((Foxria, thanks for getting involved in this. I loved rping with you about the kitten. Now, being a gnomish engineer, I think I can safely predict a forthcoming disaster.))
Going Home
(Sunchaser, chaser of suns, I loved this addition. Nesh's interactoin was so sweet. It makes me want to play my baby horde again.))
(Gruzz, we've been discussing this. I really think the next twist is going to be fun. Thanks for getting involved.)
(Finn, whoo hoo. I love rping this out with you and adore that you are actually going into these areas and scouting. That is awesome. I'm so happy you picked up the ball on this and what a good write up. Everyone who has been posting, has done such a good job. We really have some talented writers on CC.)
(( You are most welcome Gentyl .. more fun to come ))
It wasn’t just the damnable heat. It was the bugs too.
Everything about Stranglethorn Vale displeased him. It was horrible enough having to deal with the goblins of Booty Bay, but the climate was nothing less than oppressive. He leaned against one of the wooden structures, waving his hand in a futile effort to ward off the mosquitos. The sun beat down, relentless. He watched as a goblin passed by, counting his gold coins and then spitting on the wooden floor. Finnaeus wrinkled his nose with disgust.
“Such a cesspit,” Finnaeus muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. His eyes wandered the wooden platforms for Jorbo, his goblin informant. Finnaeus found it nearly impossible to pick a goblin apart, but Jorbo had a dead eye for his right that made him fairly distinctive even among his lot. With a sigh of irritation, Finnaeus stepped away from the wall and made his way towards the tavern. Something bumped into him around his waist, and he looked down.
“You again?” The dead eye that looked up to him confirmed that it was Jorbo. Finn narrowed his eyes.
“Yes, me again.”
“You’re one persistent little pinkie, aren’t you,” Jorbo said, turning his head and spitting.
“So I’ve been told,” Finnaeus said. “Should we go somewhere private?”
“I don’t see why we would have to do that,” Jorbo said, smiling. “I usually don’t make time for pinkies during my busy hours.”
Finnaeus rolled his eyes, and then removed a small satchel from his pocket. He shook it, and the sound of tinkling metal made Jorbo’s eyes widen like saucers.
“Now you’re speaking my language,” Jorbo said, his greedy, spindling fingers twitching.
“Indeed,” Finnaeus said. “Somewhere private?”
“I have a flat nearby,” Jorbo said, turning. “Come with me.”
Finnaeus followed the goblin, irritation slowly burning in his chest. The goblin led him this way and that, through the busy throngs of goblins and other unscrupulous characters. The entire area smelled of the sea and of garbage, and as his eyes ranged over the various fish mongers and pirates swilling rum and spilling it all over the place. While Finnaeus never exactly thrilled in the sophisticated high society that Gilneas had to offer, he never imagined having to do business in such environs. However, the mission was important.
They finally reached Jorbo’s flat. It was as rundown as Finnaeus expected – dirt and grime covered every surface, and the constant buzz of flies hummed in his ears. Jorbo sat down on one of his chairs, and then removed a flask from his hip. He took a gulp, a stream of brownish liquid oozing down his chin. He held it up to Finnaeus.
“A sip?”
“No,” Finnaeus said quickly. “Now then, to the business at hand.”
“Don’t get so quick on me,” Jorbo said, holding up a finger. “You haven’t given me my payment.”
“You get payment when I get my information,” Finnaeus said.
“That’s not how it worked last time,” Jorbo said, cocking his head. His good eye ranged him up and down, setting in contrast the immobility of his dead eye. “You think I’m stupid?”
“The quality of your information has been sorely lacking,” Finnaeus hissed.
“I heard about your organization’s jaunt in Ashenvale,” Jorbo snickered. “I told you before,
Meshqa is very crafty. If he wasn’t, I would have gotten my money from him myself.”
“Though you seem to be doing ok for yourself milking me with every false trail you give me,” Finnaeus said. He found it difficult to maintain a calm demeanor. Perhaps it was the heat, or the exhaustion that grew stronger by the day. Either way, he found his patience for the goblin’s smug attitude waning quickly.
Everything about Stranglethorn Vale displeased him. It was horrible enough having to deal with the goblins of Booty Bay, but the climate was nothing less than oppressive. He leaned against one of the wooden structures, waving his hand in a futile effort to ward off the mosquitos. The sun beat down, relentless. He watched as a goblin passed by, counting his gold coins and then spitting on the wooden floor. Finnaeus wrinkled his nose with disgust.
“Such a cesspit,” Finnaeus muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. His eyes wandered the wooden platforms for Jorbo, his goblin informant. Finnaeus found it nearly impossible to pick a goblin apart, but Jorbo had a dead eye for his right that made him fairly distinctive even among his lot. With a sigh of irritation, Finnaeus stepped away from the wall and made his way towards the tavern. Something bumped into him around his waist, and he looked down.
“You again?” The dead eye that looked up to him confirmed that it was Jorbo. Finn narrowed his eyes.
“Yes, me again.”
“You’re one persistent little pinkie, aren’t you,” Jorbo said, turning his head and spitting.
“So I’ve been told,” Finnaeus said. “Should we go somewhere private?”
“I don’t see why we would have to do that,” Jorbo said, smiling. “I usually don’t make time for pinkies during my busy hours.”
Finnaeus rolled his eyes, and then removed a small satchel from his pocket. He shook it, and the sound of tinkling metal made Jorbo’s eyes widen like saucers.
“Now you’re speaking my language,” Jorbo said, his greedy, spindling fingers twitching.
“Indeed,” Finnaeus said. “Somewhere private?”
“I have a flat nearby,” Jorbo said, turning. “Come with me.”
Finnaeus followed the goblin, irritation slowly burning in his chest. The goblin led him this way and that, through the busy throngs of goblins and other unscrupulous characters. The entire area smelled of the sea and of garbage, and as his eyes ranged over the various fish mongers and pirates swilling rum and spilling it all over the place. While Finnaeus never exactly thrilled in the sophisticated high society that Gilneas had to offer, he never imagined having to do business in such environs. However, the mission was important.
They finally reached Jorbo’s flat. It was as rundown as Finnaeus expected – dirt and grime covered every surface, and the constant buzz of flies hummed in his ears. Jorbo sat down on one of his chairs, and then removed a flask from his hip. He took a gulp, a stream of brownish liquid oozing down his chin. He held it up to Finnaeus.
“A sip?”
“No,” Finnaeus said quickly. “Now then, to the business at hand.”
“Don’t get so quick on me,” Jorbo said, holding up a finger. “You haven’t given me my payment.”
“You get payment when I get my information,” Finnaeus said.
“That’s not how it worked last time,” Jorbo said, cocking his head. His good eye ranged him up and down, setting in contrast the immobility of his dead eye. “You think I’m stupid?”
“The quality of your information has been sorely lacking,” Finnaeus hissed.
“I heard about your organization’s jaunt in Ashenvale,” Jorbo snickered. “I told you before,
Meshqa is very crafty. If he wasn’t, I would have gotten my money from him myself.”
“Though you seem to be doing ok for yourself milking me with every false trail you give me,” Finnaeus said. He found it difficult to maintain a calm demeanor. Perhaps it was the heat, or the exhaustion that grew stronger by the day. Either way, he found his patience for the goblin’s smug attitude waning quickly.
“Now wait a minute, pinkie,” Jorbo said. “I didn’t give you false information. He was in Stonetalon. He did make an appearance in Desolace. And he did move through Ashenvale. All of that is true. I just don’t know if I gave you the right…eh…sequence of events.”
“Do not play word games with me,” Finnaeus said, his temper rising. “I’m giving you gold in good faith that you’ll give me usable information and your silence. It’s good money. You’re not returning the investment.”
