Legacy of Oblivion

Night had finally settled completely over the land, meaning the fire in Stonard was finally out. Arachne did not care about the calamity either way; the darkness simply pleased her.

She was riding hard through the swamp, heading away from the military outpost. The usual sounds of travel were muffled by the soft mud and she bent over her horse’s neck to avoid low hanging branches. Though she urged her demonic mount onward, it was not with a sense of urgency or panic, but one of steadfastness – her tasks would always be accomplished as long as she was diligent.

Earlier that evening, Caulbraen had sent her to find their missing companions and retrieve them. Locating them had been the easy part. Most of the missing party had indeed reached Stonard as they had intended, but never made it inside. Emberchill had been taken captive by a group who had set fire to the Stonard Inn and Sabe and Arcadi, in no condition to attempt a rescue, were, in fact, attempting a rescue. The only one missing was Thundrax, but she simply could not be bothered with him now; a new group had appeared and were pursuing Sabe and Arcadi. She did not know who this new group was, but found it curious that all of them were trolls. Though one of them was a hunter, they left a trail even a warlock could follow. Each group was unknowingly being pursued by another, and Arachne was playing the predator sneaking up on the rear.

As soon as they were away from Stonard, they had avoided the main road and cut west through the swamp. Despite the wild terrain, they were making good time. When the deep and clear imprints of domesticated mounts crossed the road that led south, she knew they would be heading to Deadwind Pass. Eventually the procession turned northwest, back toward the road, as if they intended to circle around by the old wooden bridge. She continued to follow, making sure to keep her unflagging demonic mount from gaining ground.

When she finally reached the road, she was treated to a surprise: The old bridge was no longer there. Debris had been scattered everywhere as if the Old Gods had struck the land in their wrath, trees were unearthed and scorched and large craters were embedded in the terrain. Native lifeforms of the swamp had been sacrificed in the assault and their innocent corpses littered the scape.

It was beautiful work. Unfortunately, Arachne had no time to admire the artistry. (more…)

The storm came upon them with little warning; a dark speck in the north stretching across the sky, spreading toward them at alarming speed until casting its shadow atop them. A hard rain came with it, blown up under their hoods from the unrelenting wind. On the open hills of Tirisfal Glades, there was nowhere to hide.

In the distance, the low, booming sound of thunder was heard. It was about to get worse.

A stream of bodies were making their way down the hill from the zeppelin tower toward Undercity. Although the traveling masses had been informed there would be no leaving the Stranglethorn post of Grom’Gol once they arrived, undeterred bodies fought against wind and rain to make it to the bat handler, assuming they would find a way out of the post once they had arrived. The races comprising the Horde are not so easily deterred.

Fastening cloaks around their bodies and hiding faces under hoods, Autumnwolf, Airsk, Grimvalt, Raeln, and Matelda blended in with the crowd of disgruntled, soggy travelers who were making their way back inside Undercity. As they reached the entrance to the Lordaeron ruins, the collective outcry of angry travelers reached them; Zeppelins had now officially stopped traveling to the southern half of the continent.

Knowing there would be even more competition for supplies and bats, the crowd picked up the pace and was trying to outrun each other, only to be stopped by the elevator.

Parties were being taken down to the city in small groups, and not fast enough for the impatient crowd. Restlessness moved over the mob and conversation increased to a dull roar as more arrived from the Zeppelin tower and were forced to wait in a line that overflowed outside into the wet courtyard.

Above the crowd, they could barely make out the outline of the elevator door opening. The crowd swelled and pushed toward it like a wave, cramming bodies into every available inch of the small space.

Before long, the party found themselves before the elevator, but there was only space for two more. Grimvalt graciously gave the available spaces to the two orc waiting in line behind. After the unexpected and mysterious attack inside Raeln’s house, it would be unwise to separate outside of the city. Lack of guards and law enforcement would make an ambush all too easy. Even with a crowd of eyewitnesses, no one liked to get involved in the affairs of strangers.

After a short wait, the elevator door slid open. Again the crowd surged at the sight, pushing them forward. Matelda stumbled, but Autumnwolf and Grimvalt grabbed her, pulling her to the opposite side of the elevator where they strategically placed her next to the back door. Hugging her backpack close, the priestess pressed her back against the wall.

The elevator landed with a slight bounce. When the door slid open, everyone began to push, impatient to get out.

Not wishing to be among the first seen entering the city, they waited until almost half of the elevator had emptied. Stepping into the doorway, Autumnwolf stopped the rush just long enough for Grimvalt to escort Matelda, while Airsk pulled an unwilling Raeln out of the elevator.

The majority of individuals leaving the elevator were cold, damp, and irritable, tromping down the darkened corridor, still wrapped tightly in their cloaks. This made it much easier on the group. Concealed and camouflaged, they passed by the guards’ watchful gaze without arousing suspicion.

The top tier of Undercity was a mass of congestion and confusion. A long line at the Bat Handler had already wrapped half way around the room and was continuing to grow. Tightening his grip on Raeln’s arm, Airsk dashed to the back of the line. Muffled protests were heard from the sage who woefully rubbed his recently reattached limb.

Grimvalt and Autumnwolf escorted Matelda to where Airsk and Raeln had gone, amazed at how many were filing into line behind them.

“Guard Matelda,” Grimvalt said quietly to Airsk. “Autumnwolf and I will get supplies.”

The shaman nodded back, and turned to Raeln. The sage looked up at them, clearly unhappy about the situation.

Autumnwolf leaned in close to the sage, bending down so their eyes were level.

“You will also protect Matelda,” the druid said.

Staring at each other, they both waited to see which one would cave first. Again, it was the sage. Rubbing his sore arm, he wrinkled his nose in disdain and nodded.

“Fine,” Raeln sniffed, “but I am only doing this for the protection of the relic.”

Satisfied, Grimvalt nodded and returned his attention back to Airsk.

“Don’t let anyone take the paper either,” the warrior said.

Airsk patted his pocket reassuringly. The perplexing prophecy regarding the Titan’s relic was as valuable as the phallus itself. Both would need to be guarded at all costs. After casting a quick glance around the room, he nodded to Grimvalt.

“Hurry,” Airsk said.

Grimvalt and Autumnwolf turned away in search of the stairs. The platform they were standing on was made entirely of stone, with the center of the room cut out. From the edge, they could see the gridlock that had overtaken the center of the city. Stone staircases led down to a narrow, unfenced ledge that circled the bank. Pedestrians were forced to balance precariously along the path behind bank patrons, and there was barely room for two to squeeze by without falling over the side. More staircases led down from the bank to the city floor, where irritated citizens of the Horde were nearly at a standstill, trying to get through the city.

“It had never before occurred to me just how awkward this city was constructed,” Grimvalt grumbled as he pushed his way down.

Behind him, Autumnwolf was trying to figure out a way to squeeze around three orc. “Food and water should be easy enough to find, but blankets will be more difficult.”

“We can try the auctioneers,” Grimvalt said, “although they don’t normally trade those things. There are some tailors who should have something.”

