World of Warcraft®

((Actually, I told you I would tell you when I had a meeting set up with Red Earth. I had a meeting set up with Abominus. I didn't realize they had contacted Red and she was going to be there also. Gen may avoid the question or refuse to answer, but she won't lie.

Vincent, no the courier had written down the words as Tenwit spoke them so you wouldn't have anything but a copy so to speak.))

The meeting had been for nothing. As Gentyl suspected, Red Earth was not the author of the letter. She also acted surprised when Gentyl had asked about the attack a few nights previous. The blood elf was unfamiliar, but someone had recognized the troll. He was Ishnu.

Red had stomped around, roaring and throwing her hands in the air as she bellowed into a hearthstone. Finally the explanation came. The pair were exploring Stormwind and were attacked. That was their story. Gentyl knew the truth. The elf had tried to mind control Tenwit and failed. The attack was not born of a mistake. There was nothing to be done for it. The two had tried to attack her and the Regent and had been dropped for their efforts. They returned a few times, but each time they were once again beaten until they finally decided the prize, whatever that may be, wasn't worth the effort.

When the Recluse at last settled, Gentyl dropped into her familiar chair and ordered a pot of tea. The Regent sat down across from her and ordered a plate of roast beef. For such a tiny gnome, he had a remarkable appetite.

Regent Tenwit was a study in nobility and gentle manners. He shifted the silverware until it was placed just so. His glass filled with expensive elven wine. He insisted the server bring the bread on a separate plate with fresh butter in uniform little squares.

Gentyl watched as he sliced the beef up with precise movements, like a surgeon performing a delicate operation.

"Why would they attack you," Gentyl asked as she dropped a bit of honey into her tea.

The Regent cocked a bushy eyebrow at her. "Why because I uncovered their devious plot, dear lady. They can't stand to have the light shed on their deals they make in the shadows like roaches scurrying about."

"I don't believe Red wrote that letter."

Taelanas quickly agreed with her.

Tenwit nodded and sliced into the beef again, this time with a bit more power and less finesse. It was almost as if he were stabbing at it. He then raised the bite to his mouth and smiled. "You've an uncommon affinity for the cow."

"I know her letters. I've received several of them over the years. That was not her style."

The gnome closed his eyes and sipped his wine. A smile of appreciation lit up his features and the small glimpse of irritation she had noted disappeared.

"Uncommon good wine," he said. "Tell me, Lady Gentyl, do you enjoy wine?"

"Occasionally. I prefer tea these days. And I am low born. Gentyl is sufficient."

He nodded. "Yes, I know."

She was lost in thought and didn't hear the Regent when he asked he server for some lemon.

"No matter," Tenwit said. "I think tonight is a good night for limes anyway."

The mention of limes made her think of the lemon in her bag and she dug it out, then sliced it into wedges. With one hand she squeezed a wedge into her tea and looked up to see Tenwit staring at her.

Taelanas burst out laughing.

The gnome huffed a bit and sucked on a lime. "I find limes are good for a man. They improve the romantic humours better than anything else I've found."

After a bit of small talk, Gentyl and the Pia Guards bid goodnight and strolled to the barracks.

She laid her armor aside and sank into her favorite chair. "He is an odd little man."

Taelanas poured ale for the Guards. "I don't trust him."

"Nor do I, really," Gentyl said, "but he hasn't done anything wrong aside from impugn your honor."

Taelanas grunted. That was enough for him.

Gentyl dug another lemon out and sliced it. "What was he prattling on about limes? What are humours?"

The men looked at each other. Finally, Surabar spoke up. "Humours are body fluids, Sepha."

"So he has lime flavored blood?'

They looked at each other again. This time no one spoke.

She looked around the hall in bewilderment. "What are romantic humours?"

Taelanas coughed and spoke at last. "He believes limes are aphrodisiacs, Sepha."

She blushed and looked at the Guards lounging in the hall. Each of them seemed to be studying their ale with great interest. "Oh. I think I'll retire now."

The report was short. The captors were still moving at a brisk pace. They had back-tracked a few times to throw off the trackers and that had bought them the time they needed to stay ahead of any assaults.

She pushed some coins over to the courier and settled back in her favorite chair. If ever there was a time to settle in with a keg of cherry grog, this seemed to be it, but she needed her wits about her.

She should be taking reports at the guild hall, but they had noticed signs of someone spying on them there and she didn't want to give anyone an opportunity to scout out the interior defenses. The Recluse would have to do.

She sat alone at the table and read through some reports, trying to make sense of where they were going. By this time, she'd decided Rua had Faithe. He was the only one who would be this determined.

People laughed and told stories at the table near the bar. Cyrus leaned back in his chair until it creaked from his weight.

She heard nothing. There was no movement or shadow to warn her. It was just a sudden rap on her head that sent her reeling. He was lightning fast when her senses cleared. His blades flashed at her so quickly all she could do was back away while she fumbled for her blade.

It was too little. He had knocked her out before she could defend herself. Cyrus and the others bounded over her toward the rogue.

Three times he came back. Each time they dropped him and yet he returned.

By now, she recognized him. He was the Grim Maw rogue who had attacked her after the troll maid had been attacked.

Icharis.

