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Sulir finished packing the last crate. As soon as Grymmbror's bone mount had come back with out Grymm he had taken the pre-planed action. Pain, as she was called now, had been cloaked and a mage had opened a portal to the city set earlier. The artifacts found in the scarlet hold in Northrend where packed and now being shipped to a hidden location. Sulir had learned a great deal under the necromancer here. Enough to continue the project Grymm had set in motion. Sulir nodded to the mage who opened up a portal. Stepping through he was setting out to disappear. From with out the building no one would have seen the activity within. What ever fate had brought to Grymm, Sulir knew the Death Knight would overcome. The shadows still grew, Pia would feel its length grow over it.

The cell was underground, that was established. Though he had been brought in blindfolded, Grymm knew the downward steps and change in temperature gave him all the info he needed. The tog he was given to wear was enchanted to render his runic powers useless. It did not matter if he wore it or not, it was enchanted for presence, so he wore it. The cell had no light but none was needed for Grymm to see. Cyrus had planned well to hold Grymm. Never underestimating this Death Knight all of this was thought of. Not knowing who would react, or what form that reaction was, that is the part of the game always a challenge, and therefore a pleasure when it occurs.

By now Sulir and Vusin had enacted the parts of the plan when this action had been taken. Sulir would have cleared out the Ziggurat, had Pain taken to a new location, and archived the procedures learned over Pain's creation. Vusin would have given Gentyl the location of the five other woman who would be rescued. Sulir would be retired soon after the rescue by Vusin's hand. After being freed Grymm would arrange for Vusin to enjoy his eternal retirement. Pain would put the Holy Guard in crises by their own actions. Grymm smiled, an indulgence.

Now he knew Cyrus's tactics. Good to see the mechanics of his traps. How will he react when he realizes Grymm's own hand moving him all along. He will see it eventually. Certainly he will feel anger at being manipulated, perhaps he will again attempt to make contact and let Grymm know he is aware. Perhaps he will figure this out as Pia begins to feel Pain's power. After he is freed, and Grymm knew he would be, it will be time to play this board and continue to divert the ones involved in this game. Grymm sat and grinned.

Clarity.

Sometimes the voices of others clouded his thoughts, but not this time. He didn't remember how the conversation started, because details didn't stick in Lahkin's mind that way. Clouds and colors. Kordrion had been proposing a treaty between allies, and Finnaeus disagreed with how it was written. What Finnaeus said, and how Kordrion had reacted afterward, shone in Lahkin's mind like a beacon.

It had been growing among his order and allies lately--the discontent. Fear. Distrust. The turn-around-and-bite instinct, not caring if the person bitten was friend or foe. Kordrion and Erelyn often showed it, but now it was spreading. The orders of his superiors, Sepha and Taelanas, had become more jarring with it. Cyrus, of course, was always rampant with it, but now even more so. It fed on each other, and stuck in Lahkin's side like a knife.

And now he better understood why it was there. Under the pressure of the Horde, the Alliance had begun to cave inward. Instead of attacking the real threats, they attacked each other. In trying to look strong, they undermined the strength of those around them, rather than increasing it. I'm better. Pay attention to me. You know nothing. You never will.

That was no way to win a war.

Thou shalt seek to gain the respect of thy fellow man by proving thy noble worth. Using the skills and knowledge of others rather than dismissing them out right. Thou shalt remain loyal to thy brethren in the Order, and do thy best to assist them in all things. Trust in each other, teach each other. The tenets seemed so easy to follow in writing, but in practice, Lahkin was learning fast that wasn't the case.

Lahkin had believed if only a wiser, stronger person stepped up, things would turn out okay, but now he doubted. That was just what was causing the problem. Too many stepping up, not enough listening. They had all the wisdom they needed, if broken up between many different people instead of only one or two.

How to bring all that wisdom together?

How to bring his people, their allies, together?

That was the real question. And it wasn't going to be solved in any one person. They all had to change.

Finnaeus knew that he would be in trouble of Gentyl found him perched atop Mardenholde rather than attempting to rest. But he tried, and failed, to get some sleep. Instead, he settled for the next best thing. He meditated, and tried to clear his mind.

