World of Warcraft®

So, this is a little bit out of sync with the rest of the thread. Unfortunately real life is calling Arlston's player away (they're letting him play with big toys, be afraid) and I wanted to make sure this post was written and posted in time for him to get to see it.

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The view was a rare one. Silent lightning flickered in the sky illuminating a bare rock jutting out into the sea where a the body of the storm was winding its fury up.

Between one flicker and the next two figures appeared on the point. Neither acknowledged the other, content simply to watch nature's show in front of them.

And it's weighing on my mind.
I'm not trying to be a hero;
I don't wanna die.
But right now in this moment, you don't think twice.

After about a half hour the smaller of the two shifted slightly and brushed a stray lock of hair back.

"Calent misses you. She's been suspended because of this whole mess."

The taller figure simply nodded silently and produced a paper which he passed over.

The other placed it in his pocket and the two lapsed once more into a silent understanding.

You don't think about right; you don't think about wrong.
You just do what you gotta do to defend your own.
And I'd do the same for you -
Yes I would.

After what seemed at once an eternity and yet no time at all the first drops of rain found the pair. As one they turned towards the sky, illuminated in a flash of lighting.

Between one heartbeat and the next the sky opened up venting its fury at the very earth itself. With an echoing crack jagged lighting slammed into the spar revealing an empty space filled only with a sense of haunting finality.

An' that's One Hell of an Amen
That's the only way to go
Fightin' the good fight
Til the Good Lord calls you home
So be well my friend
Til' I see you again
Yeah this is our last goodbye
But it's a Hell of an Amen

Calent Miller stared at her reflection, violet eyes stared tiredly back at her. She rubbed a cloth over her metal breastplate, buffing away some smudge visible only to her. The armor was impeccably maintained. Corporal Acton would be checking it over, naturally, but he would find no scratch that hadn't been buffed away, and no dent that hadn't been hammered out. She sighed as she turned and left the armor on the workbench in the armory for inspection. She expected to cry, but the emotional storm she'd endured for the last few days had dulled the blow.

"Three weeks' suspension..." she sighed. Even if her eyes did not produce tears, she was more than a little saddened to leave her armor and weapons, even her tabard behind. Lieutenant Commander Orwyn only played hardball, and she had earned her punishment, or worse, depending on who read the charges that were made against her. She sighed again.

Calent's field trip to the Peak had cost her dearly, and hadn't turned up any compelling information. She had found out that both Kordrion Stoneheardt and Arlston Cross were 'off the grid' and could not be tracked. None of the Terrans knew where either one of them might be. She couldn't shake a feeling of wrongness about this whole case. There were several things that just didn't make any sense, now that she'd had the time to calm her racing thoughts and examine the situation.

Arlston Cross had been SI:7's third best agent. So then why had the crime scene been so... sloppy? He'd left a living witness behind as well as a weapon that could easily be identified as his, he'd allowed a recording device to catch him in the act. He'd calmly had tea with his victim before committing the act?? None of this added up. It was almost as if he'd deliberately framed himself for a crime he'd committed. Like he wanted to be caught.

To say she didn't like this situation at all was an understatement. A knot of worry formed in her stomach, gnawing at her subconscious. Right now, the man she loved was being hunted by both friend and foe. The bounties she'd seen on the noticeboard on her way into the city were offering rewards for his return, alive. She knew that just as many, if not more, would be seeking vengeance against him. The crime he had committed was terrible, but even so, she couldn't bear to think about what would happen if he was caught by the wrong people. She felt powerless. With her suspension in place, she was unable to access any new information that would allow her to find him. She felt no different now than she had ten years ago, hidden away safely as she watched her father die, helpless. She shuddered, willing those thoughts away. She never wanted to be in that situation again.

Calent rubbed her temples and eyed the coffee pot. She was not allowed inside the office during the duration of her suspension, she would have to make do with the sub par brew in the off-duty lounge instead. She poured herself a cup noticed belatedly that Sergeant Riversong was in the room. She must be tired, if she hadn't noticed the Night Elf sitting at the table, looking about as ragged as she did.

"I see the commander left you in one piece." Lily looked up at her with a tired smile. Calent sunk down into the chair next to her,

"Yeah... still in one piece..." she set the coffee mug aside, propping her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her palms.

The other sergeant regarded her for a long moment, "You need a beer. Make that beers. Come with me." Lily said in a tone that brooked no argument. Even if she'd had an objection, beer sounded awfully good to Calent just now. The two women wordlessly stood and left the table, steam still wafting from the full coffee mug that had been left behind.

-------

The next morning, Calent slowly cracked her eyes open, nearly hissing at the ungodly amount of light in the room. She had had more than a few beers, and then a few other drinks. She and Lily had spoken, at length, but she couldn't remember all of what had been said. She rubbed her temples and rolled over, seeing a glass of water and a small bundle of herbs on her bedside table. Sighing, she pinched her nose and shoved the bitter herbs into her mouth and washed the awful stuff down with the water. She'd make herself a proper prairie oyster later, but it had been thoughtful for Lily to leave these out for her.

Still squinting her eyes to block out the light, she spotted a note on her desk, it appeared to be a children's nursery rhyme.

“From east to west
and north to south
Cenarius’s dreamers
are all about

Eyes in the hills
and in the skies
Through the trees
the eyes can see

What was hidden
is often found
when the Guardians of the Wild
are set abound.

