Confluence

Avraham Maccabeus stood at the edge of Aldor Rise and surveyed the land around him. Shattrath was below his feet. An ancient city, with an eternal quality. Stone bridges and buildings swept in arcs from flat concourses and rough dirt as though the ground itself had thrust upward to grant the faithful a place to shelter. On the parade ground, anchorites drilled and marched. Their cadent footfalls created a rhythm that the whole city followed in the morning without realizing. In the Lower City, refugees of a half-dozen conflicts coagulated into groups according to race and geography. Those groups didn’t always get along well. Frequently, fights broke out among them over territory and resources. Well fed by the Naaru, they were still poor and displaced.

The vista that the city and Terrokar forest beyond afforded was merely a distraction. If Avraham cleared his mind and focused only on what he saw, he was spared the tightness in his chest and the icy thread of fear that laced his way through his gut. For a moment, he didn’t have to consider the note in his hand.
An anchorite had brought it a few moments ago, as Avraham conversed with his companions in the Inn atop the rise. Avraham had thanked the anchorite, giving a small token of monetary appreciation. The seal on the rolled parchment was bright red. Scryer wax. It’s imprint was that of his brother, a flame in prominence over a snowflake in the background.

Avraham only read the first five words before he dismissed himself. He found a place with the previously mentioned view to finish reading the letter. To contemplate.

Dear Brother,
It is time.

Avraham’s peace could only last a few precious moments. Possibilities began to crash into his placidity like a wall of water that would not be denied by a mere sandbag dam. How had Ian left? Could he catch up to him? What did Ian mean to do once he got there?

He estimated that it would be a week’s travel through Terrokar, and another week to reach Honor Hold and the Dark Portal. Another month would see him through Khaz Modan and to the Plaguelands. From there…well, it was really pointless.

Ian hadn’t left by horse or even gryphon. He had simply been there one minute, and gone the next. Without having seen it, Avraham knew it to be true. Were he allowed on the Scryer’s Rise, he would speak to the man running the boarding house Ian used. He would find that Ian’s tab and bill had been settled. If his room had not been cleaned yet, he would find a light powder coating everything. Ephemeral evidence, concrete proof. In a hair’s breadth of time Ian could be well on his way to anywhere he wanted to be.

I feel the pull. It cannot be denied.
Whatever happened, whatever you could not tell me, whatever drove Crandal out of his mind, it calls.
I will join up with the Shattered Sun Offensive. As will you, when you have resolved your qualms. By the time you arrive, I will have been gone for some time.
Don’t follow. The time for your help has passed.
I am going North.
Old debts will soon come due.
Ian.