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| Details |
| Author: | Teensy |
| Summary: | Ionala uses her experience in the Cathedral archives to preserve and copy the bundle of documents her friends found in the swamplands outside Menethil Harbor. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
Arc: Before the Cataclysm
Arc: The Missing Heron
Not too warm, not too cold, not too dry, not too moist. The conditions for an archive demand a great deal, and Ionala sets each page of the sodden documents on trays and sets them inside a glass fronted case. Once inside, she chennels her energy into cleansing the case and table of disease to prevent any moulds from getting any farther, and then leaves.
She comes back after she's rested and thoroughly washed, taking each page and setting it in a box that protects the archive from its potential harm, with a magnifying glass lid. She copies every page, annotating them where necessary, so intent on duplicating each word that she didn't grasp what they said until she read each copy.
Some of it is perfectly ordinary. But three letters merit additional copies made, outside of the preserved originals, and Ionala re-reads them after transcribing them again:
Adm. Jes-Tereth
Stormwind Admiralty
Stormwind Keep
4 December 27
Admiral Jes-Tereth,
We have secured the cargo as ordered, and are prepared to hand it off as planned in Menethil Harbor. It has been kept out of sight of most of the sailors, with those who have borne witness sworn to secrecy.
It is convenient that it needs no care, but I must confess I am not fond of the smell. This has not gone entirely unnoticed, as I have heard others on deck speculating that some of the food stores had gone off. I hope we know what we’re doing.
Yours,
Captain Correll
That has to be about the asset, even if the letter could have been about a crate of long-aged cheese. Did the Forsaken smell that bad? Ionala sighed. They were long dead bodies brought back to life. It stands to reason, then.
More tidy copies. Ionala has a small crock of soup and soft bread outside the archive, wondering what to say if anyone comes downstairs to visit. Meal eaten, she returns to copy the next.
This next one was written on paper that would have been insulting to the intended recipient. Ionala copies it too:
Sir,
As directed, I have attempted to establish rapport and gain what intel I can in advance. It is unexpectedly wary, and has expressed the concern that sharing full information about ‘what is coming’ may lead to an undesirable cargo dump mid-route.
I have encouraged it to write to ‘loved ones’ in the hopes of revealing more, see letter attached. I have not yet obtained sufficient information for a cargo dump, but perhaps there are things I have missed. We are not truly inflicting this creature upon some unsuspecting person, are we?
Yours
Ionala adds another sheet of paper with a note: This is a draft. Either the writer, I assume Captain Correth, was careful enough to edit their letters, or this communication was sent in an encrypted form. I assume the recipient was Admiral Jes-Tereth.
But it's the third letter that Ionala worries about the most.
I will not write names here. I am not confident that this letter will ever reach you, but I have been encouraged to write it. I suspect they may think I am more likely to reveal my secrets in writing, but I am not so foolish as to fall for such an obvious trick. I will tell them all I know when my terms are met, and not before.
Still, there is a chance, however slim, that this letter may hold the last words I am ever able to write to you. If I am discovered, my people do not deal with traitors gently. If the mercy of the Alliance does not stretch so far, the same end waits. So now I must think about what I want to say.
I was surprised when I heard someone speak your name in reference to some mercenary action - I will not say where. I have no idea how you are even alive. It was night, you should have been asleep in the house when it burned. Even if not, how could you have escaped what came after?
It has slowly poisoned my mind. I remember how you used to laugh, when you were a little girl. Your worry, watching me care for your horse when it was sick. How it felt, our family together at dinner after a long day of farm work. What might you look like now? What are you doing? These thoughts hurt, but I cannot seem to dislodge them.
Did you die at Wrathgate, and they haven’t told me? Did I k a scratch of ink
I have to trust that they did not lie to me. That you are still alive. If you are, then this is what I want to say. You deserve to survive. However you escaped, you could not have saved me. It was not your fault.
Also, stay out of Hillsbrad.
Fair enough. It *was* a clumsy attempt at spying. It might have worked if the target was eight years old and writing in the safety of a pack of schoolchildren all writing the same assignment, but even so, there was information here. Ionala had guesses about the intended recipient. A girl. Possibly a mercenary. But perhaps not one of the Forsaken But the last line brought a memory of clutching her cloak closed against mountain winds and riding hard for the Thandol Span. A warning to stay out of Hillsbrad.
As a child, she had been spirited away from such danger.
The others had to know this as soon as possible. She had to find Mayellen and Annibeth right away. Jonas and Maisha too. They had to send on these letters to Siamus, but what was going to happen in Hillsbrad?
Ionala packed the originals in linen, slipped the copies into envelopes, and cleaned her desk for mold spores before she took the papers away.