Shanna melor'ne adala fal”

((edit: Added a bit))

Ketiron's plate-armored fist crushed the missive into a ball before throwing it into a nearby brazier. The fact that it had taken this long to hear from Velenkayn - and with this kind of news! - was proof that this whole business had gone too far.

Lazhna Trueflight stood at a respectful distance from his chart table, ever wary of her commander's mercurial moods. He had recently returned from the fighting in Tanaan Jungle, looking haggard...he often threw himself into the war, exhausting himself, and then sat in here and brooded whenever he came back. She was not too worried for his safety, as he was always accompanied by members of his garrison guard (though Tanaan was a very dangerous place to be at the moment). It was his health that worried her...he had probably not had a full night's sleep since Areinnye was killed.

She had debated sending him home to Quel'Thalas, but he would take that as a sign of mutiny, and even if he accepted, he would feel shame at leaving the battle he had been assigned to. Even so --

"Lazhna." The general's quiet voice interrupted the pandaren captain's train of thought. "Send Kitrik in to me, please."

Lazhna nodded, giving him one last, pitying look, before walking out of his great hall. A moment later, she was replaced by the fortress' goblin engineer. "You rang, boss?"

Ketiron was silent for a moment, eyes staring at his charts, before he finally spoke. "I have a task for you, my friend. Something requiring your talents of a more...direct nature."

Kitrik's eyebrow rose. "Spyin' or assassinatin'?"

"Both," the general said shortly. "You've heard of the incidents in Stormwind, these 'loyal citizens' killing anyone who has friends here...now they have taken one close to home. For me, and for us."

"It's the Stoneheardt gal, isn't it?" At Ketiron's nod, Kitrik now understood the reason for the dark cloud that hung over this room. "Whadaya need me to do?"

Ketiron looked over at him, and the coldness in the elf's eyes made him quail inwardly. Outwardly, he remained utterly composed. "I need you to find Marennia Sputterspark and Arlston Cross, Kitrik...and bring me their heads."

The moon hovered behind dark clouds, a faded beacon in the black sky that hung over Stormwind. The hustle and bustle of the streets had grown less and less into the evening hours, and now past Midnight, only a certain breed beside the nightly watch stalked the streets. Things were usually quiet. Usually. The recent events had caused a palpable stir within the city. Goodly folk took to their beds earlier, and shady individuals scuttled along in the shadows and alleyways.

In one such back alley in the Old Town district, a beggar cringed, trying to scurry backward on his bottom and put as much distance between himself and the approaching menace before him. Handing out pamphlets after dark was all he had been asked to do. Even the few silver coins the task afforded him wasn’t worth this! He gave a grunt as a heavy plate boot slammed into his chest, blasting the wind from him and grinding him to the dirty stones. He tried to scream for help, to call the watch, to call somebody, but the boot slid roughly up his chest to catch under his chin, smacking his head against the cobblestones and cutting of his air. Struggling feebly he tried to shift the heavy leg, all the while gazing up in stark terror at the armored dwarf above him, and more pointedly, staring at the horrific helmet of a grinning skull, blue flaming eyes boring into him.

Tagnarr sneered as he watched the beggar cower and whimper beneath him. Pathetic mongrels in a pathetic city. He added more weight to his foot until the suffering man’s eyes bulged, grinning all the while beneath his skull helm that quite aptly portrayed his mood. Taking his time, he raised the pamphlet that the beggar had given him and thumbed through it absently, pretending to read it.

“Ye know, some’d call this ‘ere bit o paper criminal. Treason even. Where’d a dirty lil muck like you get this ‘ere thing?” Tagnarr eased his foot just enough to let the man draw a shaky breath and speak.
“I . . . I can’t tell you that. It was given to me in secr-arrraggggh” The beggar cut off abruptly as the heavy boot returned its weight in full. The dwarf above him seemed to not be paying him any mind, choking the life out of him almost as an afterthought.

Tagnarr spoke, “Shame that. Some interestin’ bits in ‘ere. Real interestin’.” As he talked, he would flip the note around to reveal the list of names along with the offered reward. “Ye know who these folks are I’d be guessin?” He waited for the beggars weak nod before continuing. “Good, aye that be good. Ye see, Just so ‘appens that this bit o talk ‘ere es got me ‘interested. I dun mind getting me ‘ands dirty. Killin’ folk fer money’s a good business, en we’re good at it.” He pressed down again, grinding his boot into the man’s throat, “But ye should know that I’m happy ta kill fools fer free too.” Tagnarr let that sink in for a moment as the man squirmed and writhed before reaching behind his back and pulling out what appeared to be a frozen rose. “Ye know what this is? No? Aye, I didn’ think so. But ye will soon enough. But enough o that,” Tagnarr reached down with a chuckle and gave the petrified man a tap on the forehead with the frozen rose. “I want ye ta find out who’s given these out,” Brandishes the pamphlet, “Because I wanna meet wit’ em. Ye can do that fer me can’t ye?” The beggars rapidly bobbing head made Tagnarr chuckle softly.