He was deadly and determined. In her heart Gentyl hoped honor would be satisfied, but she knew the truth. He would keep coming until his leaders called him off.

((You're right. Editted that part out.))

Thoroughly exhausted both mentally and physically, Meriste tossed her pack onto her bed and collapsed into a nearby chair. Between the search for the missing priestess and her assignments in the sweltering desert sands of Tanaris, she was testing the physical limits of her body. The dark, quiet solace of her room in the barracks embraced her, protecting her from the constant noise of the city. However, not even the comfort of her room could protect her from the assault of the pressing thoughts that invaded her mind.

There are too many things that need my attention. All of them are important. What is the best way to manage my time and skills? The tension is so thick here you could cut it with a knife. If only we could find and rescue Faithe before it is too late…

Meriste struck a match and held it to a candle in a lantern on her desk. The soft flame brightened the room with a warm, flickering glow. Turning her attention to a stack of papers on the desk, Meriste began to finger through the pages. The reports contained details about all recent events surrounding the Holy Guard, but she focused on details surrounding the search for Faithe.

From the Great Gate, the trail led to Vendetta Point. An embroided scrap of cloth, this time of a human, tauren, and flowers; more tracks leading north to the tauren camp Una’fe. At Una’fe, a discarded club was discovered, bloodied, with strands of silver hair. Meriste looked up from the papers with a grim expression. She has been injured. This isn’t good. She continued to read. Another embroidery at Una’fe, this time featuring mountains and pine trees. Tracks lead north through Hunter’s Hill over the High Road into the Stonetalon Mountains.

Meriste arose from the chair and paced around her room, considering the trail of evidence. It seems that Faithe is aware of each new step in her journey and is leaving us the pieces of cloth. The High Road intersects with the village of Malaka’jin. Perhaps this was Faithe’s next stop, and where I should continue our search. Meriste paused at the foot of the bed, observing She’ahu. The big cat was curled up, tail gently twitching and fierce golden eyes watching her calmly.

“Well, She’ahu? Ready for another venture into the wilds of Stonetalon?”

The cat merely yawned, turned away, and closed its eyes.

“Sleep first…I agree. But we set out for the High Road tomorrow.”

-----

She had been well prepared, and Stonetalon was familiar territory – but nothing about this journey was easy. The moon shone brightly in the cloudless night sky; the air was still. Meriste peered over the ledge overlooking Malaka’jin, observing its citizens moving about the village. She’ahu was further behind her, observing the High Road for any stray travelers that would seek to harm her. For the longest time she had watched, but it was time now to make a move.

Cautiously observing her environment, Meriste silently descended the slope. She slipped into the back of the village, entered an unoccupied tent, and began searching for evidence of Faithe. The ground beneath the tent was trampled with the footprints of many, but there was no evidence of a human presence. Meriste lifted the hides forming the back of the tent, looked to see if anyone was coming, and moved across the village to a smaller tent. This tent was different. The tent was surrounded by more footprints – including the small footprints of a human female. A ray of moonlight glinted off of a silvery strand of hair lying on a rug.

Faithe must have been held here, and these footprints mean that she was alive.

Searching the tent more thoroughly, Meriste discovered another embroidered cloth - an image of a fortified building hidden behind pine trees. Alterted to the sound of approaching footsteps and muffled talking, Meriste withdrew from the tent and ascended the rocky slope to her vantage point atop the ledge. She placed her pack on the ground and pulled out a map of the Stonetalon Mountains, placing her finger on the image of a fortress.

If Faithe’s indications are correct, then these tracks will lead me to Krom’gar Fortress – and a much more dangerous mission. For now, it is best for me to return to Stormwind, report these findings…and pray that Faithe is still alive.

((Argh. ><))

Cray had heard nothing about the meeting or the attack, so when alarms began to sound in Stormwind, he was taken by surprise. The Horde was attacking Stormwind?

"Where?" he demanded from a nearby guard as he left the bank in a hurry.

"Mage's Quarters," the guard answered, hurrying in that direction himself, "The Blue Recluse, I'm told."

Cray's eyes widened and he took off at a run. When he arrived, things seemed to be quieting down. He caught sight of some that he knew -- Cyrus, he recognized with some relief. And Sathrasa -- his usual disgust was replaced with the comfort of knowing she was a skilled fighter, his shoulder, which still bore scars, could attest to that. She told him what she knew as he continued to look around the room. He recognized a few more, including his fellow Holy Guard and Sepha Gentyl who fortunately appeared unharmed. And suddenly, the battle roared to life once more.

Most of the rest of the night was a blur -- fighting the Horde in the Recluse, arguing with Aeldgyth who stubbornly refused to compromise despite all that Gentyl had given the AAMS, joining Duessel in the fight against the lone Grim Maw rogue who appeared in the Recluse, and fighting with Cyrus and Ciellia about Ria, and learning the latest clues about Faithe's whereabouts.

One thing was clear -- there were only a few locations they could be going. Cray volunteered to arrange an expedition to Desolace. From there, they could travel north and hopefully find Faithe's captors enroute. Before they brought her to any further harm.

And before Gentyl was attacked again.

If the Sepha was right, and she seemed to be, that this entire war was being manipulated, there was only one thing to do.