“Then, perhaps you’re not offering the right amount,” Jorbo said, offering a crooked smile.
“After all, you pay for the quality you get.”
Finnaeus stared at the goblin. It happened before he knew it. He lunched forward, his entire body contorting and growing into the feral, worgen form that he usually hid from the world. The goblin jumped from his seat, his eyes widening with horror.
“You’re a bloody worgen,” he gasped. Finnaeus snarled and leapt forward, taking the goblin into one of his talons. With a roar he threw the goblin off of the wall. Jorbo bounced off like a ragdoll, coming to the ground. Blood trickled from a gash in his head. Without another moment’s hesitation, Finnaeus snatched him up again and flung him through the table. With a resounding crash, Jorbo split the table, splintering wood and sending debris into the air. Finnaeus stepped forward, reaching down and picking up the goblin by the throat. He lifted him, pressed him against the wall, and bared his teeth.
“Not…fair…business,” Jorbo gasped. “You didn’t…say…you were…worgen…”
“You didn’t ask,” Finnaeus snarled. “Now, tell me where is. You’ll tell me where Meshqa is right now, or I’m going to rip you open.”
“You wouldn’t,” Jorbo said. “You’re Pia, even though you’re not wearing the tabard right now. You wouldn’t do it. It wouldn’t be…honorable…”
Finnaeus lashed his claws across the goblin’s stomach, spurting blood. He shrieked with pain.
“Watch me,” Finnaeus said. “That was a flesh wound. Next time you won’t be so lucky.”
“Ok, ok,” Jorbo said, his good eye twitching about in fear. “Meshqa did make it through Ashenvale, and he made it to Orgrimmar. Your organization has no hope of reaching him there.”
“Orgrimmar,” Finnaeus repeated. “Where?”
“Surely you’re not going to assault Orgrimmar for a weasel of a goblin,” Jorbo said, eye raised. “If they found out it was on my information that an Alliance group attacked the capital-”
“This transaction is strictly private,” Finnaeus said. “Where in Orgrimmar?”
“That I don’t know,” Jorbo wheezed as Finnaeus tightened his grip on his throat. “I know he had a residence there in the past, I’m not sure where it would be now.”
“That doesn’t help,” Finnaeus snarled, raising a clawed hand.
“This might,” Jorbo said. “He has a package being delivered to Orgimmar by way of zeppelin in Grom’Gol. Should be moving out tomorrow.”
“What kind of package?”
“The only kind that satisfies his appetite,” Jorbo said. Finnaeus huffed in disgust. Another woman being sent to the greasy goblin? Gentyl would be beside herself.
“Tomorrow,” Finnaeus repeated.
“Yes, yes that I’m sure of. I had a few of my crew commissioned for the move. They were paid well.” Finnaeus considered this, and then released the goblin. He fell to the floor with a thunk.
With a sigh Finnaeus closed his eyes, and he regained his human form. The anger that swelled inside of him still burned, and he threw the pocket of gold off of the goblin’s head.
“Your payment,” he snarled. He muttered a few words, green light surrounding his hands, and the bloody gash on Jorbo’s chest closed, leaving behind a ragged scar.
“That’s the best healing you could do?” Jorbo asked, exasperated.
“No, but you pay for the quality you get,” Finnaeus said. “Tell no one about this.”
“I won’t,” Jorbo said. “Though you can forget about getting any information from me again.”
“Trust me, I won’t be. If it turns out that you’re leading me into a trap, or that you’ve given me false information, I will find you. And there won’t be anything stopping me from you from squeezing your neck so hard your last good eye pops.”
“Understood,” Jorbo said, his good eye glittering with malice. “You sure you’re supposed to be in Pia?”
“I didn’t kill you did I?” Finnaeus snarled back. “And I was true to my word on the gold. You got every piece you asked for. I’ll be just as true on my word if I don’t come back from Orgrimmar with Meshqa.”
“Very well,” Jorbo sneered, peering into the sack and checking to see if there is gold.
“Though I wouldn’t be sad to see your head posted on a pike in Orgrimmar.”
“I’ll see you soon,” Finnaeus said, and with that he strode out of the flat, everything in his mind focused on one singular mission.
Finding a way to sneak into Grom’Gol and then into Orgrimmar.
“Do not play word games with me,” Finnaeus said, his temper rising. “I’m giving you gold in good faith that you’ll give me usable information and your silence. It’s good money. You’re not returning the investment.”
“Then, perhaps you’re not offering the right amount,” Jorbo said, offering a crooked smile.
“After all, you pay for the quality you get.”
Finnaeus stared at the goblin. It happened before he knew it. He lunched forward, his entire body contorting and growing into the feral, worgen form that he usually hid from the world. The goblin jumped from his seat, his eyes widening with horror.
“You’re a bloody worgen,” he gasped. Finnaeus snarled and leapt forward, taking the goblin into one of his talons. With a roar he threw the goblin off of the wall. Jorbo bounced off like a ragdoll, coming to the ground. Blood trickled from a gash in his head. Without another moment’s hesitation, Finnaeus snatched him up again and flung him through the table. With a resounding crash, Jorbo split the table, splintering wood and sending debris into the air. Finnaeus stepped forward, reaching down and picking up the goblin by the throat. He lifted him, pressed him against the wall, and bared his teeth.
“Not…fair…business,” Jorbo gasped. “You didn’t…say…you were…worgen…”
“You didn’t ask,” Finnaeus snarled. “Now, tell me where is. You’ll tell me where Meshqa is right now, or I’m going to rip you open.”
“You wouldn’t,” Jorbo said. “You’re Pia, even though you’re not wearing the tabard right now. You wouldn’t do it. It wouldn’t be…honorable…”
Finnaeus lashed his claws across the goblin’s stomach, spurting blood. He shrieked with pain.
“Watch me,” Finnaeus said. “That was a flesh wound. Next time you won’t be so lucky.”
“Ok, ok,” Jorbo said, his good eye twitching about in fear. “Meshqa did make it through Ashenvale, and he made it to Orgrimmar. Your organization has no hope of reaching him there.”
“Orgrimmar,” Finnaeus repeated. “Where?”
“Surely you’re not going to assault Orgrimmar for a weasel of a goblin,” Jorbo said, eye raised. “If they found out it was on my information that an Alliance group attacked the capital-”
“This transaction is strictly private,” Finnaeus said. “Where in Orgrimmar?”
“That I don’t know,” Jorbo wheezed as Finnaeus tightened his grip on his throat. “I know he had a residence there in the past, I’m not sure where it would be now.”
“That doesn’t help,” Finnaeus snarled, raising a clawed hand.
“This might,” Jorbo said. “He has a package being delivered to Orgimmar by way of zeppelin in Grom’Gol. Should be moving out tomorrow.”
“What kind of package?”
“The only kind that satisfies his appetite,” Jorbo said. Finnaeus huffed in disgust. Another woman being sent to the greasy goblin? Gentyl would be beside herself.
“Tomorrow,” Finnaeus repeated.
“Yes, yes that I’m sure of. I had a few of my crew commissioned for the move. They were paid well.” Finnaeus considered this, and then released the goblin. He fell to the floor with a thunk.
With a sigh Finnaeus closed his eyes, and he regained his human form. The anger that swelled inside of him still burned, and he threw the pocket of gold off of the goblin’s head.
“Your payment,” he snarled. He muttered a few words, green light surrounding his hands, and the bloody gash on Jorbo’s chest closed, leaving behind a ragged scar.
“That’s the best healing you could do?” Jorbo asked, exasperated.
“No, but you pay for the quality you get,” Finnaeus said. “Tell no one about this.”
“I won’t,” Jorbo said. “Though you can forget about getting any information from me again.”