“What’s going on here!” Demanded a strong voice from the mouth of alleyway. Tagnarr looked over his shoulder, not bothering to move. Stormwind guards, always pesky. “I asked you what’s going on here citizen!” The Watchmen strode forward boldly, seeing a situation and clearly prepared to act as the law.
Tagnarr sighed under his helm. The poor fool should’ve just kept on walking. The guard posed his question again and Tagnarr raised the hand with the rose, making a soothing gesture to the man. “Hush hush now. No need fer that racket. Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on ‘ere officer. Nothin’ that concern ye at least.” Out of the corner of his eye, Tagnarr watched as the shadows seemed to grow for a moment, causing him to grin “But I’ll tell ye, its damned late out. Shouldn’t ye be in a nice cozy bed, en sleepin?” The guard growled, leveling steel towards him. Tagnarr paused a moment before continuing, “Aye, ye should be sleepin’. But I suppose now’s as good a time fer it as any.” The shadows beside the guard erupted, two flashing points of steel preceded a strangled gasp as the guardsmen fell, clutching his gaping throat, trying to stifle the crimson flow that seeped out between his fingers as he coughed fitfully in the last few moments of life. Tagnarr dropped his foot again, and found his good sense rewarded as the beggar’s scream of terror was cut out before it ever truly started.

Tagnarr watched as the shadows materialized, revealing a female worgen with both daggers dripping blood. “At was nicely done Lyn,” Tagnarr congratulated even as the woman’s form began to shrink, muzzle and paws retracting and frame shortening as she took on her human form. Carefully sidestepping the pool of blood she gave a brief nod in reply before pulling up her cowl and moving to join him. Well, it was about that time. Removing his boot, Tagnarr leaned down and grabbed the poor man’s collar in both fists, hoisting him bodily to his feet, or rather as high as a dwarf could and letting the beggar scramble the rest of the way up. “Ye know yer job. Now get to it!” Tagnarr gave the man a powerful shove towards the alley entrance and the beggar took off at a dead run. They both watched him for a moment, his footfalls rapidly retreating before Tagnarr spoke again, a soft rumble “Lyn, follow ‘im would ye? See who ‘e talks to. En once he’s told what he’s got ta tell . . . well . . . we dun be leavin’ loose ends.” Tagnarr thought he saw her face quirk into a tiny smile, and then she was moving, leaping up a stack of boxes and vaulting to the rooftops as nimble as any cat, and before he could count to ten she was far from sight.
Tagnarr mused for a moment before speaking to the air “Oi, mage. Ye still here?” The air shimmered ten paces off and Charles Ward faded into view, the man’s elderly face sporting a look somewhere between amusement and boredom. “Anything?”

Charles shook his balding head, “I felt no magical presences and if our friend did her job as well as I’ve come to expect then no eyes but ours bore witness here.”

Tagnarr gave a satisfied grunt. “Good. Listen, I’m thinkin’ we be callin in our boys from Westfall en the Duskwood. Got us a job, ye see?” Turns the pamphlet so that Charles can see the list of names. Tapping his finger upon one of the names near the top Tagnarr gave a deep chuckle.

Charles raised a brow, folding his arms as he reviewed the list before commenting, “You wish to assassinate the Commander of the Stormwind Watch?”

“Aye, I wan’ ‘im dead!” Tagnarr spat loudly, “Dead en out o the way. Less trouble fer us, en dis way we’re getting paid ta do work we should’a done anyhow.” Tagnarr lifted up his mask long enough to spit, his black beard and hair thick around a hard face. “En I ain’t the only one I’m thinkin’. Talk ta the people ye talk to. See if’n anyone out ‘dere be interested in join’n us fer this. Jus’ this once I’m thinkin’ I’d be willin’ to split some profits. Now, let’s be getting out’a here.”

Not long after, the alley was abandoned. The only side that any had been there at all was the cold body of a guardsmen lain strewed on the ground, a dark pool around his head staining the cobblestones, and on his back rested a frozen rose.

He sat in the parlor of his house, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the hardened bamboo staff he held in his lap - given to him as part of his training in the ways of the pandaren monks. He had a decision to make.

His patroness had made a case for dealing with the Horde sympathizers (he didn't call them traitors, this was not Alterac) in Stormwind, but after the reported death of Genevra Stoneheardt, and threats against Orwyn and anyone else who opposed her, he knew that this had gone too far. The Watch had issued warrants for Marennia Sputterspark and Arlston Cross for the acts of arson and murder (respectively) they had committed.

His mind was uneasy. It bothered him that Genevra had had friends in the Horde - but so had the two men whose banners he had carried during the Northrend war, as a squire of the Argent Crusade...and he continued to venerate them both, even in death. His pandaren trainers had often spoken of the atrocities committed in Pandaria, and he had grown up with his grandfather's tales of the Second War, of great heroes like Lothar, Khadgar, Turalyon, and the like. It had been early in his childhood that his grandfather - for whom he had been named - had been called to help in Lordaeron. He had not come back alive...but he had come back. It had been his first champion, Saavedro, who had destroyed his corrupted grandfather at the gates of Stormwind...at last giving him the peace that Arthas had denied him.

It was for Saavedro's memory, and for that of Saavedro's friend Genevra, that he did this now. His decision was made.

Walking over to his grandfather's old desk, he began to write a note.

To Ello Ebonlocke, Lord Mayor of Darkshire,

I have become embroiled in a tale of conflict and tragedy that seemed, until recently, so far removed from the way I had wished to live. I have become an unwilling accomplice to a crime I had no desire to see committed, and now feel I must submit myself to the authorities in Stormwind City. I expect I will likely be detained for some period for my part in it.

I thank you for the charity that you and the rest of the town have shown me since my parents' deaths, and now place my residence fully under the care of the town of Darkshire for the duration of my detention. If you should decide that my family house would be suited to a resident of better standing, I will not object; I ask only that the items within belonging to my father and grandfather be packed with respectful consideration, so that I can relocate it to a new residence if and when I am able to.