"Win it, and win it swiftly." He'd said it several times over the course of the night, the phrase was becoming something of a mantra. He murmured it again as he mounted Gust outside of the Blue Recluse. First they would need rest. Then they would need supplies.

((If anyone wants to join in on this little expedition, let me know in-game. Since this whole idea was cooked up right before I want to bed last night, pretty much all the details are up in the air. I'll let you all know what's decided with a post on this thread later today!))

Kandri had heard of the fighting in Booty Bay and of those involved. She was a bit shocked of the Lluchduu Ocheliad defending Gentyl, though she still had plenty to learn about the people involved in the fighting. All she knew was that she felt she needed to help. Gentyl had been kind to her, even when the priestess was missing.

As Kandri left the Recluse that night she began plotting. Quietly murmuring, "Need offer help.." She knew this would upset her friend and that she might be followed. How else was Kandri going to show her friend that she could hold her own if conflict were to arise? But she had to offer help to Gentyl, she was a friend.

Listening in on the mad gnome, Lord Regent Tenwit of the Tenth Legion and his Practical Marico.

“We all knew that D’Amond would cast aside our findings as she casts aside the entire index of crimes the cow has executed on the Alliance. But this, this goes beyond the expected folly.”

Tenwit, theatrically, mocks Gentyl, “Thank you Regent Tenwit, let me take this to the enemy and see what they have to say about it. Certainly, given the weight I bear in diplomacy and the depth of trust I have in the great and kind and omniscient Red Earth, she will certainly tell all.”

Turning again to Marico, “Did she expect a confession!?”

“I can hear her now,” Tenwit mocks again, “You didn’t write this did you, sweetheart?”

“The cow says, ‘No! That’s not my grammar!’ And the maggot lord licks D’Amond’s cheek and she giggles. And the cow kicks her in the side of the head and she begs apology for having her head in the way. A rogue with the brand of the Ishnu stabs her in the kidney and she falls to her knees only to withdraw the knife and give it back to him, ‘You seem to have mislayed your knife, sweet friend.’ ”

Tenwit pours a cup of wine, drinks it, and pours another.

“I swear the maggot lord might have the best mind of the three of them, and his is half eaten.”

“Marico, remind me, do we not speak of a leader of a horde clan, fresh from killing an alliance field general out of combat, who traffics with known murderers, childnappers, eaters of our living and dead; the very same clan that attempted to end my life the night before D’Amond bears them gifts, and shares with them the intelligence that we, at great risk, possess. This woman is more horde than alliance! The act itself is the very definition of treason! Do you hear her agents? They speak more harshly upon the Ocheliad, among others of the alliance, than they do the Ishnu!”

What is this new vein running through the alliance? It’s as if they take great pride in their horde associations, they call them by pet names, it’s like they’re courting one another. This isn’t diplomacy, it’s servility. It makes me want to vomit. And then there is this AAMS institution, they are discussed to no end; I see them at war tables, in privy councils, they are f****** couriers! Every time I hear this Aeldgyth creature speak I just want to hold her face in a brazier.” Tenwit fashions his little hand to demonstrate the act, laboring as if she were really there, “Just for a moment or two.”

“Regent.” Marico interrupted.

“Yes, forgive me.” The gnome collects himself, as best he’s able, “I know that humans are pliable, but this reaches a new level. I understand she is a farmer’s daughter?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“That would explain her love of the bovine. And certainly, given the steps of her reason, she had no tutelage in cares of state or war. How in the hells does she get lifted? Oh, yes, a pretty face and a silver tongue. She’s much too short for my taste, what do you think, Marico?”

"I think she's pretty."

Tenwit grumbled.

“So, given this treasonous act by D’Amond, we should expect some unwelcome visitors. How do we look?”

“I think red is your color, Regent.”

“Not my appearance, Marico!” He throws a drained lemon at the Draenei. “How strong are we?”

“Well, what with your bills to Goldshire, the giant mirror, the dumbwaiter to get you to your chambers a’night, the new couch . . .”

“It’s a settee, you a**hole. Elven. The upholstery done in Teldrassil. It’s an expression of what we are, Marico. And I’m not talking about the state of our f****** ledger! You can talk to me about the ledger when you eat fewer than forty lamprey pies in a month. I mean my Guard, Marico, how strong is my guard!?”

Marico, as ever, unmoved by the halfling’s animation, “There is myself and Rinhold, sir. But I think he’s mad. They say he fights in the arena with two frying pans, screaming all sorts of bloody hell.”

“Frying pans. Screaming—screaming what?”

Marico gathers himself for a Rinhold impression, “'How ya’ like yer eggs! See what Rins a cookin’. That sort of thing.”

Tenwit stared at him a moment, expressionless. He walked to the vanity, impossibly tall for the gnome, he mounted a little footstool, the upholstery matching the settee. He straightened his new red satin vest.

“Don’t tell me you like the vest if you don’t like the vest, Marico.” Lifting his chin proudly, he cut a glance at Marico, “Do you like the vest?”

“Striking, sir.”

He smiled at the giant Draenei, “Let’s go conquer the world, shall we.”

*********

Distantly, as they walk down the hall, “. . .Regent, just what is bitumen?” To which the halfling replies, “. . . I have no f****** idea.” Followed by the booming, discordant laughter of a gnome and a draenei.

