World of Warcraft®

It was late in the morning when Drakehide awoke, with a splitting headache. On a normal morning, Drakehide would have been up almost at dawn, for sons of Rukh rarely if ever slept in. In was their way to be always prepared, always ready for battle. This, however, was not sleep that Drakehide had entered into by choice, in the first place - last night's drunken festivities, at the Wyvern's Tail Inn, seemed to have taken their toll.

Jagged stone and sand bit deeply into his...bare skin...? Drakehide blinked, and examined his person closely, and realized that he was completely naked. Except for his boots. No, those were still there. Everything else was probably back in the inn, and Drakehide was - ?

Where am I...?

He seemed to be in a ditch. A rocky ditch, near the Dranosh'ar Blockade just outside Orgrimmar. The heavily fortified position, surrounded by troops, siege engines, and command posts was so far oblivious to the son of Rukh's presence. Drakehide, with horror, ducked back down into the ditch, trying desperately to remember what he did last night. It was difficult, with his head hurting so badly. He'd probably slept wrong on it. Instead of a good pillow, the son of Rukh had roughed it out here, instead cradling his head on a - ?

Where had he gotten that axe? That massive axe? It looked like one he'd seen somewhere else, somewhere before...but not even Mok'Rukh carried such a massive axe in his own collection, or in the shrine to their clan's ancestors. Where had this axe come from...?

As Drakehide struggled to remember, a kaleidoscope of images ran through his head. A forsaken in robes, who he'd never met before, in his life, taunting him. Fehl and the bar in an uproar over his first name. Which, by the way, was STILL not Bronny. Velidraestel bawling into her knees. Akira running into the bar and screaming murder. Kagran, running while he still could. Tokaro, showering him with healing rain. Serolas, attempting to kiss the son of Rukh and instead vomiting all over his chest. Aminara, succeeding in kissing the son of Rukh, and...uh...kissing the son of Rukh. There was Protection Orc. Then a troll warlock, expressing undying affection to Tokaro, Cookie Lady, and...whoever that Forsaken fellow was. Sparkles, EVERYWHERE. And...Cookie Lady in an outfit that left little to the imagination...?

By Rukh's axe! What did I DO last night - ?

Drakehide ducked down into the ditch again as a patrol of Orc soldiers approached. He kept dead still and silent, waiting for them to pass by. He scrambled to hide the axe, as the sight of it would probably attract their attention. Holding his breath, he waited.

"A reward of 20,000 gold pieces, I heard," one of them chuckled to his two companions, "Though...I cannot be sure. Given the serious nature of his crimes, it could be higher. Much higher."

"Bah!" scowled one of the other orcs, "I hear the warchief is only offering the reward because he wants the scum alive. To kill, and scalp, himself. A damn disgrace to us all, a damn disgrace."

"A shame, I say," suggested the third, "Boy's father was a wise, wise shaman. Skilled leader, warrior and healer. Not sure what went wrong with the son."

"Well," the first shrugged, "The boy is a little on the 'pink' side. If you know what I mean..."

Drakehide's eyes widened. It almost sounded like they were talking about...no, that was impossible. His clan was known and much loved by the warchief. He had never given the warchief, or the Horde, any serious cause for offense.

What...did...I...do...?

"So, what's got Hellscream all worked up, anyway?" shrugged the second orc.

The third orc sighed, as they passed Drakehide's position, and shook his head. "Random acts of violence. Boisterous behaviour. That, and...well...it is somewhat improper for one to appear naked in front of the Warchief."

Drakehide's jaw dropped, as he glanced down at his naked person in horror. THIS was how he'd appeared before the Warchief - ? Of all people - ?

"That's not what I heard," the first orc interrupted.

That's a relief...

"I hear he urinated on the Warchief. In full view of the grunts, and council, and everything."

...WHAT?!?

"Yup," the first orc continued, "Probably would have killed the insolent whelp himself, for it. If the kid hadn't kicked ol' Hellscream in the shins and stolen his axe."

Drakehide glanced with horror at the axe next to him in the ditch. So THAT was where he'd seen it before...