“If all else fails, we could purchase extra cloaks,” Autumnwolf suggested.

Weaving through the traffic, they passed beneath tall, stone arches into the next layer of the city; a dark pathway that circled around the court. Varied ramps and daises were fixed along the inner track where auctioneers could stand above the crowds, calling out their treasures. The streets here were much wider than in the city center and allowed traffic to flow freely once they were able to push past the crowds clustering around auctioneers.

“Who designed this city?” Grimvalt grumbled, mostly to himself as it was too loud to hear anything other than the loud, rapid succession of auctions being called out.

The general crowd flowed in a counter-clockwise pattern. Knowing better than to fight the current, they joined in the stream, letting it take them along. After a few minutes, Grimvalt turned off of the main road, following a smaller trickle of bodies down a darkened corridor.

Voices echoed off of the rock halls, blending together into an indiscernible low hum. Only as various bodies passed by were they able to make out snippets of conversation, most of it inconsequential.

“…if I wanted a pet cockroach, I’d just pick one out of my hair…”

“…disgusting mind slave should not be allowed out in public places…”

Voices grew louder as they neared the end of the street and they turned the corner into a pavilion of shops. Autumnwolf pulled her hood a little lower over her head and followed Grimvalt, weaving gracefully through the sea of bodies.

A tailor’s store looked discouraging. Rows of shelves had already been picked through and were mostly bare. Anything left for sale had been piled on tables and were being sifted through by a cluster of patrons.

Autumnwolf was only half listening to what was going on around her as she reached over a thin Forsaken female and grabbed whatever her hand might capture. Ignoring the unforgiving look she received, Autumnwolf shook out the fabrics, trying to figure out what each one was.

She sighed. Most of it was small bits of unusable clothing that she tossed back onto the table. Customers clustered around them immediately and snatched up whatever she had discarded, hoping for a good find. Undeterred, she moved to the other end of the table and grabbed up a bundle of ugly fabrics.

A long, thick cloak was too homely to wear, but looked promising as a blanket. A second cloak was unraveling at the end, but was otherwise in good shape. Tossing them over one shoulder, she looked up and across the table at where Grimvalt was standing.

One eyebrow shot up. Instead of scanning the area for supplies, he was talking. It was hard to hear over the general hum of voices, but by straining her ears, she could pick up the gist of the conversation.

“It’s not for sale,” Grimvalt was saying. He sounded irritated.

An orc dressed for travel held a small, bulging money pouch in his hand. His persistent tone matched his expression.

“I’ll pay you more than that cloak is worth,” the orc insisted. “You could buy two for what I’ll give you – three, even.”

Frowning, the warrior looked away and scanned around the room, and seemed relieved to find Autumnwolf looking back at him. She rolled her eyes in support.

“I’m not selling it. Sorry,” Grimvalt said, and picked his way through the cluster of patrons to where Autumnwolf was waiting.

The room was loud and crowded and they were being jostled by other patrons trying to move through the store. Voices were getting louder as everyone tried shouting over the din and it was becoming hard to hear.

Grimvalt beckoned Autumnwolf away, to the edge of where the stagnant cluster of patrons met the swift moving stream of bodies. He took the garments from her, looking them over.

Voices passed by them with the current, most of it being completely ignored while they looked over the potential finds. Satisfied, Grimvalt looked up and handed them back. As he did, they couldn’t help but catch a snippet of conversation that passed them by:

“…eluded us at the sage’s house and escaped…”

The garments were forgotten and both of them looked up at each other. Autumnwolf’s eyes drifted away, fixed to the back of the speaker’s head and followed it as it drifted into the stream. Her height gave a definite advantage to being able to see above the crowd, and she turned to pursue the stranger.

Before he could follow, Grimvalt felt pressure on his arm, and a slight tug. He glanced back over his shoulder. One of the shop clerks was speaking to him, pointing at the garments he held.

Looking back to make sure he didn’t lose sight of Autumnwolf, he reached into a pocket, grabbed whatever coin happened to be in there and hastily pressed it into the clerk’s hand. He probably paid more than the cloaks were worth, but at the moment he hardly cared. Ducking into the crowd, he pushed ahead until he was able to catch up to where Autumnwolf was in pursuit.

He wasn’t sure where they were headed. As one of the shorter races of the Horde, it was difficult to see. Autumnwolf seemed to know where they were going, though. Keeping a safe distance, she dropped back even farther when they veered away from the main crowd and down a side street.

Very few were traveling this way; a dark alley leading to remote areas of the city where questionable business took place. Every body that passed was concealed under a cloak. Traffic became more and more sparse and the roar of the activity in the main city dulled behind them. Feeling conspicuous, Grimvalt tugged lightly on his hood, making sure it covered as much of his face as was possible.

In the open area, he was now able to see who they were following: Two figures in dark cloaks glided quickly along the alley. Although the conversation being held was indiscernible, the sound of hushed whispers echoed back.

As they walked, Grimvalt was trying hard to keep quiet, but his heavily armored boots were making considerable noise against the stone floor. Every step was an attempt to be more quiet than the last, but it was having an opposite effect. Autumnwolf kept looking at him sternly, and he could hardly blame her. The sound of his own footsteps were setting his nerves on edge.

Up ahead, the figures they were following stopped whispering, as if they knew they were being followed. Just before they turned around, Autumnwolf grabbed Grimvalt, hugging both arms around the warrior’s waist and lifting, struggling to move his heavily armored body behind a nearby post.

She set him down as quietly as possible and leaned against the wall to catch her breath.

“Sorry,” he mouthed.

The cloaks they had purchased earlier were still slung over Grimvalt’s shoulder. Grabbing them, Autumnwolf folded the first one in half, and laid it on the ground. Then she tapped his boot once and pointed to the cloth.

Nodding his understanding, he stepped into the center. Autumnwolf wrapped the cloak around his boot and tied it securely around his calf. The same was done to the other boot. When they were finished, Autumnwolf stuck her head out from where they were hiding. Hastily, she beckoned him out.

The two individuals they had been following were almost to the end of the street. Grimvalt stepped out of the shadow, listening for the expected clank of his boots against the floor, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was far from perfect, but quiet enough that they could follow without attracting attention.

The street was coming to an end and they were in danger of losing the chase. Picking up the pace, they made it to the end of the alley just in time to watch their prey ducking under a bridge.

Running on the tips of his toes, Grimvalt followed Autumnwolf to a set of short, stone stairs that curved upward and into to a bridge.

The familiar voices of the individuals they were pursuing floated up to them, and they crouched down low, using the short walls that encased the stairs as cover. Half way up the stairs, Grimvalt tugged on Autumnwolf’s cloak. When she turned, he pointed to the wall.

Crawling back over to where he was crouched, she nodded, listening. The two individuals they had been following were below them on the other side of the wall, using the curve of the stairs as cover.

“He has one of the pieces already,” said a deep voice. “We don’t know how to extract it, so it’s still in containment until we can figure out a way.”

“And the rest of the components?” A hollow, nasal voice asked.