“Trust me, I won’t be. If it turns out that you’re leading me into a trap, or that you’ve given me false information, I will find you. And there won’t be anything stopping me from you from squeezing your neck so hard your last good eye pops.”
“Understood,” Jorbo said, his good eye glittering with malice. “You sure you’re supposed to be in Pia?”
“I didn’t kill you did I?” Finnaeus snarled back. “And I was true to my word on the gold. You got every piece you asked for. I’ll be just as true on my word if I don’t come back from Orgrimmar with Meshqa.”
“Very well,” Jorbo sneered, peering into the sack and checking to see if there is gold.
“Though I wouldn’t be sad to see your head posted on a pike in Orgrimmar.”
“I’ll see you soon,” Finnaeus said, and with that he strode out of the flat, everything in his mind focused on one singular mission.
Finding a way to sneak into Grom’Gol and then into Orgrimmar.
After a day and a half of monitoring Grom’Gol, Finnaeus finally saw the goblins arrive with the “package”. As soon as he saw her entering the encampment, he made his move to stow away on the zeppelin.
It took some creative maneuvering, but Finnaeus managed to secure himself a secluded spot in the cargo section of the Grom’Gol zeppelin. There had been a few close shaves – some of the orcish guards proved very persistent in their searches of the camp and the loading tower – but he successfully infiltrated the goblin transport.
That didn’t make the next phase of his mission any easier. The zeppelin rocked as it sputtered through the air, moving crates of armor and trade goods and forcing him to constantly readjust. He stayed stealthed, clinging to the shadows to avoid detection, but the motion made it that much more difficult. He wondered how the Horde adjusted to this kind of transport, but he concluded that there were a lot of things he would never understand about them.
The door to the cargo bay opened, and a few goblins came into view. Finnaeus crept backwards, deeper into the gloom. He heard the grunts of the goblins, the constant hum of the zeppelin’s engines, but above all other sounds one he heard above the rest – the soft sighs of a woman crying.
Finnaeus leaned forward, and he saw her. The sunlight streaming in through the door shone on her face, and he had to restrain himself from gasping. She looked extraordinarily like Faithe. The hair color, her eyes – save for a few proportional differences and a slightly longer nose, they could have been twins. The girl cried softly, her eyes downcast towards the floor. Her shoulders slumped as if under a heavy weight, and she barely managed to pick up her feet. The girl’s spirit was already broken. Finnaeus’s heart beat frantically, rage and sympathy mixing toxically into his system, threatening his ability to maintain his poise and focus. He wanted to pounce and slay them on the spot, but he needed this girl to find Meshqa. To rescue this girl would cure a symptom, but leave the disease untouched. He mastered his impulse, and he waited.
It took some creative maneuvering, but Finnaeus managed to secure himself a secluded spot in the cargo section of the Grom’Gol zeppelin. There had been a few close shaves – some of the orcish guards proved very persistent in their searches of the camp and the loading tower – but he successfully infiltrated the goblin transport.
That didn’t make the next phase of his mission any easier. The zeppelin rocked as it sputtered through the air, moving crates of armor and trade goods and forcing him to constantly readjust. He stayed stealthed, clinging to the shadows to avoid detection, but the motion made it that much more difficult. He wondered how the Horde adjusted to this kind of transport, but he concluded that there were a lot of things he would never understand about them.
The door to the cargo bay opened, and a few goblins came into view. Finnaeus crept backwards, deeper into the gloom. He heard the grunts of the goblins, the constant hum of the zeppelin’s engines, but above all other sounds one he heard above the rest – the soft sighs of a woman crying.
Finnaeus leaned forward, and he saw her. The sunlight streaming in through the door shone on her face, and he had to restrain himself from gasping. She looked extraordinarily like Faithe. The hair color, her eyes – save for a few proportional differences and a slightly longer nose, they could have been twins. The girl cried softly, her eyes downcast towards the floor. Her shoulders slumped as if under a heavy weight, and she barely managed to pick up her feet. The girl’s spirit was already broken. Finnaeus’s heart beat frantically, rage and sympathy mixing toxically into his system, threatening his ability to maintain his poise and focus. He wanted to pounce and slay them on the spot, but he needed this girl to find Meshqa. To rescue this girl would cure a symptom, but leave the disease untouched. He mastered his impulse, and he waited.
“Stop your snuffling,” one of the goblins muttered, shoving her so that she landed on her hands and knees. “You’ll never make it if you’re this weak. You think we’re bad? Wait until you meet Meshqa.”
“He’s gonna have his way,” another goblin muttered to her. The girl sobbed. “You look a lot like the Dove. He’s going to really like you.”
“We’d get more money if she wasn’t such a damned crybaby,” the first goblin said derisively. “Meshqa asked for strong-willed. The only strong thing about this woman is her tears.”
“Maybe we could toughen her up,” the second said, putting one spindly green finger on her cheek while his other hand rode down the back of the girl’s horribly frayed dress. “Get her nice and ready for Meshqa.”
The girl sobbed again.
“No time,” the first responded, though Finnaeus could see that hungry, greedy look in his eyes. “We have to get her in a crate. Meshqa may have paid off his Grom’Gol goons to keep quiet about his little trade, but not even he can pay off the whole of Orgrimmar to keep them quiet. He doesn’t want Hellscream to find out.”
“Why should the Warchief care about some soft pinky women,” the second goblin said, his hands still lingering on the girl’s body. “He doesn’t give a kodo’s !@# about anyone in the Alliance.”
“Because it’s not honorable,” the first hissed. “Profitable, maybe, but not honorable. Help me get her into the crate.”
Finnaeus watched as the goblins opened a large crate and ushered the girl in. He spotted the second goblin taking cheap and unnecessary grabs at the girl’s body as he did so, but still Finnaeus remained still. The horrible split of his wills tested his patience. On the one hand, he knew he could not interfere without jeopardizing finding Meshqa and driving him deeper into hiding. But on the other, the poor girl’s eyes screamed of her fright and embarrassment, simultaneously scared for her life and yet resigned to her fate. He would try and save her, that he promised himself, but the lives of countless other women, not to mention Faithe, rode on his shoulders. As the two goblins sealed the crate, the dissonance in his mind getting louder and more painful, he remembered back when he first joined the Silent Guard, and the words of Desmend coming back to haunt him:
“You must stay in the shadows. You will be tempted to leave them to assist a friend, to save an innocent, to protect someone. You must master this impulse, for your task is to watch and learn, to gain the vital information needed so that the Pia Presidium can combat the evils that it faces. Save for the Sepha herself, you must not interfere if it means jeopardizing the mission at hand. It is a horrible choice, and not everyone has the fortitude to do it.”
“There you go, wench,” the second goblin said with a horrible laugh, locking the crate from the outside. Finnaeus could hear the girl openly crying, the sound muffled by the wood. The goblins laughed and left the cargo bay, slamming the door shut and plunging it back in the darkness. The sounds of her crying twisted in Finnaeus’s heart like a knife.
But he remained still.
“He’s gonna have his way,” another goblin muttered to her. The girl sobbed. “You look a lot like the Dove. He’s going to really like you.”
“We’d get more money if she wasn’t such a damned crybaby,” the first goblin said derisively. “Meshqa asked for strong-willed. The only strong thing about this woman is her tears.”
“Maybe we could toughen her up,” the second said, putting one spindly green finger on her cheek while his other hand rode down the back of the girl’s horribly frayed dress. “Get her nice and ready for Meshqa.”
The girl sobbed again.
“No time,” the first responded, though Finnaeus could see that hungry, greedy look in his eyes. “We have to get her in a crate. Meshqa may have paid off his Grom’Gol goons to keep quiet about his little trade, but not even he can pay off the whole of Orgrimmar to keep them quiet. He doesn’t want Hellscream to find out.”