Jazzy feels the seething anger within her as she stalks off to her hidden bower. There are unseen hands in this, she is certain...but whose? Glancing at the footlocker next to her bed she stops...hesitating....with the merest germ of an idea she kneels on the floor and expertly disarms the three traps on the locker and undoes the simple lock.

Opening the chest she glances at the things on top....folders and vials of poison nestled in the large box. Carefully she moves several things aside and digs deep to the bottom. A small box resting against the back right corner...her eyes light up and she pulls it out.

Many years ago she had a difficult assignment...it was important to appear as someone other than herself...and still retain her core abilities. It was dangerous, however.....as it involved the use of a demonic rune. The tiny box contained a ring, enchanted to make the wearer assume the identity and power of another race, with all the abilities of a chosen field of study.

Jazzy fingered the ring and thought carefully...she would need the assistance of a warlock to complete the enchantment. The only one she knew and trusted...was a member of the AAMS. Due to the current circumstances, she hoped to convince him of the necessary discretion. Someone would have to handle the investigation here in Stormwind. The horde was about to get a new and powerful mage....

___________________________________________________________________________

(OOC- I plan on using my Blood elf mage Alviira as an undercover agent. If I can find the warlock who will help me with this enchantment and travel to Mulgore with me and do some digging in Tauren lands. I hope this does not sound too far fetched...Alviira has not gotten much play and she is an 85 with lots of acheivements, I need to get her out and rp!)

((The expedition is going to be taking place at 5 pm server on Sunday. We'll be starting in Theramore (of course, it is not a requirement to be there immediately at the onset, you can always join us during) and flying via flight point to the Cenarion Wildlands in Desolace. We'll begin our search there and travel north into Stonetalon Mountains. I have just as much idea what we will find as you do, so be prepared for anything.

Although no one from the Horde will know about this from me, if any of you want to be out searching for Faithe at the same time (or trying to prevent people from finding her in Stonetalon), I invite you to do so! This a the-more-the-merrier kind of event!))

Cinder still snorted and rolled her eyes every time the orcs surrounded her on their great worgs. The mount to her right reached over and sniffed of the horse as if sizing up for his next meal. The dash had been hard on the horse who wasn't used to traveling these distances. Horses spent most of their days grazing normally and Cinder was now spending her days scrambling to keep up with the worgs who seemed inexhaustible. Of course, at night then hunted with their masters and their bellies were always full. Cinder hadn't acquired a taste for meat yet. Nor did she wish to be the next meal, so she squealed and bit at the worg sizing her up.

Faithe wished she had half the fight of the little mare, but hope was fading fast.

Rua had found the tapestry. What was left of it now smouldered in the embers of last night's campfire. She had worked on it for a year, carefully planning out all the scenes in the different areas Papa had talked about hunting in when he was young. She had meticulously charted it out and then stitched the tapestry in the evenings after she finished working for Sepha.

They often sat by the fire at night discussing different areas and landscapes. Sepha was fascinated by sunsets and sunrises. Faithe seldom noticed the skies for studying the plants and flowers.

Had anyone found any of the clues she'd left? Was anyone even looking or did they already think she was dead?

She had managed to leave one last clue before Rua snatched the cloth away from her and threw it in the fire. her jaw still ached from where he had hit her. She had no doubt the side of her face was deeply bruised. She felt the swelling when she touched her face, but she refused to cry. Not yet.

The orc she had clubbed rode by and smiled at her, amused she was getting more punishment.

Faithe should have hit him harder.

Rua held his hand up and motioned for the scouts to ride ahead. Two scouts always loped out ahead of them. Two outriders fanned to the sides and the rest of the party stayed clustered around Faithe. They were so conditioned, they seldom spoke except at night when they told old war stories and laughed over hunts. Faithe was beginning to remember the words, but she still pretended not to understand.

Weapons. They come in all kinds.

Taelanas sunk into his rack after a long flight after a long shipboard passage. As he lay, letting sleeps warm embrace slowly take him, he ran over his latest report in his head.

Sehpa had seemed pleased with the proposed plan. Perhaps there was light at the end of the tunnel after all. Just to execute without alerting those who were... Undesirable.

That gnome, Halfwit.. Dimwit.... Nitwit... Tenwit! That's it... Damn rabble rouser.

At least everything else will be taken care of... Darnassus tomorrow....


Taelanas slept peacefully for the first time in recent weeks, hope soothing him, only time could tell if it was false hope though.

Her steel blue skin, painted with a pigment made of crushed black lotuses, was as dark as the midnight sky. Only her eyes shone like stars against the vast darkness. She wore a long, black cloak to cover her body and a dark hood to hide her face and horns. Swiftly and silently gliding high above the mountains on the back of the dark gyphon, she felt both powerful and invisible, a spectre in the vast silence of the night.

Earlier that day, Meriste had approached Cray and asked to borrow Gust, his gryphon. The powerful beast’s dark plumage and considerable strength was perfect for a reconnaissance mission into Krom’gar Fortress. She’ahu, she decided, would need to stay at the barracks this time. She had spent the whole day preparing – employing the services of a scribe to prepare the pigment, reviewing reports of each day’s findings, stocking basic first aid supplies, familiarizing herself with Gust in anticipation of a long flight - it was undoubtedly going to be the most dangerous thing she had ever done. She faced the mission with resolute determination.