Respectfully and gratefully yours,
Vorian Tanis

Lacking any physical clue as to where to find Arlston, Zephilyn tried her hardest to put her hooves into his boots. He would likely hide in a human occupied area- he would be much more conspicuous in Darnassus or Ironforge. A few more moments thought and a plan had taken shape. She would fly to Hearthglen and then work her way back to Stormwind on her Talbuk. Arlston was too crafty for her to expect to spot him from the air.

So, she would have to take it on the ground and trust to luck that he didn't run for Westfall or Darkshire. She frowned, her finger tracing the possible paths on her map. There were too many, and she was the only Knight available for the task. No, this is the best opportunity I have to catch him. It relies far too much on luck, but I cannot see another way to winnow down the possibilities. She rubbed a horn absently in thought, but no better ideas came to her.

"This is a waste of time." She frowned again and slammed the table in frustration. A trained assassin with several day's head start. He'd be in his safe house by now anyway. "If any have a chance of finding him it won't be me." She stood and paced back and forth in the small room, rented above the Gilded Rose.

"If I can't bring justice for Lady Genevra, there are others who need watching over, yes.", she nodded to herself. The poor old little gnome who had taken over the Conclave was likely also at risk, as well as Orwynn. In a moment, the inspiration came to her. She knew this was the right action to take, watching over both of them. Perhaps she would see something.

Glancing at herself in the mirror, Zephilyn quickly realized the next problem with her plan. A seven foot tall Draenei in glowing crystal armor bearing the tabard of the Presidium would certainly attract attention. And discourage any mischief makers from making an attempt while she was around. No, they would likely bide their time until she was gone.

"I need a way to be... what is the word? Incongruous." She nodded, unaware of the malapropism. Her eyes settled on a plain brown robe, hooded and loose enough it just might fit over her armor. Perhaps that might provide enough concealment.

Scarcely half an hour later she sat on the lip of the Canal, just within eyesight of Orwyn's apartment. A fishing rod beside her provided decent enough cover- several children and adults were engaged in much the same activity from a dock a short distance away. In a few hours she would take a walk to the abbey and spend some time there.

Even if this is all a longshot- I have a lot better odds of disrupting something happening here than I do of stumbling across a trained assassin attempting to make his escape. She frowned a bit at the thought then returned to her fishing line, careful to keep a surreptitious eye on the front of the little house opposite the canal.

Garlo rested his chin in both hands, his elbows painfully rubbed against the rough wooden table. Smoke clung to the ceiling of the bar and ruckus laughter could be heard from one of the darkened corners. The feeble light of the lanterns barley lit the interior, but this gave him comfort. He had been afraid for his life many times in the past, as a miner there were always dangers lurking in the tunnels. The menace of unbeknownst creatures and the ever looming threat of cave-ins reduced many a miners’ lifespan. Last night though he felt fear he had not known to exist.

It had all started when he came across Jimmy, a nice fellow of his order, very patriotic and of like mind. Garlo was on his way to the bar in Ratchet to finish off a few pints, but gave pause to listen to an interview Jimmy was conducting with a striking woman. She obviously was not from the parts. Overly fashioned for the area and spoke with a scholars tongue. Garlo although a miner was still educated and listened intently. After a few brief statements he could sense this woman was very passionate on her views. It saddened him that one that appeared so intelligent could let their feelings control their logic, but nevertheless he was not about to push his own opinions.

He was about to continue on when he noticed Jimmy trying to get his attention as if Jimmy wanted him to converse more with the woman. He saw no harm in it and gave a few of his own sentiments. It was at the moment when she was about to reply that things turned ugly. Jimmy had done something bad, really bad.

The woman turned on Jimmy quite angry. She accused him of assaulting her mind. Something was really off now. The atmosphere around the woman almost seemed to crackle. This was not good. She was going to hurt Jimmy. Thwak!, Thump!, and a low moan were the next few sounds. Garlo had done the only thing to enter his mind. With the woman’s attention on Jimmy he had unbuckled his shield and smacked the woman over the head with it. He felt awful, he didn’t wish to hit the woman, but Jimmy was in trouble.

Jimmy explained to him that this was the woman behind menace to the order and ultimately Genevra’s death. Garlo bound the woman the best he could while Jimmy played or rather fled from the angry woman’s flying book. Garlo had no idea what he was doing. He bound her hands behind her back and cradled the woman in his arms as they walked down to the dock. He had chided with the idea of sending her in a crate to the Horde. He was a bit puzzled when Jimmy almost seemed to take the idea in seriousness.

When the ship docked at Booty Bay things went from bad to worse. Garlo not knowing how to properly bind someone had not prevented her from speaking. She awoke very livid indeed. He had made an attempt to smack her again but she must have seen it coming and moved too quickly. Now there was fire everywhere. Worse it was coming from her. He watched as Jimmy sprinted away. Something he wished he had done. The woman, now clearly a mage whirled on him, sending flames in his direction. He fled behind a pier only to have her appear next to him. She had attempted to push him in the water but at the last moment he grabbed her. They both hit the water with a splash. Garlo let the weight of his armor take him to the bottom, where he clamored on the sea floor in the direction of land. He didn’t look back.

Now he sat here, jumping at any unusual sound. He had met Jimmy out the way out of Booty Bay so at least he knew they both made it away.

Crouched next to a small pool of magma outside the seaward gate of Saavedar, eyes closed in meditation, the Farseer Thek'la communed with the elements of this place. The cold rock was Earth, the magma Fire, the snow Water, Air was everpresent...and the Wilds, in tune with it all. They were stranger, more primal, than Azeroth - but they were familiar enough. And now he waited for visions.