“Why should the Warchief care about some soft pinky women,” the second goblin said, his hands still lingering on the girl’s body. “He doesn’t give a kodo’s !@# about anyone in the Alliance.”
“Because it’s not honorable,” the first hissed. “Profitable, maybe, but not honorable. Help me get her into the crate.”
Finnaeus watched as the goblins opened a large crate and ushered the girl in. He spotted the second goblin taking cheap and unnecessary grabs at the girl’s body as he did so, but still Finnaeus remained still. The horrible split of his wills tested his patience. On the one hand, he knew he could not interfere without jeopardizing finding Meshqa and driving him deeper into hiding. But on the other, the poor girl’s eyes screamed of her fright and embarrassment, simultaneously scared for her life and yet resigned to her fate. He would try and save her, that he promised himself, but the lives of countless other women, not to mention Faithe, rode on his shoulders. As the two goblins sealed the crate, the dissonance in his mind getting louder and more painful, he remembered back when he first joined the Silent Guard, and the words of Desmend coming back to haunt him:
“You must stay in the shadows. You will be tempted to leave them to assist a friend, to save an innocent, to protect someone. You must master this impulse, for your task is to watch and learn, to gain the vital information needed so that the Pia Presidium can combat the evils that it faces. Save for the Sepha herself, you must not interfere if it means jeopardizing the mission at hand. It is a horrible choice, and not everyone has the fortitude to do it.”
“There you go, wench,” the second goblin said with a horrible laugh, locking the crate from the outside. Finnaeus could hear the girl openly crying, the sound muffled by the wood. The goblins laughed and left the cargo bay, slamming the door shut and plunging it back in the darkness. The sounds of her crying twisted in Finnaeus’s heart like a knife.
But he remained still.
(( Great Story Finn. I love character-internal conflict, for that is what makes them. Looking forward to more on this story.))
((That is awesome, Finn. I love the way you're working this story.))
((Credit goes to you for creating a great tale and letting me let loose in it. I'm close to posting the next part - hopefully I get the scouting part all caught up! It's been a blast!!))
((I'll get the conversation with Faithe and Finn up today.))
The zeppelin came to a lurching halt.
He couldn’t tell how long he had been on the zeppelin. The dark of the cargo bay kept the light from him, stopped him from marking how much time had passed. He stretched, his feline body working out the kinks from sitting in one place. Through the dark, his eyes made out the crate that held the young woman. She stopped crying a long time ago. Perhaps she fell into sleep.
The doors to the cargo bay swung open, filling the bay with blinding sunlight and a gust of dry heat. Two goblins came bustling into the bay. Finn moved behind one of the large crates next to him and watched.
“Quickly,” the first one hissed.
The goblins hitched ropes to the crate carrying the woman and started to drag it out of the bay. Finn could hear the girl gasp in surprise, but before long the crate disappeared and out of the bay. It was then that he realized his dilemma. He had to follow the crate. That much was certain, but how would he do that, escaping the zeppelin unseen, and then navigating the very heart of the Horde, Orgrimmar? The enormity of the task threatened to overwhelm him, but he kept his focus. The first challenge was getting out of the cargo bay.
Remaining stealthed, Finn leapt over one of the cartons and padded next to the door. Two large, thick looking orcs thundered into the cargo bay. They were speaking Orcish, the guttural sounds completely foreign to the druid, and when they passed by to handle one of the crates. Finn slipped past them, through doors of the bay, and then onto the main deck of the zeppelin.
Finn’s mouth went dry, and it had nothing to do with the dry, baking heat. The entirety of Orgrimmar sprawled before him from atop the tower, crawling and bustling with Horde. Above him, wyvern patrols screeched through the air. The contrast with Stormwind was remarkable – Stormwind was defensible but ultimately more warm and welcoming. Everything about Orgrimmar, from the metal plated towers to the constant sounds of metalworking and construction, indicated that the city existed if only to grow, and to battle.
A loud thud jolted Finn to his senses – he was terribly exposed here in the deck, even in stealth. He moved quickly, leaping from the deck of the zeppelin onto the tower, and then onto the nearby mesa. Deftly he turned, sneaking into the nearby bushes. He kept calm, trying to maintain a steadiness that would still his rapidly beating heart. Stealth and infiltration came to him well – after all, he was at one point squired to Desmend – but they had never actually attempted something of this magnitude in the middle of the day. Stealth could only take him so far, and the blazing desert sun would expose him if he wasn’t careful.
He watched as the peons unloaded the zeppelin. Finn scanned the area, searching for his two goblins and the package. He found them in the crowd, a Korkron guard opening the crate and peering in. For a wild moment Finn thought that this would be the end – the Korkron were extremely loyal to the Warchief and would halt anything they found suspicious – but the orc merely grunted and the crate was closed back up. There was disappointment there, but Finn knew it wouldn’t be that easy. And, more importantly, letting the goblins move unimpeded meant he could follow them to Meshqa.
Finn lost sight of the goblins – more cargo was unloaded and then loaded onto kodos, obscuring his view – and he knew he had to move. Dense as the brush was, it would not provide him cover for long. He needed to get into the valley, sticking to the rooftops and hiding in the shadows of the canyon. From his basic research into the area he knew the area was called the Drag, but the name meant little to him as long as he could remain in unseen. He looked up, wind riders overhead, and he knew he needed a diversion. He shifted out of his cat form, quickly uttered a spell, and then shifted back, stealthing again. Roots sprung out of the earth underneath one of the kodo beasts. It roared, stamping at the emerging overgrowth, and it thundered backwards into a stack of crates. Wooden boxes thundered down, some falling from Sky Tower itself. The guards rushed to stop the avalanche from getting worse. Finn seized the distraction – crouching low to the ground, he sprung from the bushes, took a couple of bounds, and then leaped blindly off of the Skytower. He hung in the air, wondering horribly if he misjudged the jump, but then he landed on the second level of shops in the Drag. Hugging the canyon wall, his legs and paws throbbing from the impact, he breathed a sigh of relief.
He couldn’t tell how long he had been on the zeppelin. The dark of the cargo bay kept the light from him, stopped him from marking how much time had passed. He stretched, his feline body working out the kinks from sitting in one place. Through the dark, his eyes made out the crate that held the young woman. She stopped crying a long time ago. Perhaps she fell into sleep.
The doors to the cargo bay swung open, filling the bay with blinding sunlight and a gust of dry heat. Two goblins came bustling into the bay. Finn moved behind one of the large crates next to him and watched.
“Quickly,” the first one hissed.
The goblins hitched ropes to the crate carrying the woman and started to drag it out of the bay. Finn could hear the girl gasp in surprise, but before long the crate disappeared and out of the bay. It was then that he realized his dilemma. He had to follow the crate. That much was certain, but how would he do that, escaping the zeppelin unseen, and then navigating the very heart of the Horde, Orgrimmar? The enormity of the task threatened to overwhelm him, but he kept his focus. The first challenge was getting out of the cargo bay.
Remaining stealthed, Finn leapt over one of the cartons and padded next to the door. Two large, thick looking orcs thundered into the cargo bay. They were speaking Orcish, the guttural sounds completely foreign to the druid, and when they passed by to handle one of the crates. Finn slipped past them, through doors of the bay, and then onto the main deck of the zeppelin.
Finn’s mouth went dry, and it had nothing to do with the dry, baking heat. The entirety of Orgrimmar sprawled before him from atop the tower, crawling and bustling with Horde. Above him, wyvern patrols screeched through the air. The contrast with Stormwind was remarkable – Stormwind was defensible but ultimately more warm and welcoming. Everything about Orgrimmar, from the metal plated towers to the constant sounds of metalworking and construction, indicated that the city existed if only to grow, and to battle.
