’d earned every piece of it. At last the gates opened and I was allowed to walk inside. The city was magnificent, spires of marble and gorgeous hedgerows tended to by magical tools. The streets were pristine and polished white with enormous mana crystals lining the walls. My eyes feasted on this wondrous place as we moved towards the Royal Exchange.

A young elven woman walked towards me, her plate armor a dark polished steel with red accents. She carried a kite shield on her back and a glistening magical blade on her waist. With a quick salute she said, “Bal’a dash, malanore. Welcome to Silvermoon City.”

I saluted her back, “The pleasure is all mine, miss..?”

“Blood Knight Lysandra Dawnsworn,” she said, standing at ease, “I take it you are Sir Abrams?”

“Yeah,” I said, “But you can call me Jack. Jack Radical.”

“You must be joking,” she replied. The look on her face could have stopped a kodo. I knew it wouldn’t go over well, but that was the point, wasn’t it? Goddamn elves take themselves too seriously.

Ignoring her incredulity, I said, “So, I assume everything is ready for me to begin my lecture?”

“Not quite,” Lysandra said, still not entirely over my imposition, “The initiates and our other Knights are still gathering. In the meantime, I will show you to your quarters.”

“Very well,” I replied. She waved away the city guards who had been shadowing me as I followed her. Along the way I got to take in more of the city, its magnificent splendor radiating a magical aura I couldn’t quite describe. It wasn’t like the Draenei’s which was pure Light, but it also wasn’t like Dalaran, the city of mages and arcane magic. This was slightly thicker, heavier. The Light here was golden and sweet, I could feel its warmth all over like honey. And yet, something still seemed off. I shook the feeling as we entered the exchange. Throngs of elves bustled between the overflowing auction house and the various shops lining the streets. Everyone was far too busy to notice a human in their midst. Although I did catch a few curious looks, they were mostly aimed at my strange armor.

Eventually we arrived at the Silvermoon City Inn, a large and comfortable place that looked several pay grades above what I was qualified for. At first I thought this must be some kind of mistake, but Lysandra lead me up the stairs and down a hall to the far room. Taking a key from her pouch, she opened the door and handed it to me. I was used to dormitory living at the Cathedal or in Stormwind Keep. On the road I considered a tent or a cot to be a luxury. This, this was heaven compared to that. A real bed, large enough for three adults, draped with curtains and made up with silken sheets. The couch against the wall was velvet, with warm tea and a smoking hookah waiting on the table. The bay window overlooked the exchange, letting all the sounds and scents in.

“I hope your accommodations are adequate,” Lysandra said to me, still standing in the doorway.

“This is uh, there has to be some mistake,” I replied. “Is this really my room?”

“We were going to get you in the master guestroom but unfortunately it was booked for the next four months. However, we can see if the Wayfarer’s Rest has theirs available.”

“No, no, this is, um, adequate,” I said. I realized if I wanted to command the respect of these elves I couldn’t come in looking and sounding like some kind of bumpkin. “I will need an hour to freshen up from my trip, have the Blood Knights ready by the time I’m done.”

“Understood, Sir.” With that, Lysandra left me alone in this magnificent room. It all looked so amazing, I didn’t know what to try first. Then I spotted the wash basin in the corner. I drew some warm water. Heh, running hot and cold water, that was a neat trick. Stripping my clothes I got in, a cup of tea in one hand and a hookah pipe in the other. Light bless the Silver Hand for sending me here. The magical brushes beside the wash basin sprung into action, sudsing up and scrubbing me clean as I relaxed. I took a sip of the tea, a delicious pumpkin brew with some elven spices mixed in. It smelled just like the lather the brushes scrubbed me with. I took a hit of the hookah and… more pumpkin spice? Huh, it was in season but still. I was always partial to apple butter myself. It just gives such a warm feeling to walk into a home smelling like apple butter, maybe with some cider in the cellar in maple casks, now that was a staple of the Stormwind countryside.

It is a little known fact that paladins are fond of home and garden aesthetics.

I sat in that bath for over half an hour, sipping tea, smoking hookah, and pretending I owned the place. This was dangerous, they were buttering me up for something and paladin or not I’m a man of vices. I was going to get eaten alive if I wasn’t careful. Setting everything down, I got out, dried off, and dressed myself again. Before dawning my armor I decided a quick shave was in order, which with the blade provided by the elves, got me looking clean and dare I even say handsome. The occasional facial scar just made me look that much more rugged. I checked the time, Lysandra would be expecting me soon. Putting my armor on I walked down to the lobby and sent for her.