"I know if I was him," the third orc finished, as they started to move out of hearing range, "I'd stay out of Grommash Hold for a long, long time. Probably out of Orgrimmar. Maybe even out of the Horde."

Drakehide's mind was racing. How had this happened? He had more sense than this! The last thing he remembered, he was in the tavern, with his friends. They had pranked him before, played games with him before, but nothing like this, ever! No, this time something had been different. There had been something sinister. Something twisted.

A sheet of parchment, whipping across the landscape, fell into the ditch, slapping Drakehide in the face. The warrior snarled, and pulled the parchment back from his face, examining it in irritation.

It was a wanted poster, for a Forsaken mage named Tyrexus, of the Modas il Toralar. Drakehide was about to shrug it off and toss the parchment away. Right now, after all, he had more problems than the Modas il Toralar to worry about - !

Just before he was about to throw the parchment away, the picture caught his attention.

It was the Forsaken he remembered. The Forsaken from the bar. Tyrexus.

THIS was the man responsible for the son of Rukh's naked state and exile.

"This..." Drakehide scowled to himself, picking up the warchief's axe, fire in his eyes, "This...means...WAR."

((So...Homeland enjoyed a time-old tradition of Truth and Dare last night, and it got WAY out of hand. The grand finale was so spectacular that I felt morally obliged to post it here for y'all to peruse. xD Enjoy!))

Oskor strolled into the Hall of the Brave ten minutes before his guard duty started, only to be overwhelmed by the chatter and laughter of the other grunts.

"--dancing naked in front of him, tiny thing just flipping and flopping like, I dunno, a sick worm or something."

"--All I heard was 'GLOOOOOOOOOORIOUS' an' a whole lotta giggling."

"--what happens we let 'em into the Horde..."

"--insane or drunk off his !@#, coulda been both."

After spending a moment trying to decipher some basic sense of what was going on, Oskor gave up. He grabbed one of the other grunts by a shoulder and steered him over into a corner.

"Th' Fel's everybody all worked up about?"

The grunt shrugged. "Some elf showed up in the Hold last night. Lotta rumors flyin' around."

"So wha' happened?"

"Well, Manslayer--" The grunt gave Oskor a wink. "--So, she says there was some sorta party goin' on. Lotta elves, couple'a trolls, some orcs, maybe. Got waaaaaay outta hand."

Oskor snorted. "Lemme guess. The Tail?"

The other orc nodded. "Always is, ain't it? Anyhow, she told me one of the elves started screamin' and hollerin' an' ran straight into the Hold. Naked."

Oskor shook his head. "We know who t' send the body to?"

"See, that's the problem. I heard he ran back out, piss flyin' everywhere. Disgusting. There's talk he might'a even got his hands on Gorehowl."

Oskor blinked. "No $%^-? Well, he won' be alive fer long den."

The two orcs shared a quiet chuckle, then Oskor asked: "Any idea who he is?"

The grunt shrugged. "He was yellin' somethin' about a guy named 'Rukh'. That ring any bells?"

Oskor grinned broadly. "Ahhh, yeah. He's crazy alright. Been tryin' t' convince someone t' drag him over t' Clinic fer a head examination, but y' know how dem Homelanders get."

Both orcs snorted in amusement, and they parted to head to their posts.

((Oskor, your response made my day. xD Not 100% sure what'll happen next, but I'll try and post in the next day or two. Things are a little crazy IRL over here.))

((Aww damn, now I wish I stuck around for a few more minutes instead of escaping to the land of the purples.))

((That wasd HILARIOUS. Looks like Sessie's idea didn't work. Man, I need to make her on this account...))

((Edit:))
((GLORIOUS.))

((Thankees! *le me takes a bow* I'll be updating this as soon as IRL calms down and I'm able to. ^^; After all, uh, Drake kind of has an axe to return...xD))

The responses to the Wanted ads had been staggering. It seemed like every member of the Horde and their mothers had turned up at the Hall of the Brave.

The number of indignant, wrongly-identified elves had been bad enough. Oskor's head was ringing from the curses and complaints they'd hurled at the grunts, as they'd struggled to cut their bonds and free them.