Kitrik had come to him here that morning, mentioning what Ketiron had asked him to do. "I know it goes against the grain," he had said, "but I wanna see if you can't consult the spirits and find me a way out of this. I'm not against killing, but the way he looked...I'll tell you, I was shakin' in my breeches, though I tried like hell not to show that to him."

"An' why ya be so troubled, mon?" Thek'la had asked him.

"Because the general's mad, Thek'la. I fully respect the man, but that's the way it is now. He's not eating, he's not sleeping - he goes off to fight Iron Horde in the jungle and on the seas, and he comes back like he's bordering on dead. You've seen him!" Kitrik had grasped his arm. "He does no one any good like this, and you damn well know it."

Thek'la had stared at him for a moment...then finally nodded. "Alright, mon. I be seein' what da spirits can tell me. But no promises. I be a shaman, not a fortune teller. Ya want one of those, go to da Darkmoon Faire."

"Hey, I understand that entirely, bud...anything you can do." With that, Kitrik had left him alone here, and for the past several hours, Thek'la had waited. The spirits showed you what they wanted, when they wanted. No amount of ritual or hand-waving would change that. Kitrik had understood that, he sensed; for a goblin, he was respectful of a shaman's relationship with the elements and the ancestral spirits. Not that he could call on his own ancestors here, on this alien world...but there was bound to be somebody willing to speak, just as he was willing to listen.

Right then, in his mind's eye, he saw something. A small, burning red flame, standing alone in a shadowy place, as much deeper shadows in blue and gold swarmed around her. Then it was black and white...then blue and gold again. The colors faded, alternated, swirled...and the red flame was enveloped within them.

His eyes opened, and he began to work out the cramps in his legs as he stood. He bowed, offering deference to the elements around him, as he made his way back up the hill into the fortress. He found Kitrik tinkering in his workshop, along with his goblin workforce. When the troll entered, he froze, and looked up at him, raising his goggles up to his forehead. "What is it?"

"I t'ink I have seen what ya be lookin' for, my friend."

Staring balefully from the roof of the Cathedral, Alieth Taldir seethed with rage as she watched officers go in and out of the headquarters of the Stormwind City Watch. She should have torched the house and been done with it...but she had stayed her hand. And now, with her efforts left in ruins, she wondered what had compelled her not to send them all to Hell. Marennia Sputterspark was now in the Stockade, awaiting trial, and Vorian...

She had been aware for nearly two days that Vorian was in Watch headquarters, and had not come out. After what had happened in his house, she now knew why. Vorian had told Orwyn everything. About the part he was to play in her plan, in the use of his house...about her.

This is not how it should have been!

Still...the good thing is that Sputterspark was clearly as mad as her fel-tainted brother, and was unlikely to give anything up. Not that there was anything for her to give; Sputterspark had been a means to an end. She had not survived this long by being stupid enough to trust people...though she had foolishly thought that loyalty still meant something. If the son of one of her closest friends could turn traitor...who else would follow?

She sighed, sitting back in the saddle of the stone drake she had ridden on. She had tried to put up the brave front, laughing and taunting...but this was an unfortunate setback. Stormwind may well be irredeemable, she realized. It pained her to admit it, but to her, it was the truth. Her face hardened. Then perhaps it is time to clean the slate...and start this failed kingdom over from scratch.

She knew she still had support in the Kirin Tor hierarchy. Maybe not Lady Proudmoore - not overtly, anyway - but Alieth's stance was not unlike that of the Kirin Tor leader, and certainly a number of archmagi were firmly in her camp. Maybe not against traitors in the ranks...seeing as that fool Khadgar associated with Horde filth as well as Alliance for his private little war on Draenor, and was not punished (all because of his ties to Medivh, no doubt)...but against any peace with the Horde, certainly.

Fear was a powerful motivator, but now they knew what to expect. She would need a new gameplan - and there was truly no rush. She had plenty of time.

"Celebrate this victory, peons," she whispered, smiling coldly. "This is not over."

Her drake lifted off from the roof, and flew northward, towards the mountains of Khaz Modan.

On the cold stone bench beside the fountain that faced the Cathedral, Cail sat for a time.

He'd left his visit with the Stormwind Watch with much to ponder. It was a fair night and he'd felt like wandering, but his old legs and back complained otherwise. So here he sat in the near darkness with little but the streetlamps to illuminate his view of the marvelous white stone structure. The embers of his pipe bowl glowed as he pulled a long drag. Wisps of white smoke meandered from the corners of his mouth.

Behind him the splashing of the fountain drummed in the recesses of his mind, lulling him nearly into a meditative state.

In his lap he held a thin strip of paper. Scrawled across was a message, its words tumbling through his mind as he starred up the darkened steps of the cathedral.

I'd hold off on any Eulogy. Stone tends to be a bit harder to kill then people know.

He'd had no idea where it originated. Cail simply found it curiously in a pocket he knew to be empty, inked by a decidedly skilled hand. His time spent among skilled inscriptionists had told him as much.

"...stone..." The old gnome mumbled to himself. The bowl of his pipe glowing in the darkness.
"...harder to kill..." Tendrils of smoke trailed into the darkness as he whispered to the night.

Such implications... Could they be true?

His heart dared not believe.
But still...