“We’re looking for them. Someone out there has to know something. That’s why he’s tapped into the channels of every organization in the Horde.”

A disbelieving sniff was heard.

“How did he do that, exactly?”

“The goblins created it, and he purchased it.”

Nasal voice sniffed again. “Sounds expensive.”

A quiet, deep laugh was heard. “It was nothing. Our resources are endless and this was a necessity. Now that we have one item, the rest will awaken. Someone must know about them, which is the reason for the taps.”

“You are going through a lot of trouble on a group of nobodies.”

“We wouldn’t even have cared about them, but when they shut off their channels, we figured they knew something.”

“You actually believe they have one of the components?”

“After the incident at the sage’s house, we’re positive,” Deep Voice said. “A few hours ago, one of their mages was taken into custody. She’ll be at the House in another day or so. We are also trailing another one who we believe will lead us to another piece – some paladin. He will be arriving in Hammerfall in a few days. After he has the item in his possession, we will take him into custody as well.”

“What makes you think they will tell you anything?” Nasal asked.

“Prynex is determined to obtain these components at any cost.” Deep Voice laughed quietly. “Believe me when I say he will do whatever it takes. No one will get in his way.”

A pause suggested Deep Voice was about to impress something important. After a tense minute, he continued.

“Many leaders will be joining him soon. It would be unwise for you to choose differently.”

“Like this small group of nobodies you are harassing?”

“They have something Prynex wants. They will cooperate or…”

His voice trailed off.

Nasal sighed a high pitched whistle. “No need for threats,” he said. “I will attend.”

“Good. Take this summons to the House. Directions are in the letter. If you have any problems, show it to them.”

The meeting was over. Grimvalt and Autumnwolf looked up at each other. They had heard enough.

Still crouched, Grimvalt held up three fingers and counted down, then nodded. As one, they stood and reached over the side of the wall.

Autumnwolf placed a firm grip on top of someone’s head and slammed it against the wall. The sound of a coconut being opened echoed softly against the stone, followed by the sound of a body sliding down the wall to the ground.

Grimvalt was not accustomed to that level of finesse. One hand formed a tight fist and slammed down onto the first hard surface it found. He heard a deep groan and the sound of someone collapsing.

Looking around quickly, they made sure no one had seen their assault, then leapt over the wall to the floor below.

Two crumpled figures lay on the ground amidst the spilled contents of an expensive backpack.

Leaning over, Autumnwolf pulled back the hood of one, revealing a male troll who was sleeping soundly. A large bump was forming on the side of his head.

The other figure, a male orc, was slumped against the wall. His cloak had shifted in his fall, pulling the hood away from his face.

“Do you recognize either of them?” Autumnwolf asked.

Grimvalt shook his head. “No. You?”

“No.”

They turned their attention to the articles scattered on the ground. A few uninteresting items were laying about, as well as a rolled up parchment and a black card bearing the symbol of a snake coiled around a sword. Grimvalt reached for the card and flipped it over. The back of the card was blank. As he stood, light slipped over the edge of the staircase and reflected off of the paper. Movement caught his eye. Under the dim light, a small, golden symbol materialized slowly in the center.

Autumnwolf couldn’t help but notice his surprise.

“An emblem of a fallen trollish dynasty,” she said, reaching for the card. “I am not sure why I know of it. The troll kingdoms that once dominated the world are long forgotten.”

She flipped it over, then shrugged unknowingly at the sword and snake. As she turned it back over, her eyebrows lifted in surprise. The golden emblem had disappeared, but when she moved it back into the light, the symbol flickered slowly on the page until it was whole again.

Taking the card back from her, Grimvalt stared hard at the symbol, then brushed his thumb over it. The emblem sparkled at his touch.

Autumnwolf shrugged again and returned her attention to the contents on the floor.

“Here is the summons they spoke of,” she said, holding a piece of paper. “Perhaps we should take it.”

Grimvalt looked up.

“Yeah,” he said, and slipped the strange card into his pocket.

He looked around. They had spent too much time chasing after these two strangers and would need to get back up to Airsk and Matelda. His eyes drifted down to the two unconscious figures on the floor, their expensive cloaks sitting askew. He had an idea.

Autumnwolf was securing the summons in her bag when she turned around and noticed Grimvalt rolling the orc’s cloak into a ball. When he reached for the backpack laying nearby, he felt her disapproving eyes upon him.

Guilty, he looked up.

“There’s no time to get supplies now,” he explained. “As it is, we’re going to starve to death and half of us will freeze from the high altitudes. We have no other choice.”

Autumnwolf’s lips pursed together tightly in thought. By her expression, it was clear she would do nothing to stop him, although she didn’t exactly endorse his behavior, either. They didn’t have time to argue.

Grabbing the backpack, he was surprised by the weight.

“Whoa,” he mumbled as he looked inside. “Someone was planning on a long trip.”

He didn’t bother looking up at Autumnwolf, who continued to watch him in silence. Somehow he couldn’t help but feel as if he had to keep making excuses for his actions.

“This is more than enough for the entire group,” he said without looking up. “We’re lucky. Fortunate.”

She didn’t respond or make a move to help, so he stopped trying to convince her.

The troll’s cloak came off and was rolled up, then two large, expensive bags were sifted through. He left the money but took all of the water and non-perishable food. In a small, leather wallet, he found another black card bearing the sword and snake symbol with the golden troll emblem on the back. Grimvalt pocketed that with the one he had taken earlier. They now had everything they needed for long travel.

The sound of footsteps running was heard on the far end of the bridge, and it came to a scuffling, skidding stop.

Both of them whirled around toward the noise and looked up. Three heads popped up above the bridge wall and one of them pointed in their direction.

Even in the dim light, it was hard not to recognize their faces: They were the same three who had attacked them at the sage’s house.

Turning, they fled back into the alley that had brought them there. Cloaked figures dashed out of the way, unwilling to get involved. It was actually a relief. Abandoning the pretense of staying silent, they pounded down the road until they met up with the swift-moving crowd.

This time, they didn’t let the natural flow of traffic carry them through. Pushing their way forward, Autumnwolf and Grimvalt moved into any available space available to them and tried to cut lengthwise through the bodies to get ahead.

“Turn off,” Grimvalt called up to Autumnwolf.

She glanced back over her shoulder. Grimvalt was pointing to a side street that lead back to the center of the city.

Angry cries of the crowd caused them both to look back. The three strangers who had attacked them earlier were forcing their way through, violently shoving pedestrians aside to catch up.

Turning back, Grimvalt and Autumwolf renewed their efforts to get to the other side and ducked into the street. It was not nearly as crowded as the one they had come from, and bolted down the road. At the end, they found themselves merging into yet another dense, fast moving crowd.

A sharp, angry shout drew their attention back. Their pursuers were half way down the street, running towards them.

Jumping into the crowd, they forced their way through much less politely than they had previously. Before they could make it through and into the next street, angry shouts reached their ears again – their pursuers were entering the crowd right behind them.