His conversation with Kordrion, Lahkin, and Erelyn remained fresh in his mind. They wanted unity, they wanted trust. They asked questions of him as students would ask a teacher. But he did not have answers for him. All he could do was venture his assumptions, and try to get them to see all points of view. To understand their allies so that they could better communicate. He promised them to try and bridge the gap in communication, to build better trust. To start Finnaeus offered his trust to Kordrion, though he barely knew him. If Finnaeus tried to teach them anything in that short conversation, it was that the only clear way forward was the one they cleared themselves. It would not appear for them.

It was a curious position to be in, a teacher. Erelyn had called him "Shan'do". Finnaeus never saw himself as such. He tried to live up to Gentyl's ideals, to execute the Silent Guard as Desmend would. He never imagined being in a position to help guide the minds of those younger than him. He did once - when his daughter Lydia was still...

Perhaps that was how he found himself requesting Erelyn to be his squire. Perhaps that was how he found himself speaking with the younger of the Pia and trying to impart some pieces of wisdom. Finnaeus felt the paternal instinct kicking in. Perhaps he yearned to get back to the man he once was, before the bite, before the worgen came to Gilneas, before his family was ripped from him.

His meditation worked. His mind became clear. He knew why sleep came uneasily, why he could not rest. Because it became apparent that he had grown to be far more than a soldier in Gentyl's Holy Guard. The Pia had become his second family, and he did not want to lose this one.

Raemas re-entered the common room, a rolled parchment in his hand as he approached Cyrus, who was again looking through an old book. The same one as before, as if he was memorizing or looking for something.

"Captain, if I may... I have a question..." Raemas started, clearly trying to choose his words carefully.

Cyrus looked him over once before closing the small book, tucking it into his armor. Without the hesitation Raemas showed, Cyrus responded, "Well, go on."

Raemas grimaced for a moment. "The latest prisoner... Grymmbror. Why didn't you just destroy him? Seems a little unecessary to keep him as a prsioner." He was keeping his distance from Cyrus, as it was no secret the Captain disliked being questioned. The surprise was when Cyrus merely stifled a sigh, regardling Raemas.

"I'd considered it, but I realized I had a chance for Gentyl to owe me. Grymm's a bartering chip right now, and when he needs to be traded off, he will be. Frankly, the Presidium owing us a favor is more valuable than some orc who doesn't know when he's bitten off more than he can chew," Cyrus said, rubbing his head as if the topic was causing his head to ache. "He'll learn his place, along with the rest of Modas, or we'll have to make a real example of him next time he needs to be dealt with."

Raemas nodded slightly, turning to leave, but stops. "Oh, and Captain... the prisoner's been mumbling about some... plan he has. I didn't catch any descriptions, but... he's definetly thinking up something."

Cyrus chuckles at that. "It's that orcish pride. Even when they're chained at the bottom of a dungeon, everything's still just as they planned."

Raemas can't help but show a little hidden humanity, sporting a grin before sweeping out of the common room.

Nisur and Tyrynna stood halfway up the stairs inside the Recluse, as they usually did. The place had been seeing more activity lately, and the return of many inactive individuals into the playing field made Tyrynna stand somewhat alert.

"Friend Tyr, what troubles you?"

"Nothing."

"I do not think so. Your eyes are as wide as an eagle's. You jump slightly when you see certain people come in the tavern. You actually pay attention to what Gentyl is doing and saying when she sits beneath us, rather then simply grumble under your breath, an--"

"NIS! Look, stop, it's just... Tim said he was going away for a while, OK? I might have to run things for our broken band."

"Yes, friend Tyr, there is much responsibility there. Yet, you are not alone! Some of our friends have returned, and Brenri... uh... even while she is somewhat insane at times... she has promised to be there for you, no?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. We might have to fight, you know."

"I know, especially with Modas being around again, and news of something more sinister that reaches beyond even them."

"The other people in here can take care of Modas, Nis. I mean we can help, but all of that business between Modas and Pillar in the past, that was Ehlina's concern."

"Friend Tyr, fighting the good fight and upholding the honor of the Alliance is and will always be our concern."