A loud thud jolted Finn to his senses – he was terribly exposed here in the deck, even in stealth. He moved quickly, leaping from the deck of the zeppelin onto the tower, and then onto the nearby mesa. Deftly he turned, sneaking into the nearby bushes. He kept calm, trying to maintain a steadiness that would still his rapidly beating heart. Stealth and infiltration came to him well – after all, he was at one point squired to Desmend – but they had never actually attempted something of this magnitude in the middle of the day. Stealth could only take him so far, and the blazing desert sun would expose him if he wasn’t careful.
He watched as the peons unloaded the zeppelin. Finn scanned the area, searching for his two goblins and the package. He found them in the crowd, a Korkron guard opening the crate and peering in. For a wild moment Finn thought that this would be the end – the Korkron were extremely loyal to the Warchief and would halt anything they found suspicious – but the orc merely grunted and the crate was closed back up. There was disappointment there, but Finn knew it wouldn’t be that easy. And, more importantly, letting the goblins move unimpeded meant he could follow them to Meshqa.
Finn lost sight of the goblins – more cargo was unloaded and then loaded onto kodos, obscuring his view – and he knew he had to move. Dense as the brush was, it would not provide him cover for long. He needed to get into the valley, sticking to the rooftops and hiding in the shadows of the canyon. From his basic research into the area he knew the area was called the Drag, but the name meant little to him as long as he could remain in unseen. He looked up, wind riders overhead, and he knew he needed a diversion. He shifted out of his cat form, quickly uttered a spell, and then shifted back, stealthing again. Roots sprung out of the earth underneath one of the kodo beasts. It roared, stamping at the emerging overgrowth, and it thundered backwards into a stack of crates. Wooden boxes thundered down, some falling from Sky Tower itself. The guards rushed to stop the avalanche from getting worse. Finn seized the distraction – crouching low to the ground, he sprung from the bushes, took a couple of bounds, and then leaped blindly off of the Skytower. He hung in the air, wondering horribly if he misjudged the jump, but then he landed on the second level of shops in the Drag. Hugging the canyon wall, his legs and paws throbbing from the impact, he breathed a sigh of relief.
The yells of the orc guards carried through the canyon. Finn moved carefully from one shop roof to another, keeping to the shadows. A patrol of wolf riders ran through the Drag, kicking up dust. Just behind them, bumbling through the Drag, was a kodo procession. Each kodo dragged a huge platform on wheels, stocked with crates that came from the zeppelin. The two goblins that Finn followed perched on some of the boxes, carrying on as they moved through the city.
Finn leapt onto the next roof, landing on a piece of hide stretched over the opening. The hide, however, was not as strong as Finn thought, and it came undone from its posts. He slipped, landing on the ground, kicking up dust and making a racket. Cursing himself mentally, he scrambled from underneath and clawed his way up onto the next roof. He looked desperately down the Drag and saw that some orcs had noticed the canopy fall. Even the goblins were pointing.
So much for stealth, Finn thought to himself. The shop owner came out, cursing in Orcish and waving his hands at the fallen canopy. Finn sighed a breath of relief – the orc soldiers were laughing at the shop-keeper now – but he was running out of terrain to navigate. Eventually the shops came to an end, the road branching off into separate directions. From his research Finn knew that the darkened road led to the Shadow Cleft, deeper into the heart of the city. It would be nearly impossible to penetrate that deep in and escape – he didn’t even know if he could make it out from where he was now.
The caravan, however, moved right. In his head Finn imagined the layout of Orgrimmar. It was very different from how it looked on the crudely sketched map that he purchased from one of the goblins in Booty Bay, but if the generalities were true, they would be headed towards the section of the city leading to Azshara. That made sense to Finn, as it was widely known to the Alliance that the goblins used that portion of the city for their excavations in Azshara and to contribute to the Horde war effort. And the supplies coming from the zeppelin would be directed to that section of the city.
Finn dropped from the shop roofs and scrambled to the base of the Drag. He clung to the sides of the valley, knowing that the roads were perilous and he was dead as soon as someone spotted him. Prowling slow but steady along the cliffside, he watched as Horde members thundered past on their steeds. Every second that passed seemed tenser than the one before, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before someone spotted him. Too many moving people, too many things to avoid – eventually he would run out of space. But he still he moved, deftly avoiding guards, using the terrain and buildings to maintain his stealth. It seemed almost miraculous that he managed to get to the goblin section of the city without being caught.
It was just in time that he caught up with the kodo caravan. He spotted his two goblins heaving the crate into one of the nearby buildings. Finn scrambled, avoiding the bustling construction workers and followed his marks. They clumsily carried the crate upstairs – the girl must have been extremely bruised – and they finally reached a small flat that overlooked the construction areas. Finn waited until the two goblins left the flat before entering himself.
The crate stood in the middle of an oddly unornamented room. It seemed wrong that Meshqa would choose to live in such a bland and uninteresting space. More worrisome to Finn was the absence of the girl’s scent. Finn shifted into his human form, wrenched open the crate, and then cursed. Inside were machine parts. He rushed over to the window and saw the kodo caravan moving onwards, with a similar looking crate. They made a switch somewhere. He was duped.
Finn whirled around and saw a goblin and an orc standing at the doorway. The orc held a rather large axe. And the goblin, standing just behind the orc, had a smug smile on his face.
“Looks like the pinky got caught in the trap.”
((I'm Gen, I think I've got one more round of updates on the Orgrimmar section and I'll segue that into the conversation between Finn and Faithe. Thanks again for the RP opportunity and patience as I get everything up here!))
Finn leapt onto the next roof, landing on a piece of hide stretched over the opening. The hide, however, was not as strong as Finn thought, and it came undone from its posts. He slipped, landing on the ground, kicking up dust and making a racket. Cursing himself mentally, he scrambled from underneath and clawed his way up onto the next roof. He looked desperately down the Drag and saw that some orcs had noticed the canopy fall. Even the goblins were pointing.
So much for stealth, Finn thought to himself. The shop owner came out, cursing in Orcish and waving his hands at the fallen canopy. Finn sighed a breath of relief – the orc soldiers were laughing at the shop-keeper now – but he was running out of terrain to navigate. Eventually the shops came to an end, the road branching off into separate directions. From his research Finn knew that the darkened road led to the Shadow Cleft, deeper into the heart of the city. It would be nearly impossible to penetrate that deep in and escape – he didn’t even know if he could make it out from where he was now.
The caravan, however, moved right. In his head Finn imagined the layout of Orgrimmar. It was very different from how it looked on the crudely sketched map that he purchased from one of the goblins in Booty Bay, but if the generalities were true, they would be headed towards the section of the city leading to Azshara. That made sense to Finn, as it was widely known to the Alliance that the goblins used that portion of the city for their excavations in Azshara and to contribute to the Horde war effort. And the supplies coming from the zeppelin would be directed to that section of the city.
Finn dropped from the shop roofs and scrambled to the base of the Drag. He clung to the sides of the valley, knowing that the roads were perilous and he was dead as soon as someone spotted him. Prowling slow but steady along the cliffside, he watched as Horde members thundered past on their steeds. Every second that passed seemed tenser than the one before, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before someone spotted him. Too many moving people, too many things to avoid – eventually he would run out of space. But he still he moved, deftly avoiding guards, using the terrain and buildings to maintain his stealth. It seemed almost miraculous that he managed to get to the goblin section of the city without being caught.
It was just in time that he caught up with the kodo caravan. He spotted his two goblins heaving the crate into one of the nearby buildings. Finn scrambled, avoiding the bustling construction workers and followed his marks. They clumsily carried the crate upstairs – the girl must have been extremely bruised – and they finally reached a small flat that overlooked the construction areas. Finn waited until the two goblins left the flat before entering himself.