The Blood Knight was punctual, arriving with a pair of initiates in tow. “Sir Abrams--” she said.

“Yeah, that’s not my name,” I quipped.

“What are you talking ab--no.”

I sat in my chair, looking at her expectantly. The elven initiates seemed curious.

Her face fell into a pained expression. “Okay, Jack Radical.”

“Yes?”

“You called for me.”

“No I didn’t,” I said, grinning ear to ear.

“Yes, you did.”

“Yeah, well, that’s your opinion.”

The Blood Knight was about to snap, her jaw locked as she held her face in her hands. “Follow me to the Bazaar, JACK. RADICAL.” She spat through gritted teeth.

I stood up, still smiling, and clapped her on the shoulder, “You have to learn to take it easy.” She glared at me. “Lesson one, Blood Knight, patience.” Lysandra’s brow furrowed as she realized she was just thrown a ringer. The initiates smirked at their instructor who remained silent in her humiliation. Nothing like taking a self important elf down a peg in front of her own students. I turned to the initiates, “Remember, mastery of the Light’s gifts is as much an act of passion as it is of devotion. Patience, reverence, and diligence will often reveal just as much as divine inspiration.”

The two young elves look at me, nodding in understanding, while Lysandra’s expression changed from indignation to guilt. Nailed it. “Anyway, let’s get moving,” I said.

Lysandra lead me towards the Bazaar in silence, the two initiates whispering to each other behind us. When I arrived at the field, a few dozen Knights were lined up in formation with at least fifty initiates gathered in behind them. A small stage was set for my lecture with everyone watching expectantly. I pulled my notes out; the Silver Hand had given me what material it wanted me to share with the elves. It couldn’t risk having me going in there embarrassing them, and if I made a good impression, it might soften the elven image of Silver Hand and by extension the Alliance.

My lecture lasted a couple hours, covering the basics of what it meant to be a paladin. I reviewed the tenets of the paladin’s code, the principles that guided our actions, and our librams. Lysandra stood near my podium and I noticed her listening rather intently. Questions afterwords were actually sparse, I got the feeling these elves didn’t appreciate being taught by a human in their own land. And yet they called me out there in the first place, strange. Either way I finished by the early afternoon, so we left for dinner before continuing the training in the Farstrider’s Square.

This time it was the military portion with sparring partners and instruction provided by one of the elven veterans. I was paired with an initiate too green to properly spar me, whether as an insult or an honest mistake I wasn’t sure, but knowing the elves I just assumed the former. Every blow I was afraid I was going to send the poor kid flying, he couldn’t even parry properly. What were these elves teaching anyway? He did have an impressive command of the Light for his skill level though, I had to give him that. He would serve well as a healer perhaps.

After the military drills the Blood Knights were dismissed. I returned to the inn with Lysandra, my armor not so much as chinked by the initiate. The streets were quieter as dusk fell so I was actually able to speak with her. She looked quite a bit different from when we met earlier that morning, more thoughtful and less up tight.

“Something on your mind?” I asked.

“I was considering what you said during your lecture,” she said. “That portion about self sacrifice for the good of others. How exactly do you interpret that?”

I thought about it for a while, remembering all the times I’d bent that rule to mean whatever the hell I wanted. I also remembered fighting the sea serpent in the Blackfathom Deeps, and Samara with the Draenei. “I couldn’t tell you,” I said at last.

“I mean, it’s not just giving everything you own over to whoever asks for it, right?” she said sarcastically.

“Oh no, nothing like that,” I replied, “What I mean is, it’s kind of something you realize. There’ll be a time when you just know if you don’t do something then others are going to suffer. And it’s not a choice, you just do it. It’s a part of who you are.”

“I still don’t get it.”

Yeah, I bet you don’t, elf. “It’ll come to you eventually.”

“I hope not,” she replied, “I always say, the code says to be lawfully good, not lawfully stupid.”

“True enough,” I said. Man, this was starting to ring a bell.

We approached the inn and stepped inside. Lysandra took a seat on one of the plush chairs as coffee was brought out to us. I took a cup that was offered by one of the barmaids. “Your combat form is rather impressive,” she said as I sat down, “Though I’ve always considered the hammer to be a brutish weapon.”

“It gets the job done,” I replied, sipping my drink. More pumpkin spice? What was up with these elves?

“I always preferred a well balanced blade,” she said, “it makes parrying so much easier, you have more command over the opponent’s moves.”