The next street was a direct access route into the center of Undercity and was even more crowded than the road they had come from. A long line was winding through the bank, circled tightly around the narrow ledge of the bank, and continued up the stairs. It was barely moving.

Grimvalt didn’t have time for courtesy and pushed his way through. Irritable murmurs were heard around them, but he didn’t stop. Autumnwolf followed in his wake, apologizing to those they passed.

They were almost to the stairs leading up to the bank when Autumnwolf looked back.

“There is a problem,” she said.

He turned. Two of their pursuers had entered the crowd behind them and were forcing their way toward them. At first, Grimvalt thought they had lost the third, until Autumnwolf pointed.

Off to the side, the rogue who had tried taking the relic was speaking with a small group of guards, and he was pointing in their direction. When the guards left had their station, the rogue smiled at them and saluted. It was hard to see what was happening from the floor, but they could tell the crowd was trying to move out of the way for the advancing guards.

“Get moving,” Grimvalt said, and renewed his forceful advance.

At the stairs leading up to the bank, they discovered a new problem. Everyone had become immobilized because pedestrians were using it to make their way up and down, and larger races were monopolizing the staircase completely. There was no room to move.

Angry shouts called out to them, saying they needed to wait their turn, but Grimvalt ignored it and forced his way up.

Half way up the stairs, he looked back. The guards were advancing quickly. Grimvalt glanced up.

Airsk, Matelda, and Raeln were standing directly above him. The group had made it had made it to the Bat Handler, but there was clearly an argument going on. The line behind them was growing restless.

A shout brought his attention back to the bank ledge.

“Hey!”

A large orc in old, worn armor was confronting him, standing a little too close for his liking. Grimvalt thought his breath smelled like a sewer.

“I’m talking to you!” The orc shouted, reaching out and pulling Grimvalt’s hood back.

A thick, green finger jabbed his chest.

“Stop pushing and wait your turn like everyone else,” the orc yelled.

Murmurs of agreement flickered through the crowd.

“I’m sorry,” Grimvalt offered, ducking into a free space near the bank teller window. “I’m in a hurry.”

The orc grabbed his armor, but didn’t pull him back.

“We’re all in a hurry,” the orc said, tightening his grip.

Suddenly, Autumnwolf was standing between them, holding them apart at arm’s length. Grimvalt’s back was up against the bank, and the orc was teetering on the ledge. A few individuals squeezed out of the way to make room in case the confrontation became violent.

The orc decided she was someone new to shout at.

“Hey,” the orc said. “You’re gonna have to wai–”

His voice trailed away and over the side of the bank as Autumnwolf suddenly disappeared and a large, furry bear with an ample backside appeared. Turning sharply, her haunches knocked three more individuals off, and a fourth was sent into the crowd. Bodies began to fall off of the bank ledge and up the staircase in a rippling effect, giving them an escape route. With a flash of white ethereal mist, she was herself again.

They dashed up the stairs to their waiting party. At the top, they found out what the argument was about. The Bat Handler was running out of bats, and was calling for a temporary halt on travel. A small cluster of bats were perched nearby, stinking up the top floor.

“What are those for?” Airsk was demanding.

“Emergencies only!” The Bat Handler hissed. His upper lip curled.

“We really should get going,” Autumnwolf said, looking back toward the bank.

Airsk and Grimvalt followed her gaze to the guards who were emerging at the top of the stairs.

“All right,” The Bat Handler complained. “I can afford to give you four, but no more – one of you will have to stay.”

Before anyone could protest, Grimvalt agreed.

“Fine,” he said, looking around for an exit. “I’ll stay.”

The cloaks that were wrapped around his boots were untied and given out, as well as the two cloaks and supplies taken from their earlier chase. While everyone waited, four bats were brought off their perches and their leashes were handed out, although no one made a move to get on them. The group was looking at Grimvalt.

“Maybe you can fit on a bat with Matelda,” Airsk suggested.

The Bat Handler overheard the idea and spat out a short, pointed lecture, canceling that idea. He had obviously given the same speech countless times before.

Grimvalt started looking around, trying to figure out how to escape Undercity. Despite the guards nearing, everyone was mounting slowly.

“Go,” Grimvalt insisted.

At their reluctance, the Bat Handler was growing impatient and started fresh with a new lecture, until something in the air caused him to look up.

“Stand back,” he hissed.

The group maneuvered away from where the Handler was standing, giving room for a bat carrying a tauren to land.

Grimvalt smiled broadly and took the reigns from the surprised tauren.

“How convenient,” Grimvalt said. “I’ll take this one.”

They were in the air before anyone could stop them.

Another loud crash announced that the building was collapsing beneath them. The temperature in the room was rising as fire consumed the inn below.

Karakul stepped through the hidden doorway, wiping sweat and soot from his face. The back of his hand left a red smear across his forehead.

“Well,” he shouted, “you were followed.”

Barathron grabbed onto a post as a violent tremor rippled across the floor, nearly rocking him off of his feet.

“We’ve already figured that out,” the troll shot back.

Shrugging, the innkeeper ran to the opposite side of the room and started knocking on the wall.

“Whoever trailed you probably didn’t see where you disappeared to,” he said, “so they’re trying to flush you out.”

Knocking continued until he found what he was looking for. With one hand, Karakul pressed against a spot half way up the wall, revealing a square panel that depressed beneath his touch. Springing back, it swung open on small, brass hinges. Harnesses hung neatly inside the compartment and a red button protruded from the wall.

Shouts of panic were heard below as the building lurched again. By now the floor was so hot they could feel it through their shoes.

Harnesses were quickly handed out and secured on almost every person, then Karakul pressed the red button. To his immediate right, a section of the wall slid open, revealing a cylinder vestibule with no floor. A cable ran from the top, through the center of the space, and disappeared into darkness below.

“Genius,” Caulbraen said, nodding his admiration.

“My inn is well-built orc construction, made to last through any battle and almost any disaster!” Karakul said, smiling proudly. “Most of our huts are supported by large stanchions and I had one hollowed out for such an emergency. It will take you to a tunnel below ground. Once you reach the bottom, unhook yourself as fast as you can and make way for the next person.”

With a graceful step off of the side, Caulbraen disappeared into the darkness. Iraas and Barathron followed after him.

The next passenger was not so easily convinced. Her harness was on, but not by choice.

“Touch me again, and I will turn you into a steaming pile of sludge!” Arachne shouted indignantly.

Flames erupted through the floor nearby, throwing splinters of wood into the air. Zug grabbed the warlock and wrestled her to the mouth of the opening.

“You’re going!” He told her.

Karakul grabbed the hook at Arachne’s waist and secured it to the cable. The look of promised violence on her face was one he would not soon forget. Shivering, he helped Zug pull her to the edge of the drop off.

“Unhand me!” She screamed.

Her feet stepped back perilously close to the ledge and she swayed dangerously over the chute. Before falling, she whirled around to face the opening. Arms outstretched in an attempt to regain balance and her body bent slightly at the waist, leaning over the hole. Reaching out, she grabbed the cable before falling in and exhaled her relief. Zug was still within reach and she grabbed onto him with one hand, trying to pull herself back.