The crate stood in the middle of an oddly unornamented room. It seemed wrong that Meshqa would choose to live in such a bland and uninteresting space. More worrisome to Finn was the absence of the girl’s scent. Finn shifted into his human form, wrenched open the crate, and then cursed. Inside were machine parts. He rushed over to the window and saw the kodo caravan moving onwards, with a similar looking crate. They made a switch somewhere. He was duped.
Finn whirled around and saw a goblin and an orc standing at the doorway. The orc held a rather large axe. And the goblin, standing just behind the orc, had a smug smile on his face.
“Looks like the pinky got caught in the trap.”
((I'm Gen, I think I've got one more round of updates on the Orgrimmar section and I'll segue that into the conversation between Finn and Faithe. Thanks again for the RP opportunity and patience as I get everything up here!))
Finn’s mind reeled as he looked at the goblin and the orc. The orc entered the flat, the axe hanging from his hand, the blade looking almost hungry for blood. The greedy little goblin flexed his spindly fingers.
“Did you honestly think it would be that easy? That Meshqa was stupid enough not to suspect we’d be followed? You must think yourself real clever for sneaking here. As if we didn’t notice you in the Drag.”
“Then why not kill me then?” Finn asked, trying to buy some time. “Why not alert the Kor’kron?”
“Why involve the authorities when we have things well in hand?” the goblin asked. “We have you now. We’ll rip you open, chop off your head, and mail it to the same people who keep insisting that they’re smarter than Meshqa and will capture him. Maybe we’ll stuff a letter to his precious Dove in your mouth. Better his words come from one of her species than not, don’t you think? I wonder if the AAMS would question a severed head in a box.”
“You won’t have the opportunity,” Finn said calmly, belying his heart raging against his chest. He had to get out of here, without causing more of a stir. More to the point, he had to find the girl stuck in the crate. If she reached Meshqa without revealing his location, he would have gambled her life for nothing.
“Wrong answer,” the goblin snarled, and he uttered something in Orcish. The Orc guard charged at Finn, who contorted into his worgen form. The Orc, caught by surprise, swung the axe wildly. Finn dodged it, reached his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a powdery substance. He grabbed the orc by the throat and shoved the powder into his face, careful not to breathe in the residue that went in the air. The orc shoved Finn away, made to swing the axe again, and then fell to the ground.
“What?” the goblin shrieked. Before he could turn, Finn pounced and grabbed the goblin.
“Now, let’s see if we can get you talking,” Finn said.
“If Meshqa finds out I’ve been talking he’ll kill me,” the goblin pleaded.
“Too bad,” Finn said, holding up two fingers to the goblin’s eyes. “You know how your lot likes to gouge prices? That’s nothing compared to what I’m about to do to your eyeballs.”
“He’ll kill me,” the goblin repeated.
“And once your lot finds out that there’s a blind, crippled goblin who can’t make anymore money, how long before you become worg fodder?”
The goblin gulped and nodded.
“Did you honestly think it would be that easy? That Meshqa was stupid enough not to suspect we’d be followed? You must think yourself real clever for sneaking here. As if we didn’t notice you in the Drag.”
“Then why not kill me then?” Finn asked, trying to buy some time. “Why not alert the Kor’kron?”
“Why involve the authorities when we have things well in hand?” the goblin asked. “We have you now. We’ll rip you open, chop off your head, and mail it to the same people who keep insisting that they’re smarter than Meshqa and will capture him. Maybe we’ll stuff a letter to his precious Dove in your mouth. Better his words come from one of her species than not, don’t you think? I wonder if the AAMS would question a severed head in a box.”
“You won’t have the opportunity,” Finn said calmly, belying his heart raging against his chest. He had to get out of here, without causing more of a stir. More to the point, he had to find the girl stuck in the crate. If she reached Meshqa without revealing his location, he would have gambled her life for nothing.
“Wrong answer,” the goblin snarled, and he uttered something in Orcish. The Orc guard charged at Finn, who contorted into his worgen form. The Orc, caught by surprise, swung the axe wildly. Finn dodged it, reached his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a powdery substance. He grabbed the orc by the throat and shoved the powder into his face, careful not to breathe in the residue that went in the air. The orc shoved Finn away, made to swing the axe again, and then fell to the ground.
“What?” the goblin shrieked. Before he could turn, Finn pounced and grabbed the goblin.
“Now, let’s see if we can get you talking,” Finn said.
“If Meshqa finds out I’ve been talking he’ll kill me,” the goblin pleaded.
“Too bad,” Finn said, holding up two fingers to the goblin’s eyes. “You know how your lot likes to gouge prices? That’s nothing compared to what I’m about to do to your eyeballs.”
“He’ll kill me,” the goblin repeated.
“And once your lot finds out that there’s a blind, crippled goblin who can’t make anymore money, how long before you become worg fodder?”
The goblin gulped and nodded.
“You didn’t alert the Kor’kron when you knew you were followed because you didn’t want the Warchief investigating your import, did you?”
“He can’t know,” the goblin said . “Meshqa’s trying to keep Hellscream blind to his activities.”
“So how did you get the girl passed the inspections? I saw them checking the crates.”
“The orcs are stupid. We bait and switched them. That one we paid off. They have no idea we brought a girl into the city limits.”
“But why the bait and switch here? Surely not for my benefit.”
“To give the illusion that Meshqa is operating under Orgrimmar. All of the deliveries for him are sent to Orgrimmar. In case anyone is trying to find him – he knows he’s being chased. He wants to give the impression he’s operating in Orgrimmar in case someone is following him.”
“So that they’ll stop looking,” Finn snarled.
“Exactly,” the goblin said. “They’ll think he has the protection of the entirety of the Horde.”
“But to ship the girl all the way to Orgrimmar, just to redirect her,” Finn said. “She must be going somewhere nearby…”
But the goblin didn’t even need to answer. It was all so clear to Finn now. Meshqa’s plotting was genius. The girls would all be directed to Orgrimmar. His network would ensure their safe delivery to the strongest position of the Horde. He knew he had enemies in the Pia Presidium, knew that they would go to any lengths to bring him to justice. So he made his way towards Orgrimmar, planting the trail that led from Grom’Gol to Ashenvale to Orgrimmar. It also bolstered the security of his trade route. And then, at the last second, he would switch the delivery to his real location, knowing that anyone who was following would simply assume the trail would end in Orgrimmar. Any direct assault against the city would result in the loss of countless lives, and he would be no closer to being caught.
“They’re bringing the girl to Bilgewater, aren’t they,” Finn snarled. He tightened his grip on the girl.
“Perfectly positioned,” the goblin said.
This too expertly planned. Meshqa could operate in the confines of a city run by a race of runts that cared more about profit than ethics or honor. He could trade and sell girls as he saw fit, keep some for his own sordid amusement. He was right in a major Horde port, granting him easy access to customers. It was defensible, but if the heat was strong on him he could flee to Orgrimmar.
“The girls…how do you pick them out?”
“They have to be beautiful and strong willed,” the goblin said. “We get extra if they look like the Dove.”
Finn stared at the goblin. This was the break he was looking for, but he was almost afraid to believe it. Too many times did he think he was close and have the goblin slip through his fingers. But he was running out of time, and he knew he had to leave Orgrimmar quickly. The missing goblin and orc would not go unnoticed for long. He took another handful of powder out of his pocket.
“What is that?” the goblin asked, squirming.
“It’s a compound made from some of the various mushrooms of the world,” Finn said. “I would love to shred you to pieces for being the vile piece of filth that you are, but I need to cover my trail. But instead, you get to have this. It will knock you unconscious for an hour, and you’ll have no memory of the last five hours. No memory of me, no memory of giving me this information.”
“You won’t catch him,” the goblin said. “He’s too smart and too well protected.”