She slept through the night for the first time in weeks. The news that Kordrion brought that Marennia was in the Stockades was enough to give her pause. In the early hours of the morning she looked over at her daughter, safe thanks to friends and her family. Genevra took a deep breath, there was still work to be done, a home to rebuild, a life to reclaim.

Looking down at the letter that had made its way to her she fought back the mixed emotions that it brought. "You're not the only one who needs help." She told herself. It was how she did things, she coped with the difficult things in life by throwing herself into her work, into the Light's work.

She understood Arlston's reasons for doing what he did, and the gambit had paid off, Marennia was under lock and key and hopefully the mage would soon be also. Knowing that Daisy would be safe with Ketlan, she kissed the top of her daughter's head, "We'll have a home soon enough," she whispered to her before making the preparations to head south.

When she thought of Marennia she couldn't help but feel betrayed. Genevra had taken the Gnome in, given her work and a place in her order, but it hadn't been enough. "You're too trusting." She heard the familiar chiding and knew that it just might be true. She'd have to start somewhere, and with no hearthstone she made her way to the flight master, it was going to be a long flight to Elwynn Forest, but it would give her some time to think.

Scratches and pockmarks covered the ancient device, yet its dull gray appearance seemed to belie its true age. A low almost inaudible hum radiated from somewhere deep inside. From its semi translucent crystalline windows a magenta light source pulsed slowly, almost as if as if it had its own heartbeat. There were no identifying marks save for a panel.

Naaru-Brig Stasis Pod# BR-45-8882
Exodar Cluster 5
Occupant: Noikona Thulane Momlir [Terra]
44413-234-8

Why did its owner keep such a dreadful thing? Maybe to remind their selves of what they had done, maybe to keep a hold of something that was truly theirs. Most likely, it had given its owner the chance at a second life. When the draenei fled Outland in the Exodar the pod was already there, tucked away, its resident all but forgotten. The pod was not native to the Exodar, but had been transferred from the Oshu'gun some years back. The fateful day when the mighty trans-dimensional vessel entered Azeroth’s real space, it was jettisoned like so many others. Instead of breaking up, it soft-landed allowing Noikona to once again to walk and discover her own way.

Now in her lair she rested, in complete stasis. The pod although a prison, served also as a safe haven. The field it produced stopped any further injury its inhabitant may physically endure. Although physically safe, the mind was open to wonder, and wonder, it did.

Visions of her failures repeated over and over. Her inability to be at Rour’s side before he passed, the loss of Azheira, the headless corpse of Genevra and countless others all repeated in an endless loop. In the background there was a laughter that would not cease. It was a laugh she knew all too well, it was her own and she couldn’t run from it. If there was a hell, she had found it.

Noikona had kept her promise to Azheira by checking up on Nabby. She’d been given a key to the house that Azheira owned and spent the evening in the guest room. She kept her distance from the gnome as she could sense much distrust. After all, at one time she had sold her into slavery. Leaving the house she walked along the boardwalk just outside the front patio. Her thoughts reflected on the past two days. She remembered closing the lid of the pod, but as soon as she closed it, it seemed to open. Both Adrazel and Calent were there. She had felt there hands grasping her own and the foreign thoughts of Calent. The knowledge that Genevra was still alive gave her peace, but she did not agree with how things transpired. The knowledge that her word was not broken slowly reversed the damage that her body had sustained. Few words were spoken during the ordeal. Even that night with Genevra present in the infirmary she spoke little.

She had let Lilly know that she would go to Azheira’s home; it was only just around the corner. She didn’t let Lilly know that she planned to go to Booty Bay later. In doing so she learned that the red mage was still hell bent on bringing Genevra down. If her mind hadn’t been so cloudy she would have seen the mage in the bar, perhaps it was best that she hadn’t. Innocent lives may have been taken in her attempts to destroy that woman.

Her thoughts turned to Arlston and Kordrion. Arlston she never much cared for, but Kordrion, Kordrion was a friend. She had met him last night in the Recluse. Had others not been present she would’ve pressed him to explain himself. Now that would have to wait.

She turned back to the house, replacing her dress with her armor. She’d spent an immeasurable amount to have it repaired. The once black and red ribbed armor now was bare of any markings; its black surface was polished, reflecting almost mirror like. The only resemblance it had to what it had been was a puncture mark in the chest. She had given strict orders that, that scar never be removed. In her present state it was very hard to walk in, but her stubbornness pushed her continue.

She left the house quietly and walked to the Watch’s headquarters. There she started the coffee maker, selected a book from a shelf and sat in a corner she had claimed as her own. She didn't know what to expect, for in her eyes she had done the right thing.

The woman shifted in her plated armor.

It fit well enough. She'd had a guild blacksmith work in a few adjustment but it was still so very uncomfortable. Clearly there was advantage in maintaining full coverage. Armor wasn't armor if it didn't protect the body after all, but...

Veronika Talent tugged at the blue and muted silver cuirass again. She grimaced as she rotated her torso back and forth.

It was all just so restricting. She much preferred minimal plating and an open design. At least then she could breath properly. This ...guard's armor... felt like a ...tin can.

The woman squirmed within the armor, clearly unhappy with her current armor. Regardless she recognized the importance of 'looking the part' while in public, especially if she'd going to be seen along side Steward Stoneheardt. As much as she disliked having too wear it all, the full plate armor ensemble certainly projected a more professional aura than did her usual, more agile, configuration.

She exhaled in frustration, leaning her head back to gaze up at the stone ceiling of her abbey quarters. It was all she could do to keep from worging under the pressure, knowing that her current armor wasn't yet properly adapted. Veronika reflected on her training and drew deep calming breaths, slowing her heart rate.