“Let go!” Zug shouted.

Grappling with him, she struggled to get away from the chute. He grabbed onto a nearby post, in case the crazed warlock managed to pull them both in together.

With a loud groan, the building shuddered and threw Zug forward. The momentum and weight of his body knocked Arachne back again toward the chute and she grabbed for him, clutching desperately at his armor.

Regaining his balance, he straightened, inadvertently pulling her up with him. He looked at her closely. Beads of perspiration had formed on her upper lip and her eyes were filled with panic and desperation. He had never seen her like this before; it was completely uncharacteristic. In this moment of peril there was only one way out, yet she clearly wanted nothing to do with the dark and narrow passage.

Grabbing her, he pulled her upright until she was eye level. Mouth agape, she stared back.

“Are you claustrophobic?” Zug asked.

A shriek of rage and denial was lost in another explosion below, and her struggle renewed. This time, Karakul jumped in and helped drag her back to the ledge.

Before they could push her in, she whirled around, only to find herself teetering over the edge. An uncharacteristic squeak was barely heard over the calamity as she looked down into the blackness. Bending slightly at the waist, her bottom stuck out behind her for balance while her hands reached out for the cable…

Zug saw his opportunity and took it. A swift kick sent the warlock tumbling headlong into the shaft. Obscenities and curses echoed back at them as she was unceremoniously whisked away to safety.

“You’re welcome!” Zug shouted down after her.

Another explosion shook the building, this one louder and nearer than the others. The two orc wasted no time and snapped their harnesses to the cable.

Crossing his hands over his chest, Zug stepped off of the floor and into the shaft. Soon after, he could hear Karakul sliding down after him, then another loud crash as the floor they had been standing on dropped out.

Light slipped away behind him as his body shot downward. Right before he started to worry that he had gone too far into the ground, the tunnel widened and inclined. It slowed his momentum a little, but not enough that he was able to stop himself.

A speck of light appeared in the distance, growing larger every second. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he could identify that he was nearing the end of the tunnel, but he hadn’t slowed down enough to ensure a safe stop.

Zug reached for one of his axes and slammed it against the wall, but it sprang back at him instantly. Both stone and earth were too hard to dig into. The axe returned to his belt.

The mouth of the tunnel was near. Bracing himself for a hard impact, he curled into a loose ball and covered his head.

A loud click above him drew his eyes up, just as his harness and cable passed through strange contraption attached to the top of the tunnel. There wasn’t enough time to consider it as he flew past. The tunnel banked upward dramatically and abruptly ended, sending him out like a gunshot.

As he flew through the air, he realized what the contraption was for. A net had been triggered by his arrival and was stretching itself upward to stop his fall.

When he landed, the fabric stretched slightly and bounced back. His harness was still connected to the cable and he dangled in the air, looking down upon his companions.

They were looking back at him. Iraas held up a flameless lantern that cast a cheerful glow about the cavern, illuminating the beautiful stone and expansive ceiling. Karakul had obviously put a great deal of thought into this getaway.

Noises in the tunnel reminded him that the innkeeper was not far behind. Grabbing at the latch on his belt, Zug unhooked himself and dropped. The net was angled in such a way to catch him as he fell, and he rolled to the edge and bounced to his feet.

Before he was even on the ground, Karakul shot out of the tunnel and sailed through the air. Practiced movement had him out of the harness and on the ground in a second, and he landed on his feet next to Zug.

Despite the destruction of his beloved establishment, he looked rather pleased with himself.

“What do you think?” Karakul asked.

“I think,” Iraas said, raising his eyebrows, “you have used that for recreation on more than one occasion.”

The innkeeper’s gruff laughter echoed through the cave. With the lantern in hand, the warlock led the way out.

---

Everything hurt, but she was too afraid to stop running. Using her staff to support her injured body, Emberchill moved as quickly as she could manage along the river’s edge.

She had no idea what had happened to Thundrax or the Black Rider who had followed them. After being knocked off of Thundrax’s wolf mount, she had grabbed up her staff and called down a meteor from the sky.

The magical blast had destroyed the bridge and the enormous wolf who assaulted them, sending water, wood, and carnage into the air in a fiery storm. Although she had been unable to see through the explosion, she knew the Rider’s horse had also been killed when its piercing screams were suddenly silenced. The fate of the Black Rider was unknown, but she had a feeling that the mysterious being’s will to survive was as strong as her own.

Knowing the magical boulder would dissipate soon, she didn’t wait to see what happened next. Thundrax was too weak to fight, she was badly injured, and their last mount had just been killed. It was up to her to get them both to safety.

But when she looked around, she realized she was alone. The contents from one of Thundrax’s bags were strewn out on the ground, trailing from the road to the river, but of the hunter himself she saw no sign.

An inhuman scream from the other side of the flames sent her running from the scene. Before she was even conscious of her own actions, her staff was in her hand and she was casting a protective shield. Without even giving herself a chance to catch her breath, she whispered another spell. White particles and a flash of light marked the place where she once was and, in the blink of an eye, appeared downstream. Whatever else she did, she did it running.

The river soon branched off into different directions and branched again. Still, there was no sign of Thundrax. Doubling back the way she came was dangerous, especially if the Black Rider was still chasing her but she did it anyway, checking different paths of the complex maze that flowed through the region.

Her search continued until she had lost all track of time. Shadows were growing, her body was almost too stiff to move, and one of her shoes had been lost in a bog. She was starting to feel very alone. Help would be needed if she was going to find the hunter.

She was also wondering what had happened to Arcadi and Sabe. After leading two Black Riders and a wolf away, she hadn’t seen them. If her friends had survived the attack, they would be sure to meet within the safety of Stonard’s walls. Hoping they were safe, she turned south.

That was when she noticed the warm, orange glow in the sky. A sense of unease filled her as she headed toward it.

---

By leaving the road, Arcadi and Sabe had put a little more distance between themselves and the Black Riders, but not enough to shake them off of their trail. Sabe’s wolf carried her over the terrain easily on padded feet, but Arcadi’s horse was struggling with the mud. This proved true for the Riders’ horses as well, but the advantage was useless if Arcadi was in danger of falling.

Bent over the neck of his mount, Arcadi looked back. A blood-chilling howl called out to him, much closer than they would have liked. Grabbing up the slack in the reigns, the priest headed for more solid ground near the mountains, then turned due east.

Immediately, Sabe knew what he intended. Angry and indignant, she shouted at him to turn away, but her calls went unheeded. She knew they would but she had to do what she could. Faced with danger, a Forsaken priest would go to any great lengths for the survival of their companions, no matter how immoral the act may seem. Her logical brain acknowledged it was their only chance of survival, but her orcish heritage revolted at the dishonorable act.

Small huts could barely be seen through the thick vegetation and a narrow path appeared in the grass.

She was still screaming at him to stop, but he never slowed. Instead, he merely glanced back over his shoulder to make sure she was still following.