"Then I guess we better get ourselves ready to step out of our shadows again."

"Honor demands it. Our friends at the tables here shall not stand alone."

((removed for annoyance sake))

((Oops. You had no way of knowing this, but Pia's tower is invisible to non-members and highly warded due to Imperon's previous enchants on our old tower.

It could certainly be the other tower in Hearthglen.

A nice scene, none the less.))

((Very nice write up Nisur and thanks for the offer of help with turrick. We appreciate it.))

((grumble...Stupid magic. Thanks Gentyl...will edit accordingly.))

(( Foxria never does her logicals at the tower Tyrexus. Logicals require lots and lots of room, and sometimes a lot of books. ))

There was violence in the sky.
Blood was coming...if not now, then soon.
The shadow above the Bluff had come and gone, offering only a few circles overhead. It had been there before. It would be there again, but it would bring more. Soon, there would be lots more.

Haelolin returned to the tower, simply landing Haelifur in the middle of the training yard. There were a few familiar faces this evening. Good. Once she was heard, the word would spread like a plague. "Gather your strength like you gather food for the winter. Sleep with your weapon as you'd sleep with a lover. Know your will to fight like you know a voice of command. We leave for the barrens in three days. Bring hell with you."

She ascended as quickly as she'd landed, scattering debris and dust across the training grounds, leaving the faces behind to look upwards as what she'd said sunk in. A fight was brewing.

Malthaes sat at his desk, a single candle lit with a green flame that flickered with life though the air was still. He stared at the piece of parchment in front of him, wondering what to write but not in any particular hurry. News of Lord Grymm’s capture had reached his ears, even in Silvermoon. Naturally the Modas wanted him back, but to do so would have meant sacrificing the positions of Lord Grymm’s assets. At that thought he looked up and saw his own asset, the paladin girl chained once again to the walls. The fel runes glimmered in the darkness, and the girl twitched in her sleep. Every a few moments she would utter a terrified moan. Each time she did brought a smile to Malthaes’s ears. The nightmares would be real to her, even in sleep. He itched to drain her, to taste her fear, but to drain her now would probably kill her. No – her life was too important.

He turned his attention back to the parchment. According to the whispers, Lord Grymm remained in the hands of the Ocheliad, an Alliance group known more for their methods than their morals. Malthaes mined for as much information as he could get on the Draenei, and he came to the conclusion that the death knight could not be entrusted to make a fair deal. Certainly Malthaes was not reluctant to let the paladin girl return to Alliance hands – that was, after all, his plan – but he did wish to ensure Grymm’s return. It was vital to the Modas.

The girl uttered a soft gasp of fear, and a shiver of pleasure raced up his spine. He dipped his pen in crimson, and began to write.

Gentyl,

We have not yet had the pleasure of meeting, but rest assured I know all about you. I assume you value your time and attention as much as I do mine, and I will not idle with pleasantries. After all, the business we are to conduct is rather unpleasant.

I have recently come into possession of one of your paladin girls. I’m afraid I could not find it in me to learn her name, though I’ve seen many of her thoughts, and memories. A young girl, very enthusiastic about life and the Light. I will not lie – she has come unto severe harm – but she is still capable of being saved. And it is because of this that I write you.

The girl has served my purpose, and is now draining my resources in my attempts to keep her alive. I would have her die, but it also has reached me that you and your allies have come into possession of Lord Grymm, a comrade of mine. It would seem that a simple exchange of prisoners would be in order, and I wish for you to arrange the terms. After all, the Ocheliad that holds him are known to be duplicitous, and I am in no mood for shady dealings. You are bound by honor, and I can give to you a small modicum of trust.

Enclosed you’ll find some of the fine, golden hair that once sat atop our paladin’s head before I removed them. And if you’re very astute, you’ll have noticed that I have written this letter in the girl’s own blood. A very vivid red, is it not? I tell you this not to exaggerate the macabre or overstate the precarious position your student is in. These things are self-evident. But rest assured, if any treachery is involved in the negotiations for the release of these parties, the girl will die. And while you and yours shed your tears, I will not spare a single thought.