Gently but firmly gripping Gust’s dusky coat of feathers, Meriste observed the trees and mountain slopes below. Hovering above the fortress, Meriste directed Gust to fly through the cover of the pine trees and hover above the ground in a small clearing behind the fortress. The gryphon’s muscular wings beat softly against the darkness, feathers stirring as they descended. When Gust had reached the clearing, Meriste gently dropped to the ground and removed a small bag of supplies. With a touch and a whispered command, Gust rose above the trees, hidden from view.

Her heart pounded and she felt the rush of adrenaline as she made her way behind the huts surrounding the fortress. A handful of guards patrolled the length of the perimeter; a few more sat around a fire in a clearing, drinking and having an animated conversation. Meriste paused, drinking in the details of her environment. The dusty ground was indented with the tracks of many creatures, but one trail of tracks stood out to her. This trail was formed from the tracks of many large beasts, indicating that a party had traveled in that direction. The tracks led to a small tent; Meriste followed them.

The tent had definitely been a holding area for Faithe. Another scrap of embroidered cloth was carefully tucked under the edge, almost completely hidden from view. A lake was depicted on the square of fabric. On the opposite side of the tent from where the scrap of cloth was hidden were remains of a small, hastily built fire. Meriste lifted the scorched wood from the ashes, discovering a large, charred piece of fabric. She pulled the fabric from the remains of the fire and looked it over carefully.

Now this is strange. This fabric has been burnt beyond recognition, but there are holes not made by flame. Holes were cut into this cloth. Meriste touched the surface of the fabric, tracing vague shapes on its surface. This was not a plain sheet of cloth, but the fire has marred any adornment beyond recognition. Picking up the embroidered scrap, Meriste made a rough fit against one of the holes in the cloth. Her heart sunk in her chest. No…they have destroyed her means of communicating with us! Rolling up the scrap and the remains of the larger piece of cloth, she tucked them into her bag.

All of a sudden, shouting was heard from outside. Meriste’s eyes grew wide.

They must have seen my hoofprints!

Heart pounding, Meriste quickly fled the tent, made her way back to the clearing, and called to Gust. As she leapt onto the gryphon’s back and took to the skies, she heard orcs shouting, crashing through the foliage into the clearing. An archer shot an arrow, and Meriste felt it whistle past her ear. Gust flew higher, wings beating forcefully against the air.

Meriste touched her ear gingerly, as if to make sure it was still there. That…was close. Flying over the fortress, she noticed a fresh trail of tracks leading north towards Ashenvale. Meriste pressed her face against Gust’s shoulders and whispered to the gryphon.

“Take us home, brave beast. I have you to thank for my life.”

Rua was large, even for an orc. His muscles bulged from relentless training. He was the very embodiment of power.

Faithe knew well how powerful he was and how brutal he could be. He had nearly beaten her to death last time. He hadn't beaten her so far. He'd tossed her around like a ragdoll after she clubbed her guard, but he'd only hit her twice. She knew it could have been much worse.

Stupid plan. If the splintered wood hadn't caught in her hair, she might have hit him hard enough to actually knock him out instead of just making him mad.

There had been a steady stream of orcs into the tent to stare at her. Almost every one had reached out to touch her hair. It fascinated them.

Three orc women came in and shooed away the latest group of visitors. Then some youths came in with buckets of water. One of them smiled shyly at her and patted her head. His mother laughed and chided him, saying something Faithe didn't fully understand. Forgot something so soon, foolish boy? The boy blushed and ducked out of the tent.

"Take off robes," the mother said.

"What?"

"Take off robes." She reached down and pulled her tunic off. Standing there, naked from the waist up, she frowned and looked at the other women as if unsure what to do next. "Take off robes," she repeated.

Faithe stood up and took the now filthy white robe that Surabar had made her off and handed it to the women. What did she want with it? It was far too small for her, or any orc save a small girl.

The woman smiled and nodded, then put her tunic back on. She then pointed to the breast band and underpants. "Take off."

Faithe reluctantly removed the rest of her clothes and stood naked before the three women.

They chattered excitedly among themselves and then reached out to touch her skin. Mother laughed. "They want to know—"

Faithe couldn't understand the rest. She frowned in confusion. "I don't understand."

Mother touched her hair and skin and then made a gagging sound and acted like she was vomiting.

Faithe said what she thought was the orc word for sick. "They want to know if I'm sick?"

Mother nodded with excitement.

"No, this is the way I was born."

The three women looked surprised. One of them whispered something to Mother. "Tarok says you white as winter moon. Come Winter Moon. We bathe."

One of the women pushed Faithe gently to her knees and then Poured warm water from a gourd over Faithe's head, letting the water fall in an empty bucket. Faithe shuddered involuntarily. She could imagine Rua coming in as she knelt down and lopping off her head into the bucket. Tarok then lathered her hair with a pine-scented soap and rubbed the soap into Faithe's scalp with strong, but gentle fingers. When she finished washing and rinsing Faithe's hair, she pulled out a wooden comb and drew it gently through the wet hair, trying not to tug at the tangles.