“There is no honor in this!” Sabe shouted.

She did not wish this kind of death upon anyone, not even the Draenei her people once tried to exterminate.

Swerving sharply, Arcadi steered his horse into the small town. Small, misshapen Draenei rose up from bonfires and emerged in doorways, watching the haphazard passage of a Forsaken man with silent curiosity.

The peace disintegrated with Sabe’s arrival.

Brandishing weapons and screaming their hate, every Draenei followed in her wake. Hugging her wolf’s neck, she pressed herself as flat as she could to avoid the darts and arrows. Thankfully, the beast she rode was used to such things, dodging and swerving erratically to keep them from becoming an easy target.

They knew the Black Riders had entered the camp by the screams. Attention was diverted away from Sabe as every Draenei grabbed up a weapon and went running - some carrying children to safety, many rushing to defend.

A horse’s scream of pain rang out above the other shouts causing Sabe and Arcadi to look back. Both of the Riders were now on foot, wading through the throng with their swords. Their monstrous wolf companion had a Draenei in its jaw, shaking the body until it was limp. Tossing the corpse aside, it swiped at another figure in the crowd and grabbed it up in its hungry mouth.

Ahead, Arcadi was shouting to his horse, urging it on. More comfortable on solid ground, the animal leapt a stack of crates and turned sharply behind a cluster of huts.

Sabe’s stomach lurched as her wolf jumped after them, wondering at what they had done. Their escape might have been viewed as a wise choice to some, but to her own kind, it might be considered an act of cowardice. Surely she had brought dishonor to her clan.

Burying her face into her wolf’s neck, she closed her eyes, the sounds of the Draenei filling her ears as they died.

---

Muffled sounds of calamity floated down the tunnel to them. Quickening their pace, they half-walked, half-ran to the end, and found the exit blocked. A red button, similar to one they had seen upstairs, had been conveniently placed on the side of the tunnel.

“Better stow that lantern,” Karakul said, “and stand back.”

After pressing the button, he retreated away from the wall. A whirring noise was heard inside of the walls, followed by a series of clicks.

“It’s louder in here than it is outside,” Karakul assured them.

The whirring ended in what sounded like a large latch unfastening and, instead of what they expected to be an impressive finale, came the sound of a long and slow fizzle.

Contempt had taken up so much room in Arachne’s voice that there was very little room for the sarcasm that accompanied it.

“Perhaps we should push?” She snapped.

An answer did not come immediately and it was too dark to tell if he was giving her any sort of look, but the clicking started again, saving them from further conversation. A circular door fell forward slightly and rolled to one side. The clicking stopped.

Gathering her robe up, Arachne shoved everyone out of her way and rushed outside. Dim light that fell into the tunnel illuminated the smug look on the innkeeper’s face as the warlock stormed past.

Outside, they found themselves nestled up against the mountains in the back of the post, conveniently close to the west gate. A variety of plant life was growing there, concealing them from view as everyone filed out. As they snuck between the buildings, they kept to the shadows until they could get a better view of what was happening in Stonard’s courtyard. Two narrow buildings placed close together with a tangle of plant life between them became the perfect vantage point.

Pandemonium had overtaken the Post. Fire was spreading from the inn, and patrons were still being rescued from inside. Any available body not focused on the rescue attempt was trying, in vain, to stop the fire from spreading further. Mages in the courtyard were adding their own spells to the calamity, and there appeared to be some confusion as to why their ice spells weren’t melting and putting out the flames.

“Chemical fire,” Karakul said. “Someone must have poured immolation oil over a couple of kegs I had up against a wall. A tauren stumbled into it and caught on fire – I can only assume it was a potion. He was so drunk he couldn’t think of what to do and panicked, setting everything near ablaze. Someone broke a chair over the drunk’s head to knock him out, only you can’t knock out a tauren with a chair! Instead, he just fell back into the kegs.”

“Boom,” Iraas said, his hair looking similar to an explosion itself.

“Yeah. The oil, the fire, and the alcohol went off like a bomb.” The innkeeper’s voice was a lament, confessing his true sorrow. “That was good ale. I was going to drink that.”

By now, the efforts in the courtyard had turned to the overflowing chimera nests situated next to the inn. Too many animals had been stranded at the post, more than the Flight Master could move on his own. Chimera and bats screamed in terror, pulling against their leashes to break free. Some had already managed to chew through their tethers and escape into the air. Every available body was now helping, struggling to get the animals across the courtyard to safety. Every druid and hunter in the vicinity were concentrating their efforts on getting the animals calmed and relocated, not necessarily in that order.

Almost everyone in the post was moving quickly and with purpose to help.

Zug tapped Caulbraen’s shoulder and pointed. The rogue nodded back; he had seen them, too. Four figures were standing motionless around the courtyard, watching the scene casually. Their lack of movement drew attention to them, something they seemed to be trying to avoid.

They were signaling to each other. Most of the interest seemed to center around the inn and everyone running out of it, although they did often cast searching glances at the crowd. When the last patrons were rescued from the burning building, their signaling increased and they started to move away from their respective perches. Slowly, they moved around the perimeter of the courtyard until they were paired up with one another.

“Only four,” Zug said. “Think they’re alone?”

Caulbraen’s eyes narrowed. “Not a chance,” he said.

Signaling with one hand, Caulbraen stepped out of the shadows, his body shimmering out of sight just before the light hit him. Barathron did likewise, slipping through the group as the lines around his form wavered, and then he vanished.

The remainder of the group was content to settle back into the shadows and wait for the rogues to return. Until then, they continued to survey the panicked scene of Stonard and the strangers across the courtyard. They weren’t kept waiting long. One pair of strangers turned away and started to move to where the crowd was thickest.

“They’re looking for us,” Zug said.

The second pair of strangers noted the movement, but looked indecisive about whether or not to follow. Suddenly, they whirled around, staring intently down a dark alley.

“Oh no, what’s he doing?” Iraas asked.

It would have looked like any breeze sweeping a cloak aside, except there were two cloaks and only one was moving. A small pouch emerged from the stranger’s clothing, floated in midair for a brief second, and vanished. Gently, the cloak lowered itself. Its owner, completely unaware, gestured in the direction the other pair had gone.

Both rogues returned as the strangers disappeared into the crowd. Barathron wore his usual playful smile, while Caulbraen’s face was dark.

“Lackeys,” Caulbraen said, shaking his head. “They are looking for us and our missing party, but they have no clue why. Everything else they said was nonsense.”

Iraas lifted a questioning finger. “Nonsense like Zug, or regular nonsense?”

“Regular.”

A small pouch emerged from under Barathron’s cloak.

“Perhaps this will help,” he said.

The contents were emptied on the ground and spread out. Barathron looked disappointed, picking up a couple of gold coins. After some consideration, he took the silver, too.

“Almost not worth the effort,” the rogue mumbled, pocketing the money.

Something else caught his attention, and he crouched down and started picking through the scattered contents.

“Ah,” he said, picking up two small pieces of paper, “now we are card-carrying criminals.”