“We’ll see,” Finn said. He shoved the powder into the goblin’s face. After an involuntary twitch or two, the goblin slumped to the floor. Finn slumped against the wall – the immediate danger was gone for now, but he still had to get out of Orgrimmar. Exhaustion creeped over him again. The initial rush of success from finding out that Meshqa may be in Bilgewater faded, replaced by another set of daunting tasks before him. He would have to report to the Sepha what he found. And then, then he would have to ask the impossible from Faithe – he would have to ask her to relive her experience with Meshqa, so that he knew what to look for when he infiltrated Bilgewater. Hopefully in time to save the poor girl that was, currently consigned to a terrible fate.
Gathering himself, Finn peeked out the window. He could see the Orgrimmar gate to Azshara. If he was quick enough, he could disappear into the Azshara wilderness and rendez-vous with Alliance in Forest Song in neighboring Ashenvale. He could not afford to linger any longer in the Horde capital. The wind rider group flew overhead, in the opposite direction of Azshara. Finn launched himself out of the window and turned into a crow, flying as fast as he could. He reached the outer gate of Azshara, free from the gates, and he headed towards Forest Song. He flew as fast as he could – every second counted for the girl now moving headlong into Meshqa’s grasp.
“He can’t know,” the goblin said . “Meshqa’s trying to keep Hellscream blind to his activities.”
“So how did you get the girl passed the inspections? I saw them checking the crates.”
“The orcs are stupid. We bait and switched them. That one we paid off. They have no idea we brought a girl into the city limits.”
“But why the bait and switch here? Surely not for my benefit.”
“To give the illusion that Meshqa is operating under Orgrimmar. All of the deliveries for him are sent to Orgrimmar. In case anyone is trying to find him – he knows he’s being chased. He wants to give the impression he’s operating in Orgrimmar in case someone is following him.”
“So that they’ll stop looking,” Finn snarled.
“Exactly,” the goblin said. “They’ll think he has the protection of the entirety of the Horde.”
“But to ship the girl all the way to Orgrimmar, just to redirect her,” Finn said. “She must be going somewhere nearby…”
But the goblin didn’t even need to answer. It was all so clear to Finn now. Meshqa’s plotting was genius. The girls would all be directed to Orgrimmar. His network would ensure their safe delivery to the strongest position of the Horde. He knew he had enemies in the Pia Presidium, knew that they would go to any lengths to bring him to justice. So he made his way towards Orgrimmar, planting the trail that led from Grom’Gol to Ashenvale to Orgrimmar. It also bolstered the security of his trade route. And then, at the last second, he would switch the delivery to his real location, knowing that anyone who was following would simply assume the trail would end in Orgrimmar. Any direct assault against the city would result in the loss of countless lives, and he would be no closer to being caught.
“They’re bringing the girl to Bilgewater, aren’t they,” Finn snarled. He tightened his grip on the girl.
“Perfectly positioned,” the goblin said.
This too expertly planned. Meshqa could operate in the confines of a city run by a race of runts that cared more about profit than ethics or honor. He could trade and sell girls as he saw fit, keep some for his own sordid amusement. He was right in a major Horde port, granting him easy access to customers. It was defensible, but if the heat was strong on him he could flee to Orgrimmar.
“The girls…how do you pick them out?”
“They have to be beautiful and strong willed,” the goblin said. “We get extra if they look like the Dove.”
Finn stared at the goblin. This was the break he was looking for, but he was almost afraid to believe it. Too many times did he think he was close and have the goblin slip through his fingers. But he was running out of time, and he knew he had to leave Orgrimmar quickly. The missing goblin and orc would not go unnoticed for long. He took another handful of powder out of his pocket.
“What is that?” the goblin asked, squirming.
“It’s a compound made from some of the various mushrooms of the world,” Finn said. “I would love to shred you to pieces for being the vile piece of filth that you are, but I need to cover my trail. But instead, you get to have this. It will knock you unconscious for an hour, and you’ll have no memory of the last five hours. No memory of me, no memory of giving me this information.”
“You won’t catch him,” the goblin said. “He’s too smart and too well protected.”
“We’ll see,” Finn said. He shoved the powder into the goblin’s face. After an involuntary twitch or two, the goblin slumped to the floor. Finn slumped against the wall – the immediate danger was gone for now, but he still had to get out of Orgrimmar. Exhaustion creeped over him again. The initial rush of success from finding out that Meshqa may be in Bilgewater faded, replaced by another set of daunting tasks before him. He would have to report to the Sepha what he found. And then, then he would have to ask the impossible from Faithe – he would have to ask her to relive her experience with Meshqa, so that he knew what to look for when he infiltrated Bilgewater. Hopefully in time to save the poor girl that was, currently consigned to a terrible fate.
Gathering himself, Finn peeked out the window. He could see the Orgrimmar gate to Azshara. If he was quick enough, he could disappear into the Azshara wilderness and rendez-vous with Alliance in Forest Song in neighboring Ashenvale. He could not afford to linger any longer in the Horde capital. The wind rider group flew overhead, in the opposite direction of Azshara. Finn launched himself out of the window and turned into a crow, flying as fast as he could. He reached the outer gate of Azshara, free from the gates, and he headed towards Forest Song. He flew as fast as he could – every second counted for the girl now moving headlong into Meshqa’s grasp.
((Excellent, Finn. This is such a great addition. What makes it even more remarkable is I know you are playing this out in game and actually scouting these locations in person. Good job.))
Gentyl stood in the herb gardens, surveying the landscape. Most of the flowers were gone now. The pods emptied of seeds yawned wide and vacant. She reached down and broke off a husk that looked like a tiny, toothy mouth and absently ran her finger over it before crushing it in her hand.
"You have a report?'
Finn had approached her in the Recluse where she'd been enjoying a cup of tea. At the mention of report, she had to contain her haste. She longed to know everything he knew and as quickly as possible, but the tavern had ears and she had long ago learned to speak there if she wanted what she was saying repeated.
The druid gazed across the grounds as if he were scouting a battleground. In truth, he probably was. No place was safe these days. "I do. Where is Faithe?"
"In the tower. That's why I wanted to meet here. I didn't want to take a chance of her overhearing your report if there was bad news." She hesitated. "Of course, she barely comes out of her room since the last message. I have to force her to get out of the tower."
Finn nodded. "Good call. We need to keep guards on her, but she does need to be out. Meshqa needs to think he still has a chance to grab her."
"I'm not crazy about using her for bait."
"Nor am I, and she really isn't. We just need to make him think we're not completely holed up. We have to continue our lives."
Gentyl sat down on a bench in the center of the knot garden. "What did you find?"
"The package, as we suspected, was a young woman."
Gentyl's breath caught. "Was?"
"Was. I followed them to Ashenvale. There was a fight and the orcs killed the girl."
She broke off a dried branch and broke it into tiny pieces, throwing them one by one at a shadow on the path. "Why would they kill a valuable slave?'
"I got close enough to her to see her eyes. They were dead; her spirit broken. She was no longer of value to Meshqa and he had given her to the men."
"You said before he was collecting women who look like Faithe. Did she?"
Finn nodded. "Remarkably so. The same long, silver hair and bright blue eyes. There were some differences, but from a distance, they looked very similar."
"I hope Faithe doesn't find out. She will go insane if she thinks other women are being tortured in her place."
Finn stood up as it began to sprinkle. "Meshqa enjoys pain. I think that's why he's obsessed with Faithe. She didn't break. The fact remains, if he wasn't torturing her, he would be someone else anyway. That's not Faithe's fault."
Gentyl stood up and drew the hood of her cloak over her head. "You said earlier you need to talk to her."
"Yes, I need to know what happened to her. I need a complete description of Meshqa."