“It’s a matter of opinion,” I replied, putting my cup down. “The advantage of the hammer is it doesn’t matter what armor the opponent is wearing. All your force goes through, and if your strike is true, you’ll shatter their defenses.”

“But it lacks grace, it lacks form and dignity,” she insisted.

“Let me put it to you this way,” I said, “Almost all my opponents have wielded swords or glaives or some other ‘graceful’ weapon, and they left me with some scars.” Lysandra nodded, eyeing a few on my face. “But,” I said, “Which one of us walked away from the fight?”

“Duly noted,” she said, pouring herself another cup of coffee already, “Have you seen a lot of combat?”

“Yeah, comes with being a mercenary,” I said.

“Wait,” she looked shocked, “You’re a mercenary?!”

“The technical term I believe is ‘knight errant’ but I take contracts for payment.”

“The Silver Hand sent a mercenary to help us?” She looked slightly disgusted.

“Relax,” I said, “I’ve got more than ten years experience in this outfit, I was raised by elves, and I’ve dealt with the Horde more than half the people in this city. I have my qualified ducks in a row.”

“I see,” she said skeptically.

“Besides, I still wield the Light better than your Knights,” I added.

“Do you now? You must not have seen our veterans sparring,” she said with pride, “Their use of the Light in combat is something to behold.”

“Fantastic!” I said, getting up, “Then you must not need my consultation. Such a shame, I was looking forward to spending the night, but I should probably be going.” There was something fishy going on and I needed to goad it out of her.

“Oh, no, please!” she said, jumping out of her seat, “I uh, didn’t mean it like that. We still need your assistance, just more in, um, guidance.”

“Ah, alright,” I said, sitting back down, “perhaps you’d like to tell me then what specifically it is the Blood Elves hope to gain from my presence? As far as I can tell, even your initiates had the wielding of Light magic down pat.”

“It’s more than just wielding the Light,” she said, “The Light is more fickle than our arcane magics, we’re not used to using it in this capacity after so long.”

“Well, venerating the Light is the first step to controlling it,” I said, “But that depends on the individual, it’s not so much taught as understood and felt.”

“You seem to understand it,” she said, leaning forward, “Perhaps we could just keep an eye on you.”

“I’m not the best role model,” I said to her, “but I suppose.”

“A close eye.” A grin swept across her face as her emerald eyes locked mine. Oh, I knew where this was going. She didn’t just want me to stand around and look pretty. This chick wanted a one way ticket to ride the pony snake all the way to pound town. That’s slang for fornication.

“How close an eye?” I asked coyly.

She took a sip of her coffee and placed the cup on the table between us, the locks of her blonde hair falling in front of her face as she bent over. Gracefully she swept them behind her long ear, revealing sly, hungry eyes, a bat of her long lashes, and a bottom lip just barely being nibbled. That last bit, it gets me every time. “Close enough,” she said, “to make sure we don’t miss any of your talents.”

I finished my drink and set the cup aside, “Well, you’ll have to be attentive then.”

She smiled and leaned back, crossing her legs. I don’t know how elven armor does it, but somehow nothing was left to the imagination. This girl had one fantastic pair of legs, and with her arms spread across the back of the chair, I could see every curve of her chest. “Sir Abrams,” she said, “I am a very astute learner.”

I stood up and she stretched her hand out. I took hers as she got up, pressing her body against mine. I could feel her arm wrap around the small of my back as we walked towards the stairs. When we got to my room, she removed the key from my pocket, grabbing a little something extra as she did. Mm, this girl should have been a rogue. She let me in and I took the key from her. Then I wheeled around and stood in the doorway, blocking her with my arms.

Lysandra chucked, “What are you doing?”

I smiled that sly dog smile I’d perfected in lazy evenings in the Blue Recluse tavern, “Come see me when you’ve learned my name, toots.”

Her expression dropped as I shut and locked the door. Still smiling, I listened to her trudge back down the hall. So much for being an astute learner, she couldn’t even remember a name. I spent the better portion of the evening reading my libram by the streetlamp light before turning in.

The next morning brought with it another lecture. This time I spent a good while discussing the role of faith in the Light. This pricked quite a few elongated ears, as faith is what facilitated control. By the power of one’s belief, the Light itself becomes manifest and the strength of your conviction guides it. The elves asked many questions, mostly relating to the nature of this faith. Is it just faith in the Light itself or any faith? What about personal convictions? Then one in particular caught my attention.