The bloody sack in the corner was the worst part, though. Oskor had lost count of the number of heads that had been brought in by the more zealous of the reward-seekers.

While the reward may have been for a living Drakehide, there were many amongst the Horde who had not taken kindly to an elf who had dared to have the audacity to even lay his hands upon the weapon that had played such a key role in winning the freedom of their people. And, worse, rumors were still flying around claiming the ingrate had stolen Gorehowl.

The clamoring at the doors was growing even louder. There were was a crowd outside demanding that the Kor'kron do something about this traitor, claiming that if justice was not served, they'd march on the Homeland longhouse.

Oskor agreed with most of the comments about the Homeland organization. He couldn't help but snicker at someone's description of how "if any of the worst of society fell into Horde waters, they'd inevitably wash up at the Homeland longhouse." Still, some of them were loyal members of the Horde, and, besides, Arjah would have his hide if he didn't do anything to help.

He strode out to address the crowd.

"We've got no leads yet, but we're doin' our damndest t' find th' elf. His behavior won' go unpunished, an' dat's a promise."

He ducked back inside, as the throng yelled their curses and complaints, carefully sidestepping the rotten vegetable matter that now covered the walk into the Hall.

((Edit: Hope you don't feel like I'm overreacting or going to hard on you, Drake. I'm just trying to think of what would realistically happen under these circumstances.))

Meanwhile, somewhere in the Northern Barrens...

* * *

Mok'Rukh stepped inside his home and let out a deep sigh. Something had the Crossroads all abuzz. He'd just returned after delivering a caravan of supplies, and exchanging goods from his farm and garden for provisions and tools that he would need for the coming season. He set a large satchel of seed and a second satchel of herbicides down near the door, and pulled a chair out, sitting down for a nice relaxing seat at the table.

Wife was still in the Crossroads, trying to figure out just what the blazes was going on. Mok'Rukh had headed home early, with most of the perishable goods in tow. It had been the strangest thing - there was talk about some crazy elf stealing Gorehowl, drunk and naked. The old orc chuckled and shook his head - whlie he'd dealt with the blood elves previously and called a few of them friends - kin, in the boy Drakehide's case - as a whole, he didn't have a lot of respect or time for them.

20,000 gold pieces, though...that was the sort of reward a fellow could retire on. Mok'Rukh was long past his prime, but perhaps he'd mention this to Drakehide sometime. If there was a crazy, naked, warchief-peeing-on elf roaming the countryside, bringing him in could be a good chance for Drakehide, not to mention the rest of Rukh's sons, to (finally) gain some real respect and recognition in the eyes of the Horde.

The recognition, though, really wasn't what interested Mok'Rukh most. Mok'Rukh, after all, was just a simple shaman now. And a father, to an adopted son who at moments was far more trouble than he was worth. The boy never wrote, he never hearthed, he'd hardly visited since he'd left those years ago, soldiering....

Anyway, with the reward money the boy would never have to work a day again in his life! Mok'Rukh could finally just smile, relax, and die without having to worry that the damned, foolish blood elf child he'd let into his home was going to run off and do something reckless -

- again?

There was a bundled-up item on the far side of the kitchen, leaning against a wall, wrapped in what looked like some sort of hide, or thick cloth. It was an odd shape - certainly too narrow to be cake, and too tall to be...well, cake. So, without a doubt, it wasn't cake. It was a strange shape, however. A very strange shape. A most curious shape...almost like...an axe...?

Mok'Rukh recalled with horror the stories that had flooded the Crossroads.

Oh, no...not again...

He scampered over to the bundle, old age and a bad back not withstanding, and plucked a small note off of where the package was all tied off.

Father,

Please do not be alarmed. I am keeping this here while I obtain armaments and supplies for my next journey. It would be most helpful if you did not mention to ANYONE that this is here.

Aka'Magosh,

- Drakehide, son of...uh, you.

P.S. Under no circumstances open this package.

