Legacy of Oblivion

“They’re late.”

Caulbraen nodded to his War Leader. He was right. Even if they had been traveling on foot from Grom’Gol, Thundrax would have gotten them here days ago. Something was wrong.

A panel in the wall opened, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. It wasn’t the companions they had hoped for but it was almost as good. Two large pitchers of beer sauntered in, carried by a very sturdy looking orc.

“Zug!” The orc’s voice called out the greeting like a boom, his grin as big as his forearm.

Returning a lazy smile, their War Leader left Caulbraen and crossed the room to where the beer was being set down. Both orc clasped a meaty hand on each other’s shoulder in greeting.

“Karakul!  How’ve you been?” Zug said. A thick thumb gestured over his shoulder at the panel that was sliding shut. “Anyone else know we’re here?”

“Of course not,” the orc replied, offended at the question. “Unless someone followed you here, you’re always safe in my Inn.” Then, “I understand you’ve got a ‘Wild Mongoose Out of Bounds.’”

Reaching for a mug, Zug helped himself to a dark ale that should have been served with a Free Action Potion.

“Roger that,” he said, nodding back at the Innkeeper.

Caulbraen turned away as they launched into an exchange of indecipherable jargon. The two had served together in Dur’duh Elite, a special tactics unit reporting directly to Thrall. Thrall’s Generals considered them to be an experiment in covert operations, although officially, they didn’t exist. Whatever the unit did was classified and Zug never mentioned the details. He probably couldn’t.

After their military term, Zug and Karakul both decided to retire and take up slower paced lives. Zug joined Caulbraen’s organization, a modest outfit of unknown Bounty Hunters.

Caulbraen had always found it odd that Zug was so insistent on joining them. Their group was completely unknown and they were content to keep it that way. Lack of fame and fortune usually turned potential members away, but Caulbraen preferred the anonymity. How Zug had found out about them or even how to contact them was enough to impress the rogue leader. Still, Zug insisted he join, claiming he was looking forward to some quiet.

Once the crew had accepted him fully into the group, it was just a matter of breaking some of the orc’s old military habits. Everyone made fun of him. Secretly Caulbraen also thought it was funny, but felt it was his duty to at least try and maintain a professional atmosphere.

Karakul, on the other hand, opened a tavern in Stonard. The depressed, dark swamp was hardly known as a vacationing spot, but as a travel hub it saw a lot of activity. The constant stream of travelers made it a perfect location for their meetings. No one questioned their comings and goings within a matter of hours; everyone else who traveled through followed the same routine. Best of all, because of Karakul’s connections, they were treated to the best selection of ale on the Eastern Continent.

The privacy in the inn was unbeatable. Patrons were none the wiser about the secret passages and rooms concealed in the building, such as the room circular room Caulbraen and four of his officers were waiting in. Other than the secret door in the wall, he was unaware of any other exit. Once he had overheard Karakul saying there were actually three ways in and out of the room, but other than blasting a hole in the wall and braving a jump from the fourth story, he couldn’t think of another way.

Caulbraen supposed that after a long life of covert military action, anyone was bound to be a little paranoid. Like Zug, the Innkeeper remained cloak-and-dagger about everything.

As the alien conversation came to a close, Karakul returned to the panel he had entered through and pulled back on one of the torches attached to the wall. With a click, it tilted downward and the wall slid open.

Sometimes the Innkeeper stayed longer but today he was far too busy. Travel in the south had come to a complete halt, and more people were staying over in the small post than expected. The voices of the throng of patrons in the tavern below floated up to them, and it sounded as if more were coming in by the minute. From the windowless room, Caulbraen could only guess at the size of the crowd by the level of noise.

By the time the door shut, most of the beer was gone and conversations were dwindling. The room seemed very empty due to their missing friends. He wondered if he should address that first.

His face must have read a sense of urgency because everyone was now looking at him expectantly over emptied mugs. Whether they wanted him to start the meeting or get more beer was debatable, but when he pulled back his hood and stepped into the center of the room, everyone knew it was time for business.

“I apologize for bringing you all here on such short notice and with little explanation,” he said, “and I appreciate everyone getting here as quickly as possible, especially with travel being so difficult.”

A hand shot up. Caulbraen stopped and nodded at the one it was attached to. The troll looked more than a little concerned.

“Yes, Barathron?”

The troll nodded back, gesturing around the room with a look that indicated he was about to point out the obvious in case Caulbraen wasn’t going to mention it.

“We’re missing some people,” he said.

The others scattered throughout the room all had similar expressions, as if this was the only important thing on their agenda anymore. Caulbraen wished it were true. Under normal circumstances they would drop everything and go in search for their missing friends, but they couldn’t afford it now.

“Yes,” he acknowledged. “Emberchill, Thundrax, Arcadi, and Sabe were traveling together from Grom’Gol and should have been here a few days ago. I want to find them as much as the rest of you.”

From the darkest corner in the room, another hand lifted, slow and deliberate. As the arm raised the silken sleeve fell back, revealing long gloves with demonic symbols embroidered entirely down its length until they disappeared again under where the sleeve was gathering.

“Yes, Arachne?” He sighed.