One card was handed up to Caulbraen. The other card he kept, looking down at it curiously.

Zug leaned over Caulbraen’s shoulder for a better view. “Standard identification. Haalzan Bitterspear. Troll. Seven feet, one inch tall. Doesn’t say where he’s from.”

“Nowhere,” Barathron said absently, concentrating on the square in his hands. “My people are from nowhere.”

Standing, he held up the second card.

“What do you make of this?” He asked.

Everyone gathered around and leaned in close.

The card was the size of a regular identification card, but black with a green border that was difficult to discern in the shadows. In the center, a green snake coiled around a sword.

“I’ve never seen that emblem before,” Zug said.

Caulbraen took the card and flipped it over, staring down at it with a grim expression. Turning it over again, he pursed his lips together, then slipped it into a pocket. Thoughtfulness glimmered in his eyes, but whatever he was thinking, he kept to himself. When he looked up again, the strange expression was gone and was replaced by a look that said he was back to business.

“We’ll worry about this later,” he said. “Right now, we have work to do.”

Karakul nodded. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Poking his head out of the alley, the innkeeper looked both ways. When he was satisfied that the coast was clear, he stepped into the courtyard and beckoned them to follow.

The fire was still raging, but it seemed to have stopped spreading. Most of the guards and mages were focusing on putting out the flames. Chimera and bats were still being moved and appeared to be a priority for civilians, with every hunter and druid in the post working to get them to safety.

When they arrived in the midst of the calamity, the wind rider master was struggling with a chimera. Karakul rushed over to the master’s aid and grabbed the rope.

“Karakul!” The Flight Master shouted. “You’re alive!”

“Of course I am!” He retorted. “Let’s get the rest of these beasts moved!”

Turning around, the innkeeper pointed to Caulbraen, as if they had never met.

“You there! Come help us with these beasts!”

Pulling his hood over his head, Caulbraen took the rope of a very large and frightened bat. Zug used his calming influence and moved to the next animal. Distracted by the enormity of the situation, the Master pointed to where he wanted the animals taken to and returned to his present task. Karakul kept the Master distracted while Caulbraen led the bat across the courtyard and into a grouping of shadowed trees. Everyone was too busy to notice the dark form launching into the nighttime sky.

The leashes of two chimera had been trapped under a large post that had fallen from the inn. Fire climbed up the log, growing dangerously near to the frightened animals. Screaming, the chimera struggled to get away, but could not.

“Need help?”

A Forsaken warlock with a wild mess of hair suddenly appeared with a felguard in tow. Before the master could say anything, the warlock’s demonic companion had easily lifted the fallen post and led the animals away from the fire.

“Where should I take them?” Iraas asked.

The master threw a grateful thumb over his shoulder and returned his attention back to the other animals. He never saw the warlock lead the chimera away to the copse of trees and disappear into the sky. He didn’t see the troll who took the second animal and vanished, either.

Zug didn’t bother asking if anyone needed his help. Empathy for the animals had led him to jump into the mess, doing what he could to calm them down and moved to safety. Many other druids and hunters were also doing their best, and he knew he would have to leave the rest to them. Grabbing the leashes of a chimera and a bat, he imparted some peace, and led them out into the courtyard.

As he emerged from the chaos, Arachne approached him. Her demonic companion strolled behind.

“Care for some help?” She snorted.

Her attitude didn’t bother him; he was used to it by now. Handing her the reigns to the bat, he walked off to the copse of trees everyone else had disappeared in.

As she turned to follow, a loud crash was followed by cries of help. She would have continued on her way, but an orc guard ran to her, shouting for her help. A few firefighters had become trapped in a collapsed building, and they needed muscle to get them out.

Arachne hesitated, debating whether or not she wanted to bother. The guard mistook her hesitance for fright, and gently touched her arm.

The orc found himself staring up at a very angry doomguard. Taloned hands reached down for him, muscles rippling in the firelight, and angry words reprimanded him in a dark language.

Arachne murmured softly. Immediately, the demon backed away, then ran off to where Arachne gestured with a flick of her fingers.

Thankful, and a bit confused, the orc followed the doomguard.

While Arachne waited for her minion to complete its menial task, she led the bat over to the shadowed copse of trees. In the darkness, she looked out over the devastated post disinterestedly, watching the little people run in a futile attempt to stop the disaster. At the edge of the crowd, the troll they had pick pocketed earlier emerged and walked purposefully toward the northern gate. Her eyes followed him, as a hunter would mark their prey.

In the back of her mind, the connection she had with her demonic minion was severed and she knew the doomguard was free of enslavement. Angry and evil and bent on destruction, she could hear it wreaking havoc wherever she had sent it to help the trapped firefighters.

She shrugged indifferently. Pulling on the bat’s leash, she followed the troll from a distance.

---

Her body was so stiff from injury the only way she was able to move forward was by use of her blinking spell, and even that was becoming difficult. The last hour of her journey had been the longest and most painful of her life. Before her stood the north gate of Stonard, and through the open door she could see the raging fire that had replaced the inn where they had been scheduled to meet.

Leaning heavily upon her staff, Emberchill took a deep breath and concentrated. A flash of light replaced where her body had been and she reappeared in the shadows outside, biting her lip nervously.

A thousand possibilities raced through her head, most of them unpleasant. Her options were now very limited, and she had little hope of finding anyone. To make matters worse, she could not physically move any farther, and needed help. If she rested a little, she could open a portal to one of the mage guilds, but that would mean leaving Arcadi and Sabe behind, and would eliminate the possibility of ever finding Thundrax. Her best option was to enter Stonard and try to locate her companions.

Facing the open gate, she focused her attention to the doorway. Concentration was much harder as her physical pain increased, and for the first time since she had been an apprentice, she had to speak the simple incantation. Even this required effort. The first word was easy, but it became more difficult with every word. After the third phrase, she paused, closing her eyes tightly. She took a deep breath.

“Going somewhere?”

Both eyes snapped open, trying to focus on the outline of four individuals who had surrounded her. Fire behind them shadowed their faces and their cloaks concealed their forms, but she could tell the speaker had a trollish accent.

“Yes,” she told them, trying to sound much stronger than she felt. “I have business in Stonard.”

The sound of swords being pulled from their scabbards was easily discernible to her ears and she tightened her grip on her staff.

The troll spoke again.

“Not today.”

---

Neither of them were good at directions; it was why they had been traveling with Thundrax in the first place. Luckily, they didn’t need much help to find Stonard. The fire had burned so brightly in the night sky that the glow was easily seen all the way from the Sunken Temple’s watery grave. Fearing something had happened to their friends, they continued on at a steady pace until they reached Stonard.

“Wait,” Sabe said, pulling up on the reigns.

Reluctantly, Arcadi stopped his horse and turned around.

“What?”

She shook her head, looking at the flames that rolled up into the sky. They were trying to get a view from the eastern side of the post, which was blocked by fortified military structures. The majority of the fire appeared to be coming from the west. It was hard to see anything from where they were standing.

“We need a better look before we go in,” she said.