Gentyl lifted her face to the rain and felt the cool droplets wash away the trail dust. Would that something could wash away the darkness Meshqa had left in Faithe's heart. "I doubt she will tell you everything. She thinks she's to blame for it and therefore it's her burden to bear. However, she will most likely describe Meshqa. Light knows she's familiar with every inch of his tainted hide."
"You have a report?'
Finn had approached her in the Recluse where she'd been enjoying a cup of tea. At the mention of report, she had to contain her haste. She longed to know everything he knew and as quickly as possible, but the tavern had ears and she had long ago learned to speak there if she wanted what she was saying repeated.
The druid gazed across the grounds as if he were scouting a battleground. In truth, he probably was. No place was safe these days. "I do. Where is Faithe?"
"In the tower. That's why I wanted to meet here. I didn't want to take a chance of her overhearing your report if there was bad news." She hesitated. "Of course, she barely comes out of her room since the last message. I have to force her to get out of the tower."
Finn nodded. "Good call. We need to keep guards on her, but she does need to be out. Meshqa needs to think he still has a chance to grab her."
"I'm not crazy about using her for bait."
"Nor am I, and she really isn't. We just need to make him think we're not completely holed up. We have to continue our lives."
Gentyl sat down on a bench in the center of the knot garden. "What did you find?"
"The package, as we suspected, was a young woman."
Gentyl's breath caught. "Was?"
"Was. I followed them to Ashenvale. There was a fight and the orcs killed the girl."
She broke off a dried branch and broke it into tiny pieces, throwing them one by one at a shadow on the path. "Why would they kill a valuable slave?'
"I got close enough to her to see her eyes. They were dead; her spirit broken. She was no longer of value to Meshqa and he had given her to the men."
"You said before he was collecting women who look like Faithe. Did she?"
Finn nodded. "Remarkably so. The same long, silver hair and bright blue eyes. There were some differences, but from a distance, they looked very similar."
"I hope Faithe doesn't find out. She will go insane if she thinks other women are being tortured in her place."
Finn stood up as it began to sprinkle. "Meshqa enjoys pain. I think that's why he's obsessed with Faithe. She didn't break. The fact remains, if he wasn't torturing her, he would be someone else anyway. That's not Faithe's fault."
Gentyl stood up and drew the hood of her cloak over her head. "You said earlier you need to talk to her."
"Yes, I need to know what happened to her. I need a complete description of Meshqa."
Gentyl lifted her face to the rain and felt the cool droplets wash away the trail dust. Would that something could wash away the darkness Meshqa had left in Faithe's heart. "I doubt she will tell you everything. She thinks she's to blame for it and therefore it's her burden to bear. However, she will most likely describe Meshqa. Light knows she's familiar with every inch of his tainted hide."
The rain poured down Finn’s worgen face, but he didn’t care. His entire body quaked with a cold, steady rage that belied the utter exhaustion that threatened to overtake him. He stood on the roof of Mardenholde, his favorite place to collect his thoughts, but even this place brought him no solace. He watched as some of his Presidium colleagues took shelter from the rain, but he let weather beat down on him. In his hand he held a necklace. The thing was small, nothing but a trinket, but it felt heavy in his hand. He had just met with Gentyl, requesting a meeting with Faithe. It would be a terrible thing, asking her to relive her torment at the hands of Meshqa, but it was necessary if Finn was going to pinpoint where in Bilgewater the goblin was. Finn stared out, lightning now slashing across the sky. Thunder roared, but Finn did not flinch. The weather was nothing to the tempest in his heart.
Finnaeus returned to Azshara after a brief meeting with the Sepha. They discussed what he found, that he followed “a package” to Orgrimmar and he may have had Meshqa’s location. Predictably Gentyl was enthusiastic about the findings, but she cautioned optimism in how they moved forward. They couldn’t afford to strike at a defensible location like Bilgwater without being certain, and if they made their strike and missed the mark, they may never get a chance to hit Meshqa again.
And so Finnaeus resolved to get a visual confirmation on Meshqa and, specifically, where he operated. He did not know about the goblin’s features, but all he had to do was find the girl, the girl who bore a striking resemblance to Faithe. He lost a few days reporting to the Sepha, but protocol dictated that he report before taking further action. It was enough that he infiltrated Orgrimmar without first consulting leadership. He hastened back to Azshara, foolishly forsaking the assistance of his fellow Silent Guard. In the back of his mind he knew this was exactly the kind of opportunity to train Avier and Murek that he and Gentyl were looking for, but he couldn’t risk splitting his focus if it meant losing Meshqa, or the poor girl that Finnaeus left in the grasp of the goblin. Haste was necessary.
“But you were late,” Finnaeus growled himself, staring down at the necklace as if it levied the same accusation. “You didn’t make it in time.
There was no denying it. If there was one thing that Finnaeus never did, he never lied to himself. Reality, brutal and unforgiving as it was, could not be denied. He never shirked away from the truth, or responsibility, no matter how grievous or devastating. But he remembered being in the zeppelin, being able to save the poor girl, and not stirring for the sake of information. He promised himself, and silently to her, that he would come back and liberate her.
“Another broken promise,” Finnaeus snarled at himself, relishing how his words ripped a fresh would on his already raw and heavy heart.
It was in the middle of the day that Finnaeus arrived in Azshara. He flew overhead, obscured by the dense clouds of dust that the goblin excavations sent into the air. In the distance he could see Bilgewater Harbor, a bustling seaport crawling with goblins. An approach from the air wouldn’t be prudent, as the port itself was well defended. He would have to sneak in, but he had confidence that he could do it. If he could manage through Orgrimmar, Bilgewater would be easy. All he would have to do is –
Finnaeus returned to Azshara after a brief meeting with the Sepha. They discussed what he found, that he followed “a package” to Orgrimmar and he may have had Meshqa’s location. Predictably Gentyl was enthusiastic about the findings, but she cautioned optimism in how they moved forward. They couldn’t afford to strike at a defensible location like Bilgwater without being certain, and if they made their strike and missed the mark, they may never get a chance to hit Meshqa again.
And so Finnaeus resolved to get a visual confirmation on Meshqa and, specifically, where he operated. He did not know about the goblin’s features, but all he had to do was find the girl, the girl who bore a striking resemblance to Faithe. He lost a few days reporting to the Sepha, but protocol dictated that he report before taking further action. It was enough that he infiltrated Orgrimmar without first consulting leadership. He hastened back to Azshara, foolishly forsaking the assistance of his fellow Silent Guard. In the back of his mind he knew this was exactly the kind of opportunity to train Avier and Murek that he and Gentyl were looking for, but he couldn’t risk splitting his focus if it meant losing Meshqa, or the poor girl that Finnaeus left in the grasp of the goblin. Haste was necessary.
“But you were late,” Finnaeus growled himself, staring down at the necklace as if it levied the same accusation. “You didn’t make it in time.
There was no denying it. If there was one thing that Finnaeus never did, he never lied to himself. Reality, brutal and unforgiving as it was, could not be denied. He never shirked away from the truth, or responsibility, no matter how grievous or devastating. But he remembered being in the zeppelin, being able to save the poor girl, and not stirring for the sake of information. He promised himself, and silently to her, that he would come back and liberate her.
“Another broken promise,” Finnaeus snarled at himself, relishing how his words ripped a fresh would on his already raw and heavy heart.
It was in the middle of the day that Finnaeus arrived in Azshara. He flew overhead, obscured by the dense clouds of dust that the goblin excavations sent into the air. In the distance he could see Bilgewater Harbor, a bustling seaport crawling with goblins. An approach from the air wouldn’t be prudent, as the port itself was well defended. He would have to sneak in, but he had confidence that he could do it. If he could manage through Orgrimmar, Bilgewater would be easy. All he would have to do is –
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