When Tarok was done she motioned to the pot of soap and the other buckets of warm water, then motioned like she was scrubbing her body. Faithe took the meaning and gratefully scoured her body with the soap-laden rag. The women laughed at her excitement, took of their clothes and began bathing also.

"Why are you doing this?" Faithe asked.

Mother cocked her head in puzzlement. "Because we like being clean. Mostly we bathe in the stream. Warm water feels good."

"No, why are you bathing me?"

"Ah. Rua wants you pretty. Maybe he marry you."

Faithe dropped the rag. "What?"

The other young woman scowled and hit Mother. Mother laughed. "Morg f***s Rua good every night. She wants to be his wife."

"I don't want to marry Rua," Faithe exclaimed.

"Don't want to be here either," Mother said. "Don't matter what you want I think."

((I'm debating who to make available for this - Zherron, who's already there [having discussed the possibility with Baridin and Gentyl prior to his saying "screw you guys, I'm going home" - he has no knowledge of the expedition or of any clues after being led into Malaka'jin with Jazzy and Baridin, but since it's a spot held by the Circle, he figures "safe!"], or Amendera, who's itching for a little action...I might start with Amendera, then move to Zherron once they reach the Desolace. Not quite sure yet. I accepted with both, just in case...I see I've missed a bit, been a little busy lately.))

Zherron landed in the small temple at Karnum's Glade at the heart of the Cenarion Wildlands, his thoughts warring with his conscience. After hiding out in the Moonglade, wary of the Ocheliad captain and any allies he might have in the Circle, Zherron flew south, into the Stonetalons, and was confronted by an angry Amendera at Windshear Hold.

"So, here is the mighty Packleader with his notions of duty," she had sneered at him.

"Don't test me, child, I am not --"

"Child? I wonder who that word best describes. Shouting at the paladin? Abandoning the search because you decided to go claw-to-hoof with a guy who works for one of the most powerful men in all Azeroth, and hiding out to salve your injured pride? That doesn't sound like the Zherron I followed out of Gilneas. It sounds like a hypocrite, a weak-minded coward, like Greymane or Crowley."

Zherron's face had purpled with rage. "How dare you..."

"Oh, come off it, man. You know I'm right. You've thought the same thing." Amendera had gazed at him evenly, her expression making her seem older than her years. "What's it to be, Eidan?" she had asked him, calling him by his true first name. It had surprised him to hear it from her...it made him think of Genevra, who was probably the first person in the short time he had struggled with his curse to see the man beneath the beast. "Will you abandon everything you believe in, everything you taught us, all for the sake of your ego?"

Zherron had nodded dumbly, unable to answer. He had run, leapt, and then shifted, flying not back to the Moonglade, but southward - into the Desolace. He, Baridin and Gentyl had looked over the maps and discussed the possibilities. This had been one of them. The kidnappers could still surprise them and turn northward, towards Ashenvale, or east back into the Barrens. Or hide out in the Stonetalons - the Krom'gar fortifications were quite extensive.

Too many unanswered questions.

Sitting down on the cool stone, Zherron closed his eyes and waited. The foremost thought in his head was that this could well be a lost cause. You're a fool, Eidan, he scolded himself, starting to think of himself more and more by that name again. Faithe could already be dead, and this was just a cruel joke by the kidnappers to give the searchers hope. But he remembered what he had said before to various people - he had a soft spot for those lost causes.

He smiled to himself. Perhaps history will remember me as a fool when I die - whether at Cyrus' hands or someone else's, I know not - but I hope they remember me as an honest fool...

reserved.

When they had finished bathing and dried off, Mother produced a white silk gown. She handed it to Faithe and motioned for her to put it on. Her robes were filthy, but they were hers and Surabar had made them for her. Faithe pointed back to her robes. "Please, let me keep my robes."

Mother shook her head. "Rua says new robe."

Faithe looked around at the women who were dressing again. If Rua wished something, so it would be. As friendly as the women had been, she could expect no help from them, so she gave up the argument and put on the silk robe. The fabric pooled around her feet like a pedestal. It had been tailored for someone much taller, but other than that it fit fairly well. Mother stepped outside the tent and said, "Come."

Rua followed her back in the tent when she returned. He nodded and smiled at the women, paying them each as they filed out.

Faithe stood resolute, hoping she exuded more confidence than she had. Rua smirked. "I told you never to return. Since you love our lands so much, you will stay."

Moments later, the tent filled with people. Six goblins, four orcs and three forsaken. The goblins were chattering with excitement, their eyes fairly gleaming.

Faithe frowned in confusion. Why would Rua invite them to a wedding? He hated goblins.

"Five gold," said one goblin after poking her all over and examining her teeth.

Faithe felt her knees go weak. She closed her eyes to try and regain her rapidly fading consciousness. It wasn't a wedding, it was an auction.

Rua snorted. "For five gold you get a feel. She speaks orcish and she's a healer. Plus be popular in *%@@* house."

"I'll kill myself first," she said.

One of the forsaken smiled. "It will just save me the trouble of killing you so I can turn you." He turned to Rua. "One thousand. I need healers."

Two of the goblins got into an argument and one of them pulled a knife on the other. "Take it outside!" Rua shouted. "You cut her and I'll use your guts to strangle you."