An exaggerated hood hid most of her face, save for thin, dark lips and a sharp chin covered in sallow skin.

“I could not care less if they are lost,” she said simply.

Caulbraen frowned. “Yes,” he said. “We know.”

He turned away and continued.

“By now, I’m sure you all have realized communications within the organization have been turned off,” he said. For the amount of pacing he was doing, his movement was surprisingly silent. “I don’t know who is doing it or how it’s being done, but our channels have been compromised.”

Murmurs and whispers flickered around the circle. Caulbraen came to a stop in the center of the room and held up one hand to quiet them.

“Someone’s listening in,” he said, “and that’s why conversations are getting garbled during communication – when we were trying to fix the broken filters, it conflicted with whatever is being used to monitor us. I would reopen communications to contact our missing group but it would risk exposing them.”

Barathron leaned back against the wall and raised an interested eyebrow. “The question is: Who is spying on us?”

“And why?” Zug added from the opposite side of the room.

Barathron shrugged. “Maybe someone thinks we know something,” he said.

“About what?” Zug asked. His tone expressed more interest than doubt.

“No clue,” Barathron replied. “Maybe we don’t realize that we know something.”

“That’s a stretch.”

“Not really. It’s also possible one of us has discovered something valuable and hasn’t told the rest of us yet.”

“Something worth fighting over?”

“Warring amongst the Horde is strictly forbidden, Zug.”

“Officially forbidden, but more common than you think.”

Sitting between them was a warlock who tried to follow the conversation as if he were engrossed in a game of table tennis. Every time his head jerked back to the other direction, his hair stuck out a little more until he looked thoroughly electrocuted. Raising one finger to interject, he didn’t wait for a pause in the conversation to be heard.

“Who?”

Turning to the warlock, Caulbraen quickly regained control of the conversation.

“I don’t know who, but I have a feeling we aren’t the only ones being spied on,” he said. “Right before I called everyone here, I received a summons.

The last word was said with a considerable amount of disdain.

Coughing slightly to stifle a laugh, Barathron asked, “From whom?”

Even Arachne gave a soft snort of derision from her darkened corner. No other group had ever called upon them for anything. For the most part they had managed to stay under everyone else’s radar. It was exactly the way they preferred things. More work could get done without having to worry about competition and interference from other groups.

“Prynex, a leader of another organization,” Caulbraen said, producing a very formal looking scroll from one of his many pockets.

“Competitors?” Barathron asked.

“More like a crime boss,” Zug said.

Caulbraen nodded. “They do bounty hunting from time to time, but only high profile marks. Most of their money comes from a very elaborate smuggling scheme. Rumor has it he is supplying the Alliance, too.”

“With what?” Barathron asked.

“With whatever they want,” Zug said, shrugging. “And it isn’t just a rumor; it’s true. Obviously, I can’t tell you how I know.”

Unrolling the scroll, Caulbraen read the invitation over again. “This note is asking for a lot of organizations to represent themselves, and none of them are direct competitors. Everyone else on the list runs large organizations and they only take high profile jobs. I would be inclined to believe that this invitation is some sort of mistake, but…”

His voice drifted off. They all knew better than to assume anything and let their guard down.

“But that kind of thinking will only get us killed,” Zug finished for him.

“Agreed,” Caulbraen said. “In the meantime, I’ve been doing some investigation of Prynex’s activities, and a lot of his recent business has been tangled up with a group of pirates on the southern shores of Durotar. Barathron, I want you to find out what you can and report back.”

Barathron nodded, twirling a dagger in one hand.

“And take Iraas with you,” Caulbraen added, pointing to the warlock with the wild, tangled hair.

The warlock sat up in excited attention. As if on cue, a loud clatter was heard down below the inn as if something large had just broken, something other than Barathron’s will to live.

“Iraas?” Barathron echoed.

Caulbraen nodded, and continued delegating assignments. “Zug will accompany me to the meeting. Arachne, you will go in search of our missing group.”

This made even less sense to the troll, who had no issue expressing it clearly on his face. Verbalizing the thought seemed only for added effect.

“We have hunters in our organization,” Barathron said slowly, “who can track the group faster.”

Caulbraen said nothing, but his usual patience and calm composure was deteriorating. Even Barathron realized this, but was more concerned about sending someone with less apathy.

“Rhuinn?” Barathron asked.

“On a job four days out of Sun Rock. She would never make it in time.”

“Drizztina?”

“Injured during her last assignment and is resting in Silvermoon City.”

He ran through the entire list. Every name he called out was unreachable or would never be able to make it here fast enough. Defeated, he slumped against the wall and looked over at his new partner. Iraas smiled wide and gave him the thumbs up.

“This is not my day,” Barathron groaned under his breath.

Caulbraen turned back around to face him.

“What?”

“I said I simply cannot wait.”

Before he could continue, another loud crash was heard down below followed by the sound of someone running hard and fast on the stairs toward their room. Everyone reached for their weapons.

The door slid open silently and Karakul stumbled through. Blood streamed from his forehead. In one hand he held a small axe with a bright, red smear across the blade. His second hand was empty but his knuckles were bruised and bloody. Behind him, the stairway he had come through danced with a warm, orange glow.

The inn was on fire.