The first thing, of course, that Mok'Rukh did was open the package. It was well and good that Drakehide was a soldier of the Horde, and that he was off having adventures, but the concerned parent in Mok'Rukh had to know. He stared with horror at the object before him. A familiar-looking object. One that he was fairly certain he'd seen somewhere before.

And suddenly, all of those rumors flying around made perfect sense.

Drakehide had done it again.

Mok'Rukh was not furious, as he would have been five or ten years ago. No, now he was concerned, fearful for Drakehide's life. His mind raced - who could he turn to for aid? Who could help him, and help his son? Who could PROTECT Drakehide from the Horde, and PROTECT the boy from the wrath of the warchief? Could anyone PROTECT them now...?

Then Mok'Rukh recalled something else he'd heard in the Crossroads. Something splendid - that nice Mister Bralox he'd met all those weeks ago had made his way into the AAMS, and as such had a certain amount of diplomatic immunity. Perhaps Mister Bralox, or "PROTECTION ORC" as the youngsters called him, would be able to help.

Mok'Rukh sat down, and set right away to composing a letter of his own.

Dear Mister Bralox,

I need your help.

- Mok'Rukh, son of Rukh

P.S. Will pay double if you bring cake.

((No worries at all, Oskor. xD I think this is bloody brilliant. And I'd be insane after posting something like this to think that Drake'd get away completely scot-free! :D ))

Scescyle moaned as she turned over. She looked aorund where she'd been imprisoned.

This, she thought, this will be the last time I try to help crazy nutjobs who throw out their dignity to protect their honour, also throwing out their honour in the process.

Her first plan was to mind-wipe the warcheif and the orcs who saw the dare in action. She'd come along-- she thought that Garrosh deserved to get urinated on with his axe stolen. What she didn't think of was that Drakehide only escape plan was to flee-- quite loudly as well.

He should've worn the Tiki Mask. He should have worn the Tiki Mask. It's ridiculous, but atleast no one would have been able to recognize him.

She wanted to tell him herself to wear that thing, but she couldn't-- Her vocal cords were damaged beyond repair and her telepathy couldn't get through to Drakehide. Now, looking back on everything, her methods for Soul Witchcraft didn't seem to work on orcs at all.

Well, what do you know, Drakehide's an orc afterall. Atleast enough for me not to be able to touch him.

She sighed and turned over, her stomach growling as she did. They'd given her food, but not the kind she could eat. Bread and meat didn't help her at all, and haven't been able to since she discovered Soul Witchcraft-- Which had lasting effects on both her body and her soul.

Well, looks like I'm going to die in here...

Or...

Just maybe...

not!

With the strength she had left, she pressed her hands to the ground and tried contacting Alana. She answered immediatly.

"Empress Scescyle! You're alive! And you've finally learned Telepathy! I'm so proud!" Alana exclaimed via telepathy.

Yes, Scescyle replied, I'm alive, but not for long if I don't get out of here. Help me.

"Right away, Milady!" Alana said, "I'll be there in no time at all!"

Scescyle sighed. Alana was often distracted. Sidetracked. Too many "Pretty boys" on the path to not talk to. So, by "No time at all", Alana meant "Days", possibly "Weeks".

Scescyle knew this. But she could hold on. As far as she knew, she didn't need to eat. However, the undead Soul Witches of her clans that she knew had died before becoming Soul Witches, so she had no one to compare to.

But Alana would be there sooner than Scescyle thought. She would be side-tracked, yes, distracted, yes, but sometimes, when she really needed it, she could have the best of luck.

Which was what many people needed at the moment.

((And this'll explain where Scescyle is while OOCly in Eversong leveling so she can show up on the Armory.))

It was three bells in the morning at Ratchet, and Drakehide had just finished for the second time going through his new arsenal.

Obsidian Bolts? Check.

Saronite Bombs? Check.

High-Powered Bolt Gun? Check.

Reinforced Bio-Optic Killshades? Check.

Drakehide took one last look at the small inventory he'd gathered before him, and smiled grimly. He'd left Gorehowl with Mok'Rukh, in the Northern Barrens. He had every intention of returning the axe, honorably, and answering for his crimes against the Horde. But...with that being said...Drakehide also had every intention of making at least two other individuals answer for his crimes as well.