I look forward to hearing from you Gentyl – time is of the essence. I can keep your paladin safe for now, but time brings surprises, and Dreejin is hungry for a Presidium heart. You can send your response back with the imp that brought the letter. If you have slain him, simply utter the demonic phrase at the bottom of this message. It will summon him back – though I daresay if you’ve slain my imp then he will not be in pleasant spirits if you summon him again. Though I’m sure a champion of the Light such as yourself will have no problem taming him and giving him your response back? Keep him safe while you negotiate with the Ocheliad – and do not allow him near the livestock. Or small children. Both will be smoldering by the time you realize he is near.

Hope to hear from you soon, as does your paladin. She screams for you to save her when I drain her – do be a lamb and not disappoint her. I would hate delivering the crushing news that her Sepha could not do what was required.

-M

((Demonic phrase of summoning))

Malthaes reviewed the letter. In truth, Gentyl had no sway on the release of Lord Grymm – he was firmly in the hands of the Ocheliad. But this was a gamble that Malthaes was willing to make. He needed to protect his investment, and there were no assurances the Ocheliad could make that would allow him to trust them. Perhaps with Gentyl’s involvement, it would keep them on the straight and narrow. If it didn’t, then he could prove Gentyl a liar. A stain on her sure to be spotless honor.

An imp hopped onto the table, its small body wreathed with flickering fel flames. Malthaes looked at the imp.

“Piztal, ensure this is delivered to Gentyl D’Amond Turncutt of the Pia Presidium. Her organization is based in Hearthglen. They do not take well demonic visitors, and may slay you.”

Piztal snarled at the words, but Malthaes held up his hand.

“I have given them the words to resummon you should they do that. If they do not, then they will not be able to issue a response.”

Malthaes folded the letter and handed it to the imp. Piztal bowed, and then vanished in a flicker of flame. His eyes lingered on the spot where the imp once stood, but then they drifted to the girl. She twitched violently now, her eyes still closed, the nightmares torturing her. She whispered a name, her voice filled with terror and desperation.

“We shall see if she can save you,” Malthaes responded softly.

Malthaes waved his hand over the candle on his desk, and plunged the dungeon into darkness.

((This post takes place shortly after those posted by Tyrexus on page 3 of this thread.))

Mira knew she wasn’t supposed to fight. Not so soon after being hurt during a rescue mission. She knew, as a healer, that strenuous activity wasn’t a good idea. Yet, her sense of duty to the injured tugged at her. The battle was on in Tol Barad yet again, and Mira and her sister Meriste were making ready to join the fighting. The two were very close, and in battle as in so many other things, they were nearly inseparable. This, too, would be experienced together.

So it was that each of them made ready, preparing for the fight ahead of them.

Mira had learned the art of healing from the Elements, long before her people came to Azeroth, and her service with the Holy Guard had instilled in her a strong sense of duty to fellow Guards and to the Alliance. Mira hadn’t felt any pain in her ankle for quite some time, and now she was ready to fight once more.

Mira laid out her battle armor on her bed and checked it for any damage, then checked it again. Then she slipped it on, piece by piece. When she was done, she lifted her wooden shield from its rack by the door, satisfying herself that it, too, was ready. She slipped into its harness, its weight a comfort. She hung her hammer at her side, its pink and orange glow casting warm hues throughout the room. Then, Mira studied her reflection in the mirror -- dark grey overall, accented by maroon here and there and a dull cyan in other places. It was quite different from the robes Mira wore most of the time, and lent the shaman a dark, brooding air. It suited her some days -- and this was one of them. It sent a message to any enemies that she was ready to fight for friends, family, and the Alliance she held so dear.

The longest part of the trip to Tol Barad was the gryphon ride to Stormwind and the Tol Barad portal there. The gryphons bowed in unison to the two draenei as they dismounted. Mira could swear she heard one of the two say “Welcome”, scratchily, before they flew off to the flight master’s aerie for water and rest.

“Are you ready for this?” Meriste spoke in Draenic, as always. The hunter had her bow slung across her back and the nightsaber She’ahu stood at her side. Her armor, too, was dark; together, the two sisters would present an intimidating front to any enemy.