Eyeing her personal assortment of weapons in their stand near her door, she opted for her usual arrangement. A long bladed polearm and a large bastard sword. As she was now, human if only in appearance, she could singularly handle each weapon well. When worged she could handle each in either hand just as well affording her a slight advantage, depending on the situation.

She would be well prepared for whatever danger may be lurking at the sermon tonight.

"Alive."

Kitrik sat at Ketiron's desk, laughing quietly to himself and shaking his head. And I gave him a knockout drop to keep from going off the deep end over this, he thought. He looked up at the courier. "Where's Kellik and Trueflight?"

"Back in Silvermoon," the blood elf guard who'd brought the message replied. "They've refused to leave the General's side since you had him sent back."

"Probably just as well. Send Farseer Thek'la in, please, then have a mage port you to Silvermoon, so you can carry this to the House estate. I think he could use a bit of good news in this damn war."

"Will do, Chief." The guard exited, and was replaced a moment later by the troll shaman.

"Message sent from Zherron," Kitrik explained. "Our 'dead' friend was only 'resting', it would seem."

"She lives, den." Thek'la looked glad to hear some good news himself. "Dis is good."

"Maybe. He says the Red Mage knows, too. He says he's working with their curator, the gnome doctor, to figure out who this witch is. He's asked for our help." Kitrik rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm more inclined for this, Thek'la. Much more than I was for going after Sputterspark and Cross. That was motivated by a desire to see heads roll. This...this is for security. Theirs and ours."

"We be needin' an advantage - and a chance ta be givin' dem one, too."

Kitrik nodded. "Zherron says the Watch is stonewalling. If they know something, they're not sharing it. The doctor is not willing to leave it to the Watch, as good as they were in dealing with Sputterspark. This is their enemy - Stoneheardt and her bunch, I mean. And they've asked for our help." The goblin met the troll's gaze evenly. "I say we give it to them."

"Agreed. Since da General, and all of us by association, were named as Stoneheardt's 'accomplices', dis be our fight too. But how will ya handle him?"

"I'm not," Kitrik said. "You are."

Thek'la was momentarily wrongfooted. "Me?"

"Better you than me right now...I'm not quite ready to deal with that problem just yet. He'll probably be inclined to take off my head for the trick I pulled on him to get him out of here."

"Ya did what had ta be done, Kit."

"Maybe. But will he think the same thing?" The goblin assassin shook his head. "No. I'm not willing to prod this particular beast until I'm certain he's not gonna eat me."

Thek'la grinned, and nodded once. "Fair enough, mon...I be goin' ta Silvermoon, then."

"Chief," the blood elf guard said, breathless after he had run all the way back to the great hall, "he's here."

"Who?" Kitrik looked up...and felt his heart come up to lodge in his throat at who it was. "G-G-General," he was able to get out.

Ketiron stood in the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, eyes glaring down at the goblin engineer. Lazhna Trueflight stood at his right side, and Kitrik's brother Kellik - commander of the House Guard - at his left. "That was a damned dirty trick you pulled, Kitrik." Then he grinned. "Thank you."

Kitrik, shocked beyond measure, did the one thing left to him.

He fainted.

Noikona’s arrest came late in the night. Expect it? Yes, but part of her had thought that maybe because of the circumstances she would be given a pass. She had done nothing wrong except cross the border out of the kingdom, in fact had anyone else done it, they would have been supported. But because of her probation she wasn’t allowed to leave the kingdom without escort or authorization. Her anger flared as she dwelt on it. She did feel a little better after her conversation with Kordrion; she had to know what his involvement was in this whole debacle and she believed him. There was one bit of information he shared, something that would bide her time while in this dreaded place.

Noikona grabbed the bars, using them to help her stand and proceeded to yell at the top of her lungs “Marennia! I know you’re in here! And it’s gnome season!”

With her hoof she began tapping on the bars quite loudly; to many it would sound like any other disgruntled prisoner making a random nuisance of themselves. For the veterans, the prison tap code came out loud and clear “Three thousand gold for the first person to take the spark out of the sputter.”

Indigo stood hovering over the desk as she watched the warden fill out the release forms. Her pressed uniform was immaculate as usual. The rank of colonel gleamed brightly, with the emblem of flight surgeon embroidered over the collar. The warden signed his name and pushed the document over.

Indigo read over the release form, nodding her head as she signed under his name, “You won’t be seeing her for a long time.”

The warden stood asking “She’s quite the trouble maker. May I ask why they sent you? I've done military transfers before but never with someone of such high rank.”

Indigo smirked as she replied “Oh Miss Momlir and I have known each other for some time. When I heard the orders had come down to reactivate her, I asked if I might be the one to retrieve her. You know a familiar face sometimes helps in the transition.”

The warden nodded as he walked over to retrieve a large key ring “I suppose so” he opened the office door and motioned for her to follow, “Shall we?”

Indigo walked quietly behind, a guard kept pace next to them as they past several barred doors. The stockades were strangely quiet at this hour, but rustling could still be heard from a few of the darkened cells.

They stopped in front of one such unlit door; the warden placed a heavy king into the lock. With a twist and a push the door swung slowly open.

Noikona set in the corner of the dark room, her eyes were the only light source before a guard came in, lighting the lanterns. She rose slowly as she saw Indigo; a scowl crossed her face as recognition overcame her. Her voice was filled with disdain “Hello Indigo, come to gloat?”

