Chapter Five: Departure and Encounter

With his father's authorization, Patrick began taking inventory of the supplies. Before departure, he still needed to inform his family, letting them know he was about to set out. Five thousand years of tradition from his previous life—let us not say that familial affection is distant from us.

In truth, family bonds are ever-present, though they are so ordinary and commonplace that their presence goes unnoticed, woven seamlessly into the fabric of our days. In his previous life, he had never placed his faith in so-called gods or Christ, but Patrick believed in the sky that sheltered them, the earth that bore them, and above all, the ancestors and parents who nurtured and taught them. His faith, though not in gods, was more meaningful than any deity constructed by man.

The transport convoy was ready to depart, accompanied by the family steward, Melaris. The steward had served the family for many years. Judging by outward appearance, Melaris resembled a human of about thirty, but elves lived so long that age was impossible to discern. His neatly combed red hair was slicked back behind his ears, and his crisp green shirt and purple trousers clung to his well-toned frame—a paragon of elven masculinity.

Melaris's sole task this time was to escort the goods; once they were handed over at the Tower of Duskwither, he would return to Silvermoon City.

The convoy set out, passing through the eastern Shepherd’s Gate of Silvermoon. Just as in the game, the gate was tall and majestic, flanked by two massive statues. In later ages, the Sunstrider Court would become nothing more than the Royal Arcanist Society’s hall, and the high tower behind it merely the Sunstrider’s private spire. The high elves regarded the Sunstrider royal line as shepherds—protectors and teachers. The former safeguarded the people and imparted arcane wisdom; the latter devoted their loyalty, fighting for the crown.

They reached the Pool of Whispering Echoes, where the water was clear as glass, revealing every flower gently swaying beneath the surface. Lush greenery surrounded the pool, while within, emerald ripples danced. The water flowed down from the mountains, where golden trees and red bloodthistle painted a unique and breathtaking scene.

By the pool, elves lounged in leisure, some studying, others practicing their disciplines. If not for his knowledge of what the future held, Patrick might have been just like them. For elves with endless lifespans, pleasure was an eternal pursuit.

At the three-way crossroads before Suran Farmstead, the Farstrider camp had already sent representatives to await them. At the head of the group stood four elves—Lady Sareine Dawnglow, the leader, with her assistants Pyllaralin and Arathiel, and one other whom Patrick did not recognize. Sareine oversaw logistics for the Farstrider camp, while Pyllaralin and Arathiel managed weapons and equipment.

“Good day, Master Patrick,” Lady Sareine Dawnglow greeted him with utmost courtesy. Her expression was respectful, her gaze calm, her immaculate white hand extended before him.

The Dawnglow family was the foremost large clan in Silvermoon, controlling the majority of Quel’Thalas’s supplies of food and daily necessities. While they did not rival the five political behemoths—Dawnblade, Morning Breeze, Morningstrider, Daywing, and Star of Dawn—the Dawnglows remained one of Silvermoon’s preeminent houses.

The Farstrider camp’s people had been waiting yet again. Troll activity had grown frequent of late, putting immense pressure on the Farstrider front. Were the wars at Sablewood and Tor’Watha straining their logistics so much that they had to receive supplies right at the crossroads? Patrick bowed slightly, performing a perfect kiss upon her hand. “It is my honor to meet you here, Lady Sareine.”

Sareine Dawnglow gestured to a stunning female elf beside her, clad in a red ranger’s outfit that revealed a slender, pale waist and toned, graceful legs. A pale green bow was slung across her back, accentuating her delicate neck and beautiful countenance, which drew the gaze of every elf present.

“This is Alleria Windrunner, leader of the Quel’Thalas Ranger Corps and special commander for this engagement.”

She was the eldest of the Windrunner sisters. Alleria’s rise to fame began in the middle of the Troll Wars, when, in defense of her homeland, she repelled countless trolls. Through battle, Alleria honed her exceptional ranger skills and demonstrated a natural talent for command, understanding troll strategies and habits intimately. In the end, with help from the humans, the high elves secured victory.

“Good day, Lady Alleria,” Patrick greeted.

The Windrunner family commanded all the Farstrider Rangers of Quel’Thalas. Nearly all of western Ghostlands was their domain—encompassing Windrunner Village, Windrunner Spire, the Ghostlight Mines, and the island of Shalandis. In later years, this would all be laid to ruin by the Scourge, leaving only howling spirits and necromancers in their wake. But now, the Windrunner lands bustled with life.

“You arrived far earlier than expected. Thank you, Master Patrick. The situation at the front is tense, so we had no choice but to wait for your convoy here and hope to receive the supplies directly,” Alleria said, her face calm and impassive, as though simply stating a fact.

“The supplies for the Farstrider camp can be unloaded now. Melaris will handle the handover,” Patrick replied, meeting her gaze. “The situation is dire at the front, Commander Alleria. Your contributions to Quel’Thalas are plain for all to see.”

Alleria returned his look. “It’s thanks to your early delivery that much of the pressure on the Farstrider camp has been eased. The invading troll army is larger than usual. The spear-throwers and axe-throwers from Tor’Watha have crossed the Arendal Falls. Fortunately, for now, we have not detected any troll spellcasters among their ranks.”

This was the second time Alleria had mentioned it. The high elves were known for their pursuit of pleasure, especially among the mages, whose daily lives were extravagant. When it came to their duties, one could generously call them methodical, but truthfully, they were prone to delay. Alleria had expected to wait at least a week, even preparing for a scenario where the trolls overran the Farstrider camp. She had not anticipated that the supplies would arrive ahead of schedule.

With the handoff complete, Patrick’s party continued on toward Duskwither Spire.

On the map, Duskwither Spire lay between two mountain passes, at Duskwither Square. To the north, the Verdant Coast connected with the outside world, serving as an important high elven port. Goods from Lordaeron could be unloaded directly and transported to Silvermoon—testament to the spire’s vital importance.

Duskwither Spire, Duskwither Square, and the northern Verdant Coast bustled with travelers, vacationers, and merchants. Buildings clustered around the spire like stars around the moon, forming a village in their own right. This was no longer the game’s realm, overrun by ethereal sorcerers and mana wyrms. After Arthas corrupted the Sunwell, the mage towers lost their arcane energy; their core crystals failed, and the towers were forced to close.