They stopped immediately and put away their knives.

Two taurens stepped into the tent after the fight. "Is she still for sale?" one asked.

Rua nodded and the bidding resumed.

A small goblin in a finely tailored suit offered the last bid. He nodded to the other goblin with him, a stocky-built man with a permanent scowl. The bodyguard reached inside his shirt and pulled out a bulging pouch. The suited goblin counted out a sizeable fortune to Rua and returned the remainder of the gold to his bodyguard. "Have her in the city unharmed in two days. Time is money and all that." He flicked a dismissive wave of his hand as he walked out the door. "Light weights."

After the last one had filed out, Rua motioned for her to follow. He led her to a mine at the back of the post. The air was cool and damp. Miners stopped working as they passed. Rua strode through the tunnels with that odd, rolling gate of his while Faithe lifted the hem of the robe to keep from tripping on it and picked her way carefully.

Rua stopped near some manacles bolted to the cavern wall. Faithe's eyes widened. "He said unharmed."

Rua raised an eyebrow and looked around. "Hmm?" His gaze settled on the manacles. "Oh, for lazy mine workers, not you. Not yet. I can give the money back if you have an accident."

One of Rua's men led a sheep down to where they were and quickly butchered it. Blood sprayed up the walls where he had cut its throat and puddled on the cave floor. Two others brought in armloads of wood and stacked it loosely. The smell of rotten meat overwhelmed the fresh blood and offal scent when two men carrying a litter with a bloated corpse on it. It had been an old woman before the animals got to her.

Rua motioned to the wood stacked on the floor and the men carefully rolled the body off. It started falling apart as it settled onto the wood. Faithe held her hand over her nose and looked away. One of the men scooped up the sheep guts and piled them on the corpse. They then set fire to the wood and Rua nudged Faithe ahead of him

"Your friends follow. Maybe no more after they find poor Faithe all dead and burned." Rua's laugh echoed through the tunnels. "Horrible orcs kill innocent girl."

"You're only going to start a war," Faithe said.

Rua laughed again. "No, I end war. Alliance have no business in our land. Red Earth was right. She just not killer enough."

If anyone found the body, they would come to the conclusion Rua hoped for. The search would be ended. There may be some strikes against horde, but they would be in retaliation, not to find her.

Faithe felt the robe trailing behind her, tugging at her steps. Her mind cast back to the beginning of this nightmare. She still didn't—"Do you know what happened to my parents?"

Rua turned and smiled. "You just now thinking of them? Papa orc died. I moved Malek to my uncle's house so he could take care of her. Malek good woman even if she did raise human child."

((OOC: I hope everyone's okay with this post -- it was the best way I could think of describe everything that happened.... y'know, in a way where we don't die as much as we did. It'd be a dull post if we were mostly unconscious for like the second half of it. :P))

Cray lay in his bunk in the barracks, his eyes wide open. He'd never been so tired and yet, unable to sleep. He'd tried to wash the dried blood off his face, but as exhausted as he was he hadn't the energy to remove it all. Despite all he'd been through, he could scarce remember a day where so much had gone wrong.

He and his companions had left Theramore and headed through the Barrens. In the Stonetalon Mountains, they acted on Cray's suspicions that the trail might be false and they headed into Desolace.

At Furien's Point, there was a brief struggle with the archaeologists before they were able to do much scouting. Meriste had found tracks -- a lot of them -- belonging to Worg's and Orcs. The depth implied heavy army. But there was no sign of a human or a horse -- and the tracks headed north.

And so they headed north again, into Ashenvale. Silverwind was the last place Faithe had been tracked to, so they headed there swiftly. The group was attacked by a number of guards -- many of whom they felled before fleeing. Attacking the place was not their intention, after all. Tracks led east -- worgs and a horse with a missing shoe. The tracks led to Splintertree Post.

As soon as they came in sight of the settlement, arrows were fired from it. Guards launched themselves into an attack, and so did the Alliance adventurers. At first Cray and his allies were repelled, but after a brief moment to regroup, they made another attempt.

The expedition charged through the gate. They were swarmed, the guards attacked. Blades swung, blasts of magic lit the sky. An axe swung near Cray's head, grazing the side of his forehead -- the blow was answered with Cray's axe being planted in the Orc's abdomen. He yanked his weapon free and kept running. From that point, and possibly due in part to his head wound, everything was chaos. He could hardly keep track of his own wounds. In the back of the settlement, he found himself surrounded and alone. He called upon the power of the Light, empowering the ground around him. It wasn't enough. It was then Keyesh seemed to appear from nowhere -- truly nowhere, as he had not traveled here with them -- to lend a hand.

Even that was not enough, but it allowed the two of them the chance to escape inside a mine, the entrance of which was not far away. Rose, Jacksen, and Jazzy were inside as well. The others Cray had lost track of in the fight. He could only pray to the Light that they had also survived. Jaszmin had gone deeper into the caverns, perhaps looking for another way out, but she returned moments later. The news was not good. A burned body, silver hair. Hair the color of Faithe's.

They had to escape, and hopefully find the others. They had to report to Sepha Gentyl in Stormwind. As soon as they emerged from the mine, the guards swarmed at them again. They ran, rather than even attempting to fight. Now they were more outnumbered than ever. It was a stroke of luck that everyone else seemed to be in one peace outside of the settlement. Rose summoned a portal to a Stormwind as quickly as she could, and everyone piled through it.