A smile slowly appeared on Indigo’s lips “Oh, quite the contrary” she reached into her satchel producing a sealed document which she opened with little fanfare.

Indigo began to read the document out loud looking up at Noikona periodically to insure she was paying attention “Noikona Thulane Momlir, you are here by ordered by the command of the Alliance to report to Commander Selter. You are to be reactivated to your former rank of lieutenant and cease all activities you may currently be involved with as a civilian. It has been brought to the attention of high command that your repeat offenses have caused undue strain to those that were apt to take charge of you and you have been a disruptive force in the civilian rehabilitation experiment. In lieu of your exemplary service as an officer of the Alliance Military, it has been decided that your remaining sentence of twenty six years be carried out in the office you best served at. This order is in effective immediately.”

Noikona stood in shock, her voice cracked a bit as she spoke “What? What do you mean?”

Indigo placed the orders back in her bag, “I didn’t stutter. It would appear that your inability to adjust to civilian life and your lack of desire to be a law abiding citizen has been noticed by others. You see Lieutenant Momlir, the Alliance remembers your service you did at Naxxramas, but they can’t and won’t allow you to play the system, which you have been doing. So you will be transferred to where you skills have been best served in the past.”

Noikona couldn’t stop the tear that meandered down her cheek, “But I have made strides. I have friends”

Indigo shook her head “Too little, too late and wipe that tear from your face. I don’t believe it for a moment. I always knew you couldn’t hack it. Now gather your things from the front desk and report to Commander Selter”

Noikona walked past Indigo without saying a thing, trailing behind the guard who guided her down the hall to where she could get her belongings.

When they were out of an ear shot the warden remarked to Indigo “A familiar face huh? You’re not a very nice person.”

Indigo only raised a brow “Trust me, I was nice”

Confined to Stormwind for the foreseeable future, Vorian Tanis took every opportunity to meditate at the pandaren shrine that had been set up by the Tushui adepts since their arrival from the Wandering Isle, and usually went from there to the cemetery, where he knelt before the tombs of his father and grandfather...and asked for their forgiveness.

So it was now; he was on his knees before the tomb of his father, head bowed, hands resting on the stone, muttering his pleas. He had confessed his part in recent events to Genevra Stoneheardt, who now wished nothing to do with him any further. For his part, Vorian hoped he never had to deal with her again. She reeked of death...not her own, but those who had made the mistake of considering her an ally. Saavedro was the main example of that...

"That's a bit harsh, isn't it?" said a man behind him, causing Vorian to stand and turn to face him - a bronze-skinned human in beautifully embroidered robes of draenic design, favored by the clerics of the alternate Draenor. His hand rested on a jeweled mace, crackling with lightning. "It is true that Genevra's followers have met bad ends, but she is not entirely to blame for them. I had no small part in some of them myself, it pains me to admit."

Vorian's eyes narrowed as he now realized the other's identity. "Sekhesmet," he hissed venomously.

The bronze-skinned priest raised a hand, and void tendrils wrapped around Vorian's legs, preventing him from leaping at the priest as he had wanted. "Steady your muscles, there, boy," he said, looking more amused than angry. "You wouldn't be able to do much to me...I, on the other hand, could kill you with a word. Fortunately for you, I have no desire to do so. Not unless you truly wish me to, just so you can be just another moldering pile of bones and dust to rot away the ages in this place."

"If it weren't for you, my parents would not be here, you plague-crafting monster," Vorian snapped.

"I may have struck the killing blow, young Vorian, but your father chose his own fate. He was a reckless fool who involved himself in things before he truly understood the price of doing so. He made me his enemy, without understanding what that meant." Sekhesmet's ice-blue eyes stared into Vorian's, as if into his soul. "Very much like yourself, it would seem; you involved yourself in Taldir's scheme without thinking of what exactly it would cost - your home, your freedom, possibly even your life. Only you realized the mistake you made before it could utterly destroy you. That's why you went to Orwyn, isn't it? Why you told Genevra? This is why you now wrestle with your family pride."

"You dare to mock my pain?"

"Life is pain, young man!" Sekhesmet snapped. "It is how we use that pain that defines us! You choose to mope around and wait for your 'Aunty Ali' to incinerate you, to erode the stone of your family tombs with wasted tears of self-pity. There are better things to do than that!"

"The thing I would like to use my pain for right now is to crush your skull like a ripe melon for murdering my father!"

"I did you a favor in Andorhal that day! Admit it, boy, who made you into a man? I did! Not your tank-brain of a father, not your bleeding heart of a mother! I helped you become the man you could be, not just another dead warrior in a line of dead warriors! You wanted more than that, and now you can have it! You need only reach out and take it! And for all that, you want to kill me? You should be thanking me!"

"THANKING YOU?!" Vorian screamed in fury. "You...you MONSTER!"

Sekhesmet laughed bitterly. "I am not the monster you should be concerning yourself with, young Vorian," he said quietly. "You know who is, though. You said so yourself. When you finally say it, and mean it...I will be waiting." He stepped into the saddle of his waiting steed, Antinnis, and rode away. As soon as he was a reasonable enough distance, the priest waved a hand, and the tendrils that had held Vorian in place vanished.

Vorian felt his knees buckle, and he fell forward onto the cobblestones, letting out a strangled scream of frustration at how this was all going. But the thing that galled him the most was the thing he would not let himself admit: Sekhesmet was right.

He was not the monster Vorian needed to worry about...