At least Drakehide had something of an excuse. He's been drunk from shortly after the moment he'd stepped into the tavern. Ugh, what had been in that infernal drink...?

It did not matter. This was not the drink's fault. The drink had not dared a drunken son of Rukh to urinate on the warchief, or steal Gorehowl. The drink had not egged him on. The drink had not challenged his honor, called him a coward, insinuated that he didn't have the courage to follow through. No, the drink was most certainly not to blame.

For now, he would wander. He would find the two responsible for this, and he would put an end to them. Then - and only then - would he put himself at the mercy of the Horde and the Warchief, and accept his shame and dishonor with as much dignity as he could.

Tyrexus and Serolas were going to die.

((Scescyle, in retrospect I think I agree with you entirely. Drakehide should have listened to Tokaro better and wore the tiki mask. No one would know it was him who'd done all this, Drake would be able to return the axe, we could all go home happy...though, honestly, I'm having a blast with the RP direction that this has taken. xD Also, I enjoyed reading your entry. Scescyle, when she's been in the tavern, always seems like such a quiet character and it's interesting to learn a little bit more about her!))

((Just as a quick shout-out, a big thank-you to everyone who showed up and consoled Mok'Rukh last night. Keedriel, Kagran, Darkera, and Tekel, you good folks are awesome. Tekel, I'll be glad to attend the festival as long as nothing IRL comes up between now and then. Kag, sorry for foisting shamanly responsibilities on you. Keed, it was awesome having Mok'Rukh and Keed chatting again. Darkera, just after last night I may now after to put a big "NO TENTACLES ALLOWED" sign up on Mok'Rukh's lawn. xD Again, you guys are awesome, and thanks for the RP!))

((Oh, and...just because I think this should be said...the moral of this story is that friends don't let friends drink and play "Truth or Dare". xD I also agree with Kagran - we DEFINITELY need to put a firm set of rules in place when we do play "Truth or Dare" so that our little tavern events don't spiral quite so badly out of control. ^^; Again, I'm having a blast with this RP, but...yeah, we definitely need to set limits for our drunken tavern games. xD))

((PS, Tyrexus and Serolas, I love you guys. xD Drake's going to do his utmost to f---ing KILL you, but I think you're both awesome characters piloted by awesomer RPers. ^^ ))

((PPS, axe will IC be returned right shortly. ^^; There is a plan.))

There would be cake. Lots of cake. Meat cake, regular cake, Dirt caked to his boots, and of course, more cake. He had gotten the letter from Mok'ruhk on his way through Moonglade after the meeting, and had come as quick;y as possible. He knocked on the door, hefting his many pastry filled packages, awaiting the door to open.

'...No. That sounds far too ridiculous to be true.' Fernand sat amongst a group of Forsaken in Brill's tavern, a bowl of wet, glistening mushrooms sitting untouched in the middle of the table.

'Tyrexus told me hisself! Apparently he's the one that tricked the drunken elf into pullin' it off...or at least, pullin' it out. An' I did a little travellin' of me own. Sure enough, that orc be missin' an axe an' a pup.'

Fernand smiled dryly. 'It certainly does sound like the kind of mischief Master Darkheart likes to stir. The kind where some foolish innocent ends up being decapitated. How has our illustrious Warchief responded?'

'Nothin' too imaginative, mate. Tryin' to sprinkle a cash reward around for the elf's head on a fancy pike.' The Forsaken, a destitute outhouse 'serviceman' in life, picked up a mushroom and popped it into his mouth, which was noticeably missing a few teeth. '20, 000 g's, they say.'

Fernand leant back in his chair. The amount wasn't terribly impressive. But considering how much time it would take for a group of Toralites to capture and drag an elf kicking and screaming before the Warchief, it seemed like fair recompense. 'Interesting. I shall mention this to Master Darkheart, and the Modas il Toralar. I daresay a spot of hunting will be rather enjoyable.'

((This is supposed to be in Alana's POV, but for some reason she doesn't show up on my characters list. Grrr... Blizz.))