Gentyl took the news as well as could be expected when Jazzy, Baridin, and Cray told her. The entire meeting was, perhaps, more draining than anything else that had happened that day. Vanressa had sent word of the day's discoveries to Ishnu Por Ah. It seemed to be becoming clearer that a trap was being set. They would need to play along, and prepare for anything. War, trickery.... who knew what the next few days could bring?

Eventually, he hoped there would be sleep. But it did not seem as though that would come tonight.

"Sepha," Cray said. "We have news."

Judging from their expressions, it wasn't good news. "I see, what is it?" Her fingers clenched into fists in her lap.

"Not here," said Meriste.

The others nodded. They went outside and mounted their horses. Gentyl followed them to a small shop where the owner nodded at them and discreetly retired to his stockroom.

They described the trail and the fight. Jazzy stood in a corner, her head bowed. No one except Cray looked at her. They had all been crying.

Cray described the cave and the gruesome discovery. He handed her what was left of the tapestry.

Gentyl nodded and thanked everyone for their help. She took a step forward from where she had been leaning against the wall and fainted.

“Uhhgh…”

My head…it hurts. Meriste’s eyes blinked open and she gingerly touched her forehead, finding the texture of gauze and dried blood beneath her fingertips. The room seemed to spin around in a blurry haze before her eyes. She managed to make out the shape of her pack, resting on her desk beside the bed. My room...

She let her hand fall to her side, fingers brushing sleek black fur. She’ahu, resting her head on the side of the bed, peered up at Meriste with large golden eyes. Lifting her head, she placed both paws on the bed and gently nuzzled Meriste’s face, purring softly.

“She’ahu.”

Meriste closed her eyes and turned her face into the pillow, stroking the cat as she tried to remember what had happened.

The search party. It began in Theramore. She hadn’t agreed with Cray, but she respected his opinion. She believed strongly in the validity of the evidence found in Ashenvale, but traveled with the party all the same in hopes of finding out more about the orcs holding Faithe captive. They traveled by land and air north, through the southern Barrens, into the Stonetalon Mountains. From there, southwest into Desolace.

Furien’s Point. Blood elves had attacked when they attempted to gain information from the area. There were tracks, yes, many tracks – but none belonging to a horse. The tracks belonged to a large party of riding wolves. The indentations in the ground were numerous and heavy, leading off into the north. The wolves traveled quickly. Were these the same wolves? She couldn’t say for sure.

Silverwind Refuge. Refuge…an ill-befitting name for the once beautiful grove the orcs had so carelessly marred. A unit of guards attacked, fierce and relentless, but they managed to hold their ground. They had little time to re-examine the evidence, fleeing before more guards had a chance to come. The hoofprints of a horse which had lost a shoe were still prominent in the loamy soil, but there were fresh tracks leading into Silverwind as well. Riding wolves. Reinforcements.

They followed the tracks east, to Splintertree Post. When they arrived, the outpost was already under attack from the night elves. A fierce battle ensued, but Meriste struggled to remember it. A massive treant, crushing orcs beneath its gnarled fists. She’ahu, tearing flesh with her powerful jaws and razor sharp claws. Hit from behind with something blunt. Searing pain, then dark nothingness.

When she revived a few minutes later, the battle had progressed deeper into the outpost. She vaguely remembered being helped through a portal to Stormwind, trying to walk on faltering legs. Slowly making her way to the barracks. Then nothing.

A soft knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Come in."

Cray opened the door, stepped into the room, and sat in the chair by the desk.

"I see that you're awake."

"Sort of." Meriste gently rubbed her temple, looking around the room as if she were searching for something. "What day is it?"

"The search party returned last night. You seemed mostly okay, but then you blacked out on us. The doctor said that you have a mild concussion, but you will be all right."

Meriste attempted to smile, but it came out more as a grimace. "I guess that explains the terrible headache." Noting Cray's somber expression, she asked, "What's wrong?"

"While the battle was occurring, Jaszmin managed to search for evidence of Faithe."

Meriste sat up in the bed, listening intently. "What did she find?"

Cray frowned. "In a cavern in the back of Splintertree, she found a body, burned beyond all recognition. Human female...traces of silver hair."

"No..." Meriste's eyes grew wide, the color draining from her face. "...Sepha?"

"She is taking it as well as anyone could expect."

Meriste was silent for a few moments, thoughts swirling dizzily in her head. I can't...please tell me that we aren't too late... She covered her face with her hands. I should have been stronger. Is this my fault? If I had traveled to Splintertree from Silverwind that night...the orcs...what if my presence at Krom'gar alerted them, and they decided to kill her? She looked up at Cray. "Thank you for telling me."

Cray nodded. "You have done everything you could to find Faithe. The Holy Guard is proud to have you, Meriste. Don't forget that. Try to get some rest, okay?"

Meriste nodded, fighting the tears welling in her eyes. "I will."

Cray rose from the chair and exited the room. As the door closed with a soft click, a floodgate opened somewhere inside. Meriste turned her face into her pillow, sobbing until she fell asleep from exhaustion.