Mira nodded, adjusting her shield one last time. “I’ve heard the fighting is fierce today. Be ready. The Garrison is heavily contested, and the Horde fight well today.” Despite Mira’s longstanding dislike of the Horde -- especially its orcs and warlocks -- she did have great respect for them on the battlefield.

Meriste checked to see that her quiver was still full before slinging it across her back. “If anyone tries to hurt you, Mira, they’ll find themself full of arrows.” It was an old reassurance, passed often from hunter to shaman, but Mira never tired of it. She embraced her sister, some of the words of a traditional shaman’s blessing passing her lips.

“May the Wind be at your back, and Fire in your heart.”

Then, they stepped through.

Not long thereafter, Mira found herself engaged in a pitched battle for control of the Ironclad Garrison. Totems flared, the Elements lending Their power as the shaman worked feverishly to keep her fellow Guards fighting. The battle raged around them, spells flying through the air along with various projectiles. Hammers and swords rang as they crashed into armor, and various creatures scurried here and there on the battlefield as did their masters. Mira, knew she was a target, and so she was always careful to keep a fellow Guard between her and any enemies -- but they couldn’t hold back every attack. Mira could see Meriste on a small hill overlooking the battlefield, watching and waiting for any sign of enemy action. It was a comforting thing to know that her sister literally was watching over her.

It seemed to Mira that the ring of frost came out of nowhere. She never saw the mage that cast it, not until it was too late. The Guards around her were rendered immobile, encased in ice. They couldn’t move, couldn’t see. Mira realized that she was the target, and raised a hand to cast one of her few defensive spells -- but she found she couldn’t. She couldn’t even dispel its effect, and she watched in horror as a Forsaken marched toward her, his bony arm raised, something in his hand. He had a terrible look in his eyes -- and it was directed right at her. His hand started to come down, toward her face.

Then, she heard the shout. “No!” It was her sister’s voice. From behind the mage came the twang of a bow and the thunk of an arrow burying itself in the mage’s back. It was just enough -- the mage’s throw missed, and the ball shattered on her leg instead of her face, the noxious goo within bringing with it a searing pain. Mira collapsed, the world fading to nothing. The last thing she heard was the angry roar of a nightsaber, and the last thing she saw was a flash of black and grey fur.

She woke some time later in one of the first-aid tents near the battlefield. Whatever the stuff was, it had inflicted significant damage to her leg. Mira recognized it -- a foul, noxious weapon that she’d encountered once in her travels. It wasn’t fatal, but its effects would last for several days and cause intense pain with any movement. Mira would now have no choice but to keep her leg still or to find other ways to move without using her leg.

Unless she could get the antidote.

Mira sat up, gasping at the intense pain even this movement brought. She wrote upon a sheet of parchment a description of the substance, the antidote cream that would relieve her pain, a description of the Forsaken that had attacked her, and asked one of the camp messengers to see that Meriste of the Presidium received the message, and to tell her that it was urgent. Yet Mira could still hear the sounds of battle in the distance, and nurses rushed in and out of the tent to tend to the never-ending stream of wounded that were being brought from the battlefield. None of the Guard could be spared until the battle was over. Mira knew that as well as the messenger did, but the young boy -- a human -- bowed his head and assured Mira that he would see the message delivered.

Surely, her sister would know what to do.

Tyrexus, you should have left that. Just because you didn't find Fox's room doesn't mean you didn't find a room. Plus, with Daisy, Lahkin's little sister there, something like that would through the whole place in an uproar.

It's well written and adds a lot of tension. Please put it back up.

((Lahkin's little sister is probably back at home by that time, but there's still Croesan's daughter, plus some random NPC's kid. Keep it! It was fun reading.))

Now that he had attempted to procure a courier, Gruzzexl just needed to pen the letter they would be delivering.

And, so, he began to write.

"Dear".... no, that wasn't right. He crumpled up the parchment and began anew on a second sheaf.

"Ardam:

I write to you with the utmost respect and admiration."

Yes, now that was the perfect beginning.

"I have a message for you," Senjhylh said softly from a shadow.

Gentyl wheeled around taking stock of her surroundings. No one else was near save the elf. No one she could see anyway. "Let me guess. You're going to kill me."