The priest followed her gaze upward.

“You think this fire has something to do with us?”

She laughed nervously. “Of course not. Half of the post is on fire. I mean, what are the odds?”

“Yeah.”

They looked at each other.

The fire towered above, casting eerie, moving shadows beyond the fence that surrounded Stonard. Even while riding their mounts, they found it easy to keep to the darkness, and picked their way slowly to the north gate.

What they found outside was not easily seen in the darkness, but stopped them in their tracks. Emberchill was standing under the trees, surrounded by four cloaked figures. Weapons had been drawn and there was conversation, but it was too soft to hear over the chaos inside the post.

“She looks terrible,” Sabe breathed.

Arcadi nodded slowly, looking around. “Where’s Thundrax?” He asked.

The hunter was nowhere to be seen.

Outnumbered and in no condition to fight, the four figures closed in swiftly and relieved Emberchill of her weapon. Without her staff to lean on, the mage crumpled to the ground.

Arcadi looked as if he was going to charge forward on his horse, but Sabe reached out and grabbed back on his reigns. Exhausted and outnumbered, they would stand little chance against these four rested fighters.

While the mage was bound, mounts were brought out from inside the post. Emberchill was laid over the back of a horse like a sack, and the four riders took the road, heading west.

Arcadi and Sabe sat back in the shadows, giving the riders a bit of a lead, then emerged slowly in front of the gate. In the firelight, their mounts looked a little refreshed from the short break they had been given.

“Ready?” Arcadi asked, gathering up the reigns.

Already knowing her answer, he didn’t wait for the reply. They both kicked their mounts into a steady pace and headed after Emberchill.

---

From inside Stonard’s walls, Arachne stood in the shadow of a building, watching the scene unfold with mild interest. As Sabe and Arcadi disappeared from view, five individuals appeared out of the shadows, leading mounts to the road. While she watched, the absurdly enormous bat in her company started to fidget impatiently, but froze beneath her penetrating gaze. Looking back to the gate, the five figures had mounted swiftly and were turning in the direction Arcadi and Sabe had gone.

There was no trace of Thundrax, and she decided she would look for him later if she had time. Besides, Caulbraen had not specified if she had to locate anyone while they were still living, so there was no sense of urgency. To locate bodies - this was her task.

An irritatingly soothing voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Do you need help with that bat?”

Turning, she found herself looking up at a tauren who was leading three chimera away to safety. Arachne always had a hard time figuring out their gender. They all looked alike to her.

“Would you like me to take her?” The tauren asked.

Arachne held up the leash, then nodded as one would dismiss a servant. Turning back toward the gate, she pulled her hood up over her head until her face was hidden. From somewhere under her cloak, her wand emerged.

Apparently the tauren hadn’t left yet.

“It was very kind of you help move the animals to safety,” the tauren said. “Would you believe a warlock sent their minion to help a very dangerous situation, then let it run free? Many were badly injured.”

The tauren never saw the insidious smile that spread across Arachne’s face.

“How depraved!” The warlock answered, and strode out of the gate, into the night.

An armored hand pulled Airsk sharply out of the way.

“You’ve got until the count of three to tell us who you are,” Grimvalt said quietly.

The mist around the elf glowed softly when she spoke and rippled like a cloud when she moved. A trail of the magical essence led back to the phallus, which was still standing in the center of the broken aquarium. A sad piece of seaweed had gotten tangled up around it.

“And then what?” the elf asked Grimvalt with an amused smile. “You will attack me?” Her head shook slightly, sending faint ripples of mist away from her head. “I think you should reconsider that plan. The individuals who have been watching this house will come through that door in a moment and then you will have your hands full.”

Before anyone could ask how she knew about that, Raeln rounded on the group angrily from where he had trotted off to search through the wreckage that had once been his living room.

“I think we’ve forgotten the primary concern here, people!”

“Former people!” Matelda protested.

In unison, the group turned to him with an exasperated look. No one was really certain what could be more important than a strange elf appearing out of a phallus.

“What is it now?” Autumnwolf demanded.

Glaring at her, Raeln stomped back over to where they had gathered and held up his detached limb. The movement whipped the wrist upward and the hand went with it. All fingers curled up into the palm, save for the middle one, which stood erect and at indignant attention. Before anyone could determine whether or not that was intentional, the sage shook the arm again until it was limp and inoffensively posed.

“Give me that,” Grimvalt said, snatching the arm away.

Whirling back around, he pointed to the elf again, gesturing with the extra appendage he held. Raeln’s hand conveniently did the pointing for him; the index finger extended toward the elf accusingly.

“Who are you?” He said. His voice was low, but the threat was clear.

Silence prevailed over the tense moment, save for a few exotic fish flopping about on the floor.

“My name is Delinia. I’ve already said this.”

He didn’t flinch. “No,” he said calmly.

Each word was carefully enunciated as if it were its own sentence. As he spoke, his sword came effortlessly from the scabbard.

“Who are you?” He repeated.

Their eyes locked.

(more…)

“We’re going in circles,” Arcadi grumbled under his breath. “I can’t track a damn thing, so it’s pretty bad when even I know. This is the same rock formation we passed by three days ago.”

Sabe nodded unhappily. They should have reached the Swamp of Sorrows by now, but for reasons unknown they were still wandering around Duskwood forest. Any attempts to question their guide on such lack of progress was answered with short, angry remarks about remaining silent and the occasional assurance that they would be out of the trees by the next day.

But the days dragged on and Thundrax slept less. When he closed his eyes for at least ten minutes it was considered a good day. His cognizance and ability to reason had deteriorated and no one was quite sure how to deal with it.

After a quick discussion among the coherent members of the party, Emberchill took the lead in distracting him. Her soft voice floated back, barely above a whisper. At the end of their small caravan, Arcadi and Sabe quietly planned an intervention.

“I agree, something is definitely wrong,” Sabe murmured, leaning over in her saddle so the priest could hear her.

Arcadi nodded back. “He’s leading us around like we’re trying to shake something off our trail, but if that’s the case, he isn’t talking about it. In fact, he isn’t talking at all.”

“That’s not true,” Sabe corrected. “This morning I asked him if he wanted breakfast, and he grunted.”

“I wouldn’t classify that as talking.”

The orc waved his comment away.

“If someone is following us,” she whispered back, “then it would make sense to try and lose them before we make it to Deadwind Pass. There’s not much maneuvering in the area and we’d be too easily trapped.”

“Yeah, but it would help if we knew what it was,” Arcadi grumbled. “Why doesn’t he just tell us?”

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

“Right. On the count of three, let’s just get him.”

Sabe made a face. “That’s the best you’ve got?” She asked. “Just get him?”

“You have a problem with the ‘gettim’ plan?”

“No,” she said, “it’s just that he’s our friend. I thought we might want to go with something a little more special than the standard ‘gettim’ plan.”

Their scheming ended up being unnecessary. Too many days of hard travel without sleep had finally caught up with the hunter. Silently, his body slumped in the saddle and slipped sideways.

(more…)

“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.