Alana turned and turned and turned again. She felt so useless-- She was in some huge Orc/Troll/Tauren/Forsaken/Blood elf/Goblin capital city (Though mostly Orc/Troll/Goblin) and she couldn't find her way around the place. She opened her map. The Wyvern's tail was here (She'd decided it was her favorite place in the city. So, so many cute boys, atleast compared to the rest of the place), Whaddayacallit Hold was over there, little flying boy with baloons was exiting the atmosphere... Where was the Empress?

What the heck? I found cute boys before the I find the Empress. THAT'S new.

She looked around. Walking in a random direction, she eventually found a small series of cages. There were about eight of them (Which gave her creeps), and in the last one was Empress Scescyle Bloodscorn.

"Sessie!" Alana exclaimed, "there you are!"

Scescyle looked up, shocked to see Alana so soon. She'd guessed that Alana would've taken at the very least three more days before she got here.

You're already here. Scescyle responded, Well done. You didn't get distracted.

"Actually..." Alana responded, remembering her argument with the orc in the tavern, "I did get distracted..."

By whom, may I ask?

"Okay, so there was a cute boy in the tavern, and I was like 'Hey, what's your name?' But it turned out it was Akira so I asked about Drakehide then this orc said something really racist and--"

Drakehide is an orc.

"What are you talking about? I thought he was a blood elf!"

He is an orc.

"Oh, great, tha-- wait. The orc said he was an elf."

So he seems.

"I don't get it; He's an orc that looks like elf? How does that work?"

He was raised by orcs.

"But that wouldn't make him an orc."

Apparently, it did.

"If he's an orc my clan isn't Silverscythe-- And it is!"

Our soul magic doesn't work on orcs. Nor did it work on Drakehide. Hence, I know that he is an orc.

"WHAT? Why did you not tell me this sooner! No wonder I couldn't possess Leiyata!"

I figured it out a few days ago.

"Oh, of course. 'I didn't know this much about my soul magic and I'm the Empress of the Fireflight Soul Society!'"

"I can't walk ten feet without flirting and I'm the Princess of the Silverscythe clan!"

"Tou'che."

Now, help me!

"Okay, okay, sheesh."

Alana tried to pick the lock of the cage. When she grew tired of that, she took out her scythe and broke the lock, creating a loud chime noise.

Alana, give me that, and do what you do best! I have a plan.

"What is it that I do best?"

Scescyle facepalmed as Alana handed her her namesake.

BE SEXY.

"Oh, I can do that!"

((And Drake, when Sessie figures out who Serolas is related to, she will stop at nothing to keep you from killing'im. ;) ))

((@Bralox, next time I'm online at the same time as you I'll have Mok'Rukh meet up with Bralox and drop off some letters. The axe is already in transit, as it turns out, and I'll make a post on that shortly. Mok'Rukh will still LOVE cake, and still has a few deliveries to make both Horde and Ally-side.))

((@Argustus...oh gawd, what have I gotten myself INTO?!? xD With that being said, after Drake's failed attempt to sabotage Modas' slaving ring, I should have expected poetic justice/hubris to come along sooner or later. ^^; ))

((@Sessie, no worries at all, Sessie. ^^; I don't actually OOC intend for Drakehide to kill anyone. I can see there being a VERY comic exchange of dialogue next time he meets Serolas, and probably a mad chase, and then they'll end up in a tavern with Cactus Cider and everything will be good between them again. ))

((@Tyrexus, honestly, I'm not sure what'll happen when Drake and Tyrexus ever meet again. I'd say the same comic chase and dialogue exchange as in the above scenario, but...OOC I'm afraid of what Tyrexus is going to DO to him. xD))

((Back @Scescyle, again, I'm really enjoying reading more about Scescyle as a character, but I had a few questions about your previous post. Please PM me in-game, if you're able, or alternatively I might just have AkiraTyr pass on a question or two.))

