Maxwell submitted several requests to join the fighting, hoping to remain in the Northern Lands of Lordaeron and wipe out the undead roaming the towns around Stratholme.
Unfortunately, none were approved.
Although the Order of the Silver Hand had received no orders from the Royal Court to aid Kul Tiras, its Paladin lords had already reached a tacit agreement among themselves.
The Silver Hand was actively preparing for war.
Gavinrad was clearing out undead in the Northern Lands of Lordaeron, while Tirion Fordring and Mograine were still in Eversong Woods. The Order of the Silver Hand needed every capable hand it could get.
Maxwell was a key prospect the Paladin lords were grooming, and a candidate to become the next Paladin lord. Naturally, Dathrohan and Uther would not let him stay in the Northern Lands of Lordaeron.
Maxwell was too embarrassed to tell the order why he really wanted to stay in the Northern Lands of Lordaeron. He could hardly say he wanted a honeymoon with his wife-to-be.
He could still distinguish between romance and matters of state.
That evening, Maxwell went to the market and bought some seafood, intending to make it up to Lilith properly.
The wooden door stood ajar, but there was no light inside.
Unease stirred in Maxwell's chest as he slowly pushed the door open with his right hand.
He sensed no one inside. Lighting a magical lamp, he surveyed every corner of the room.
Lilith's coat hung on the rack, proving she had come home.
Her staff lay across the floor, and two scorch marks marred the tiles. A fight had clearly broken out inside.
Maxwell dared not imagine the worst, but the truth was right before him. His wife was gone...
Fuck!
Maxwell took Lilith's coat from the rack, locked the door, and