A Traitor's Death

(Takes place seven years prior to current timeline I have set for Sallaria; Sallaria, age: 20)

        Sallaria took in a deep breath. She hadn’t been to the Sunfury Spire since her youth. Since she was a broken little girl congregating with the remaining High Elves after the Scourge Invasion. The once bloodstained and cracked walls now fully restored. The marble gleaming in the eternal sunlight. Another deep breath followed prior to her crossing the threshold of the Spire. her heart starting to race in anticipation.

        Memories started to return to her. her eyes shifted around the corridor, she saw ethereal images of broken elves covered in mud, their once elegant clothes tattered. Their proud faces deathly pale, some stained with tears. She, only five years of age once huddled in a corner where an enchanted planter now floated, her twin brothers, at the time only the young age of three, sleeping beside her. She shook the memories from her mind, those were dark times for not only her, but her entire race. Upon reaching the Throne Room, she paused before the gossamer indigo drapes. The Regent Lord could be seen on the other side, in council with his advisors.

        Another deep breath followed. She glanced down at her hands where she clutched a bloody sack. She felt her blood boil. Inside the sack lay the head of the elf who ruined everything. The traitor known as Dar’khan Drathir. She marched forward, ignoring the weary looks the ever vigilant Spell-Breakers gave her. The Regent silenced his advisors once he took noticed of the young Warlock. He looked at her expectantly, a flaxen brow raised. Sallaria bent her knee to her Lord Regent, gripping the sack in her hands until her knuckles turned white.

        “My lord,” she said “I bring you the head of the traitor Drathir,” she glanced up at the Regent before into the sack, pulling out Dar’khan’s head by the ratty hair, holding it out for Lor’themar to gaze upon.

        “Dar’khan is dead at last,” she rose “He will no longer be a threat to our people,” She glanced down at the traitor’s severed head, glowering. The bastard was finally dead. She could finally cross off his name from her list. The list she had kept with her since the day the Scourge Invaded Quel’Thalas. The day her family became broken. The day, she lost her father due to Drathir’s betrayal.

        She dropped the traitor’s head to the floor, dusting off her hands. Then, she set it a flame, the fel fire she commanded reducing the head to black ash. With one final look to the Lord Regent, she bowed, and turned away. But the Lord Regent had something to say.

        “Before you go,” he said, his voice like silk “I have a task for you,” Sallaria gazed over her shoulder, seeing Lor’themar pull out an envelope, sealed and stamped with Silvermoon’s royal insignia.

        “Deliver this to Warchief Thrall,” he instructed, his face neutral “it is all I ask,” Sallaria turned and accepted the letter from the Regent.

        “Yes, my Lord Regent,” was all she said before making her way towards the Chamber of Translocation, where an orb awaited to take her to the Ruins of Lordaeron.