((Based on Bralox's post may have to slightly alter temporal continuity on this one. In-game, continuity based on the above posts and what we've RP'ed so far is that A. Yesterday Mok'Rukh sent the message to Bralox, B. Yesterday Mok'Rukh entertained house guests, C. Bralox shows up at the door, D. Drakehide goes to Ratchet, and E. Drakehide and Keedriel send the axe back. I'm gonna propose that we swap out D and E with C, so that by the time Bralox arrives the axe has already been sent ahead. Just wanted to post this in case anyone got confuzzled. Huzzah for temporal mechanics!))

Mok'Rukh was bewildered. One moment, Drakehide had shown up with that nice Keedriel Boughstrider lad. Drakehide had burst into the hut and grabbed the axe. The next thing the elderly orc knew, there was a commotion at the Mor'Shan ramparts. Drakehide and Keedriel were leaving - and leaving fast - but the axe was gone.

Drakehide had left something, though. Something of significance. Three pieces of parchment, sitting on the large wooden table in the room's center. They were addressed to three different people, by the look of them. The first was for the Warchief, the second was for some Lahkin individual - Lahkin? Hmm, now that didn't sound like an Orcish name...must be one of those troublesome young'un tavern-folk! - and the third was for...

...for Mok'Rukh?

The elder orc tore off the string that kept the parchment furled, and opened the message hurriedly. He read it with hungry eyes, hoping for some clue as to what was going on, and what fate might befall his son and his clan.

Father,

I am going away now. I do not know when I will return.

Know that the Warchief's axe is safely in the hands of a kodo caravan making its way from the Mor'Shan Ramparts to Orgrimmar by way of the Crossroads, and is accompanied by a sufficient escort. It grieves me that you had to bear the burden of my dishonor, and I hope the return of the axe to Hellscream gives you some peace.

You and mother taught me well. I did not always listen, when I should have. If I had heeded your words, your ways, or your warnings, this would never have happened. I have deeply shamed you, the rest of your clan, and the Horde - for this I am deeply sorry.

I will return one day, when I have grown wiser, and...when some of the faith and honor that I have lost has been restored.

- Drakehide

Mok'Rukh's bottom lip quivered, and just when the old orc was about to start blubbering, there was a knock at the door. Now, who could it be at this hour...?

Oh, that's right! He'd sent for Mister Bralox! Which meant that Mister Bralox might be able to help him deliver messages to the Warchief, and to Lahkin! Splendid!

But...even more splendid...Mok'Rukh smelled CAKE!

Everything was finally beginning to look up.

Serolas sat in a little hovel in the Cleft of Shadows, the voidwalker Phanlos at his side as usual. Before him stood his other companion, an Imp sneak named Piznik. It was Piz that had been sneaking around Ratchet earlier that day, spying on- rather, OBSERVING the Son of Rukh in his first days outside of the Horde. The imp had long been curious as to the purpose of Drakehide's little engineering spree, what it was all for, what it would accomplish.

Then he figured out exactly what it was all for.

So the three sat in their little hovel, conversing, somewhat panicked, in Eredun.

"B-but... H-he CAN'T just be coming to kill me!" Serolas stammered, "What did I do!?"

"If I remember right," the imp continued, "You WERE the one to dare 'im to steal Gorehowl, weren't ya?"

"Well I didn't think he'd actually be dumb enough to do it! Couldn't he have at least worn the tiki mask or something!?"

Serolas nervously straightened his glasses upon his elven face. He clenched his free fist open and closed repeatedly, trying- and failing- to alleviate the stress, the fear.

Fear...a feeling that the elf had not felt in a long time. Not since his father had been hunted...

"So..." Phanlos added, so quietly it was near inaudible, "What... shall we...do?"

Serolas could barely state an answer. "I...I have no clue. I don't want to die... but I don't want to run... and I most certainly do not want to fight! You know I hate fighting!"

"Says the guy that burned the totem pole in Camp Narache with pure shadow and a tanned leather mat..." Piznik mumbled. Phanlos whacked the imp's head. Within moments, the two demons found themselves bickering and fighting.

The elf ran a hand through his sun blonde hair as he listened to the two argue.

This is getting us nowhere

"HEY!"