Senjhylh rubbed her forehead. "Wait, this is not the first time you've told me that. And see? Still alive, aren't you."

Gentyl looked around, still not convinced it wasn't a trap. "Well, call me paranoid, but when people want to kill me, it makes me...cautious."

"This missive has been transferred onto me by the AAMS. You've nothing to worry about, but we do need a more quiet place. Don't worry, I know where you come from with that. But please, let's walk."

"All right. Lead on."

Senjhylh stopped near the fountain in front of the cathedral. "Is this all right?"

"Aye, at least they can give me last rights easily if nothing else."

"All right. I was instructed to deliver the message myself; I had to memorize the whole thing, can you believe! A good thing my memory's good." Senjhylh seemed extraordinarily pleased with herself. So much so, Gentyl had to smile at the exuberance.

Gentyl watched the young man approaching from the left. He looked a bit too nonchalant as he approached an apple tree where an old woman was stooped over picking up apples from the ground. He dashed in to grab an apple, but she was quicker than she looked an beat him over the head with her bag of apples. "Thief! Thief!" she croaked like a raucous crow. He threw his hands up to cover his head and dropped his ill-earned fruit. An apple a day might not keep the doctor away if she kept beating on him. He ducked down to grab the rolling apple only to be kicked by her as she swung the bag again. Gentyl could almost hear the woman's "humph" of triumph when the young man fled the scene of the great apple caper.

Her attention returned to the elf who pulled out a pouch filled with gold coins. She looked a bit flustered or even embarrassed when she handed it toward Gentyl. "But beforehand... here, for you. Came along with the message. You'll... erm, know why soon."

Gentyl didn't reach out to take the coins. She had learned long ago to ask exactly why someone was trying to give her something, especially money. "What is that for?"

"You'll see."

"No, I won't accept gold without knowing what it's for."
The elf sighed. "I guess I'd be just like--- wait... no. I wouldn't. In any case, the message." She cleared her throat. "Dearest Lady Gentyl. I hope that this missive finds you in good health. We have not been properly introduced as of yet. My name is Tyrexus Darkheart. We have actually met face to face a few times. They were uncomfortable moments. I actually tried very hard to find the Pia.."

Gentyl looked surprised. Who was looking for Pia now?

The elf continued. "... in one of my trips to Stormwind, but apparently you do not stand idly about. So I must apologize for my rash... decisions to get your attention. Although bathing the orphans in flames did get your attention quickly enough I must say. As well as urinating in the Cathedral. That one was not my idea. A mutual friend Dreejin prodded me into that one. However, it was all to meet you. "

"The fel?" Someone was attacking orphans and the cathedral to get their attention?

"One of your members has something that belongs to me. I want it back. I shall have it back." Senjhylh noticed Gentyl's irritation and held up her hand and let out a long sigh. "I know, I know... but it's not all of it. Wait a moment still. "When I was in the Cathedral, I thought asking you to wait so that possibly we could come to an understanding would have been beneficial to us both. However, I was unprepared for the lack of control that was shown by your minions. That is something I wasn't prepared for. I thought you ruled with a fist. Not a pillow. So now, this missive finds you. It is simply a request. Tell your people. Give me what is mine and I will not target you out. And here's why the gold...I will stop taking the eyes of children and widowing your women. But just in case, here's some coin. Buy yourself a nice funeral dress. You may be needing it in the very near future."

Gentyl didn't even try to stifle her laugh. Yet another death threat.

"Forever and faithfully Yours, Tyrexus Darkheart. Order through atrovcity, Peace through Fear." She folded up her note. "Here's the full content. I hope I didn't waste your time, dear."

"What do we have of his?"

Senjhylh produced a hand-rolled cigarette and lit it with an instaflame magic stick. She exhaled the smokes, forming circles in a very natural motion. "Well, it's clearly a date he's looking for."

"A date?" Gentyl took out a small jeweled dagger and cut an apple into quarters, offering some to the elf.

"Ah, thank you. Hadn't had breakfast yet. Timely!" She took them and munched happily.

Gentyl continued to ponder the insane message. "My people haven't taken a date from him surely."