“Sir Abrams,” a Blood Knight asked towards the front row, “Does the faith need to be in the Light itself, or can any being be used as a proxy?”

This seemed like an elementary question, “Any deity or power can be used so long as your desires are pure. Your estranged kin do this through Elune, the Trolls and Draenei have mastered this using the elemental spirits of Azeroth, even the Forsaken have somehow managed to find something to conjure their faith through.”

“So we should be able to do it too?”

I looked at her strangely, “I… don’t see why not?”

“I see, thank you,” she said, taking a seat.

That question bothered me for the rest of the day. Such a thing should have been theoretical for these elves. They conjured the Light the same way I did, the same way the priests of Stormwind of Ironforge did, through faith alone. And yet, she treated it as a practical matter. Blood Elves had no shamen and no druids, why would that even come up? There was writing on the wall but I couldn’t read it yet. It was probably written in Thalassian.

The combat session that afternoon was much like the previous one. Once again I was paired with an initiate, and once again they were slow, awkward, and inexperienced. Like my ex-wife in bed. This one however was quite a bit cockier, demanding I “put my back into it” when I came at her. She was a bit more skilled than the previous one, I’ll give her that, but these initiates had no instincts. Rudimentary skills weren’t enough for real combat, not even for real sparring. Like the other initiate, she too was skilled in the use of the Light, but Lysandra’s point became clear whenever she tried to use it too much. Any kind of follow-through with holy magic ended up going awry, it was like she was trying to conjure it as one would arcane magic.

“Surely, this isn’t the best the Silver Hand has to offer,” she said, swiping at me with her blade.

I countered with a swing of my hammer, the attack glancing off her shield, “Kid, you can’t even keep up with me,” I shot a kick towards her, “what makes you think you’d stand a chance against the best of our knights?”

“Insolent human MONGREL!” she growled. She came at me furiously, her blade innervated with holy power.

I raised my shield and blocked one, two, three attacks, then lunged forward. Caught off balance, the elf doubled back, shield raised by reflex. I felt the weight in my hammer shift as the holy energy flowed through it; it was time to teach this kid a lesson from the school of hard knocks, hah. It was time I hammered my point home. I was going to teach her a lesson and let her mallet over for a while. Okay, okay. One good strike, in proper form and with plenty of time for a wind-up, sent her flying. I hit her shield dead on and she must have flown at least twenty feet before tumbling head over heels. A loud guffaw escaped me as she stared in shock and disbelief, the dent in her shield still glowing.

Gradually the initiate got to her feet, unbuckling her shield. A small crowd of initiates and knights surrounded us now as she pulled the sleeve on her armor back, revealing a swollen arm. It appeared I’d broken it right through the shield. One of the elves shoved me, “I thought you were here to teach us, not send us to the infirmary.”

“This is supposed to just be sparring,” another said, “Insolent human.”

“Oh keep your panties on,” I said, winding up a spell, “we’re all healers here.” I cast my flash of light on the wounded initiate, mending her arm in moments. It would still be sore for a while but the damage was healed.

I heard a voice behind me, “What’s going on here, what the hell did you do?” It was Lysandra.

“He damn near killed me,” the initiate said, holding up her still swollen arm. Lysandra looked at me, waiting for a response.

“Someone has to teach these kids how to fight. Besides, like I said, she’s fine.”

“You sent me flying like a ragdoll!” she said.

“And what did you learn from that?”

“That you’re a filthy human dog.”

I shook my head in disbelief, this was just great. Lysandra stepped up and smacked her across the face, “Do not insult your superiors, whelp. You are supposed to be a paladin of Silvermoon and here you whimper over flesh wounds.” The initiate rubbed her face as she stared at the Blood Knight before her. “Hammers sunder defenses, remember this before you try to hide behind your shield again.”

“Y-yes, Sir Dawnsworn!” she said, fumbling while trying to salute.

“Now, back to training, and Sir Abrams, please take it easy on the initiates. I need them in once piece.”

“Understood,” I replied.

The initiate drew her weapons again, this time much calmer. The remainder of the session was more or less uneventful, but the elves still kept an eye on me. I knew I was on their bad side now but frankly I didn’t care. This entire operation stank to high heaven, I just couldn’t tell where they were taking me for a ride. The accommodations were marvelous, Lysandra had my back, even the pay was good. And yet something seemed really off. I felt like I was working a Defias contract without all the innuendo. That night I decided to take the long way back to the inn. Lysandra naturally followed me and became suspicious when I didn’t immediately head for the Royal Exchange.