Both demons turned toward the shout, to Serolas. The elf, though still panicked and flustered, suddenly had an air of seriousness about him.

"If we want to live," he continued, "Then we can fight, or we can run. I want not to do either, but they are the only choices we have."

Phanlos spoke again. "If...we ran...where... would we go?"

"Hellfire," Serolas replied. Piznik and Phanlos gave him an odd look.

"B-but boss!" Piz stammered. "We can't go back to the Outlands! It's a one way ticket to suicide if they find us!"

"Exactly," Serolas stated. "We stand more of a chance against our redheaded "orc" friend."

The warlock stood, taking a moment to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. He then retrieved his blade and tome from the side table. He mumbled a silent apology to his once-friend-now-enemy, then turned back to the two before him.

"We've run from our troubles too many times as of late. If it is what we must do, then we will fight."

The elf strode on out the door, appearing as brave as ever.

His thoughts?

We are SOOOO screwed!

Tyr and Akira sat across from each other at the outskirts of Elwynn, having met in passing as they always do, when one isn't coming to kill the other. Neither uttered a word for the longest time, both choosing to stare at the passing clouds.

It was Tyrynna that finally broke the silence.

"So... heard Drake got kicked outta the Horde."

Akira gave a shrug. "Yeah."

Without another word, the two went back to their silent cloud-staring contest.

Just life as always.

"By Hethiss", smiled Souvik "ma dreams are going to be true".
He remembered the day when he first stepped out from Zul'Gurab to be a part of Darkspear and in the process be in The Horde! He was excited to fight under the Warchief, but again he was feeling bad to fight alongside the Blood Elfs, the twisted descendents of the wretched Elfs, who are always ready to 'hunt' his kins. But he is now more than happy to heard the rumors humming in the air of the Goblin Slum; a Blood Elf named Drakehide has insulted the Warchief!
Why is the little green fellas surprised so much over the incident, this type of audacity is actually expected from this vainglorious race!
"Hethiss has blessed me" he thought "as now I can take revenge on atleast one of dos scum, and in da same time make name for me and ma tribe! Da Kaz'kah is waiting for ya mon".
Souvik rode his raptor and started for Sen'Jin Village to meet Bom'bay! May be this witch doctor can help him to trace the runaway Elf!
"And when I shall find da hiding place, I myself put da thraze in yar vile heart", smiled the cunning troll and rushed to Sen'jin Village!

((Lanie finally started showing up! YAY!))

Alana knew Scescyle had no faith in her at all. But ditzy as she was, Alana knew how to stall.

"Kay. So, do I have enough cleavage visible?"

You have no cleavage visible. If you did your dress would fall off, because it isn't even attached to your sleeves.

"That would distract them."

...

"Wha--"

Alana turned as Scescyle hid, and an orcish grunt running toward the cages. She moved infront of the cage so he wouldn't see the broken lock, and pulled down her dress ever-so-slightly.

"What was that noise?" The grunt said.

"What noise? I certainly didn't hear anything." Alana said, running her right fingers through her hair and adjusting her hairband with her left.

"That... That chime sound! You didn't hear it?"

"Nope. Not at all."

He actually look too bad. His posture was a bit better than the rest of the orcs, but he was a little thin and looked like a wimp.

Bottom of the totem pole, Alana thought, that has to be pure luck.

Alana pulled down her dress just a little more. "You sure you weren't hearing things?"

"Well... I heard the chime... I know I did... And... well... Ah, probably nothing." He said, running his hand through his hair. He turned and walked away.

Alana let out a sigh of relief and pulled her dress back up. As soon as the orcish wimp was out of sight, Scescyle came out of hiding, handing Silverscythe back to Alana.

Ha! That kid was hardly able to speak. Your flirtiness is more useful than I thought.

"You mean flartiness. We were lucky it was just him rather than some orc of higher rank-- We'd be screwed."

A person like you needs to be careful with that word.

"Oh, hardy-har-har. That was very funny, Sessie. Let's go."

The two young women strode away from the cages, walking quickly until they had exited Orgrimmar.

((And Drakehide? What happened to your hair?))