“I just feel like taking a walk, seeing some of the city tonight,” I said. “It’s a beautiful place.”

“Alright,” she replied. We walked down the road for a bit before she started conversation again, “So why did you decide to clobber one of the initiates this afternoon?”

“I got a little frustrated,” I admitted, “But I knew what I was doing.”

“Really,” she said, “What was all that about patience then?”

I smirked at her, “That was me showing patience. If I was a younger man that kid would have been a smoking crater for a smart-aleck remark like that.”

“Oh, that’s encouraging,” she said, “so you were a homicidal maniac in your youth.”

I was going to respond but I noticed our surroundings changing. The gleaming city had slowly been replaced with more disheveled trappings, the buildings becoming less well kept. Small, dense structures created snaking alleyways along the main road. This was quite different from the usual face of Silvermoon. “Where are we?” I asked.

Lysandra looked around, “This is Murder Row.”

“Cheery name.”

“Don’t worry, no one here would dare try anything against a pair of knights. Most of the denizens are useless vagrants or working folk.”

The modest homes in various levels of disrepair still looked classy compared to the Dwarven District of Stormwind, let alone its ghetto, but compared to the rest of Silvermoon it was decrepit. I peered down some of the alleyways, spotting people talking or meandering about. As we walked down the road we passed a sleeping elf. His clothing was torn with nothing but a bottle in his hand. He was huddled against the wall, lying on the cold paving stones.

“Disgusting,” Lysandra muttered.

I looked at her, then back at the vagrant elf. I’d seen plenty of drunkards and bums in my time, and god knows I didn’t bust my ass for half the ones I met. But this guy, next to all this opulence, how did this happen? How could an entire district be written off? I felt compelled to say something as Lysandra lead me on but couldn’t think of what. It hit home though, and as we walked further out of Murder Row I could feel the waves of the city’s magic wafting over me again. My stomach soured a bit.

After spending some time in silence we approached the inn. I saw a figure standing outside wearing a blood red cloak. It was the initiate I’d whacked earlier. I regarded her as we approached, “What is it, initiate?”

“I wanted to speak with you after our lesson today, Sir Abrams,” she said.

“Really?” I said, “I can’t believe you’d have anything to say to a mongrel like me.”

“I’m sorry about that, sir. I didn’t mean it.” The young elf hung her head, “My parents died in the Third War. I… it’s still a grudge I carry.”

Under ordinary circumstances I would be understanding. Certainly if this were an orc or a tauren I could appreciate their strong feelings about associating with a human. But these elves used to be our allies. Besides, they called me here, not the other way around. Bunch of useless sycophantic knife ears. If they couldn’t control their racism why should I? I looked down at the elf, she seemed deeply bothered, a mixture of shame and fear on her face. It obviously took a lot for her to apologize, let alone admit the reason for her outburst.

I stifled my bitterness and reached my hand out, “Apology accepted.”

She shook it graciously, “Thank you, Sir Abrams.”

“Call me Jack,” I said.

“I’m Nevaeh,” she replied, a smile appearing. “I wanted to ask if you could teach me your techniques with the hammer, that is if Sir Dawnsworn doesn’t mind.”

“You mean like a private lesson?”

The young elf nodded.

“I suppose that would be alright, after all my scheduled lectures are finished,” I said, “What do you say, Lysandra?”

She had an oddly mischievous look on her face, “We’ll see. Nevaeh, can I speak with you a moment, please?” Excusing myself, I retreated to my room where I indulged in a bit more hookah. From the open window I could hear the two of them talking below but was unable to make out what they were saying. Tuning them out, I shut the window and drew the curtains. It wasn’t ten minutes though before there was a knock at my door.

I opened it to find Lysandra and Nevaeh standing in the hall, the former giving me the same intense look she gave me the night prior, and the latter standing nervously behind her. Not only was this chick persistent, but now she was enlisting help. This tears it, I thought, there’s something strange going on here. I’d seen this kind of behavior with the goblins. They flatter the visiting investor or dignitary, throw a few pretty girls their way, show them around town, then work them over with the sales pitch. I still didn’t know what these elves were selling but now I was sure I wasn’t buying.

Lysandra pressed herself against me, “Jack, we came to an agreement. Nevaeh can study under you,” she pulled the initiate forward by the arm, “so long as she’s under supervision.”

I turned to Nevaeh, “Are you okay with this?”

She nodded, “I’m anxious to learn your… technique.”