World of Warcraft®

Fernand peered about the darkened office. It was extravagant, as was befitting an Archmage of the Kirin Tor, he supposed, with thick carpets, numerous bookshelves, filing cabinets, and an enormous desk that could accommodate several clerks. A portrait of Vorensal, Antonidas, and several other men and women standing together in front of a garden was hung behind the desk. Fernand had no intention of sifting through Vorensal’s paperwork on the slight chance that he would discover an interesting lead. Unfortunately for Vorensal, the undead Apothecary sought a direct conversation, although perhaps interrogation was the correct term. He was acutely aware that this would require her death afterwards to prevent the risk of any future complications directed at him from the Kirin Tor. Fernand stood quietly in the corner of the office, considering this, wondering if his actions were justified, as he currently had no actual evidence to accuse Vorensal of being involved with the attacks on Lilienne.

Many hours passed with Fernand standing patiently in Vorensal’s office. Due to Dalaran’s northern latitude, the sun rose once more after a very brief respite. In one bony claw, the Apothecary held cotton gauze soaked in a dilute fungal toxin extract. The concentrated extract was often used to inflict severe hallucinations in targets, but when diluted the symptoms were limited to confusion and disorientation. It would make questioning Vorensal difficult, but there were great differences between interrogating a peasant from Westfall and an Archmage of the Kirin Tor – Fernand could hardly give her the opportunity to hurl a fireball into his face. Eventually, Fernand heard a tuneless whistle and the trundling of a cart making its way along the outside corridor, most likely the morning cleaners going about their duties. He tensed slightly as the cleaner’s footsteps wandered by Vorensal’s door...and continued on their way. Fernand was resuming his relaxed pose when he heard a feminine voice call out something, and receive a muted reply from the cleaner. A moment later the door opened and Archmage Vorensal entered her office. Before the door had time to close, Fernand slipped behind Vorensal in one surprisingly fluid movement; he pushed the door closed firmly with his back, wrapped one arm around the Archmage, and pressed the soaked cotton gauze across her face. Vorensal slumped in the undead man’s arms almost immediately. Fernand gently directed her to the chair behind her desk, and settled her there calmly. ‘Good morning, Archmage. I apologise for this rather unwelcome intrusion.’ Although her slate grey hair was now tousled messily, Vorensal remained a handsome, comely woman in her later years. She frowned tightly as she reclined in her chair, her head rolling back as if she had little control of its movements. ‘...Fernand? Is that you?’
‘It is indeed.’ He replied, removing the wide-brimmed hat and placing it delicately on her desk. ‘If you don’t mind Archmage, I would like to ask you several questions regarding our discussion a few months past.’
‘...What discussion...?’ Her eyes fluttered. Fernand hoped he didn’t overdose her. She was quite slight of frame, after all, and probably required even less of a dose than he’d administered.
‘I spoke to you and several others about protecting my daughter, Lilienne Benoit.’
‘...Ameira’s girl?’
‘Yes, one and the same.’ Fernand still flinched inwardly to hear Ameira’s name spoken aloud. ‘Did you bring the matter of Lilienne’s protection to Council?’
Vorensal mumbled something, her head drooping forward, onto her chest. She raised her hands to cradle her head in them.
‘I’m sorry, could you please repeat that?’ Fernand folded his skeletal hands together in his lap as he sat perched on her desk, watching Vorensal closely.

‘...Never brought...it forth. Didn’t...didn’t fall within...our...’
Fernand sighed mentally. He had severely misjudged the dose, after all. ‘So you decided that Lilienne was not the Kirin Tor’s problem?’
‘Mmm...’ She mumbled. ‘Grimwald said...he’d take care of it...speak to the Stormwind authorities...let them keep an eye on her...keep Ameira’s girl safe...’
This caused Fernand to raise an eyebrow. ‘Archmage Grimwald convinced you to leave the matter with Stormwind? And he said that he would inform them that Lilienne may be of interest to the Modas il Toralar?’
‘...Yes...yes exactly.’ She groaned, shaking her head as if to free it of a mental fog.
Fernand frowned primly as he digested this information. There were two obvious possibilities: one, Grimwald told Stormwind’s authorities of Lilienne exactly as he claimed, and it was from the authorities where the Brotherhood caught wind of her; two, Grimwald was either personally involved with the Brotherhood, or knew someone who was, and was using them to facilitate his own vengeance upon Fernand. The undead Apothecary recalled vividly the way in which Archmage Grimwald glared at him the last time they spoke. He was inclined to believe the latter of the two possibilities.
Returning to the present, Fernand inquired, ‘And where is Archmage Grimwald now, do you know?’
Vorensal paused for several long moments. ‘...No...haven’t seen...weeks.’
‘Do you know where he lives?’
‘Mmm....estate...mountains...above Stormwind.’
‘Brilliant. You have my sincere gratitude, Archmage. You have been most helpful.’ Fernand smiled primly down at her, his mind a million miles away. He would request that Vectus investigate this estate of Grimwald’s in order to ascertain whether or not he was involved. At the very least, Fernand now knew that the Kirin Tor wasn’t even aware of Lilienne outside of Vorensal, Grimwald and the third Archmage present during his request for protection. It was certainly a step in the right direction to uncovering the identity of these unknown enemies.

Vorensal groaned again, slumping forward in her chair. The movement reminded Fernand that there were other, more pressing, matters currently at hand. The Apothecary frowned to himself, studying Vorensal. He had known her for a long time, since his days amongst the living. Vorensal had worked closely with Ameira for several years, and there were many functions and events where Fernand had occasion to speak with Vorensal over a glass of wine. She could actually be quite entertaining, after a glass or two. But all of that was neither here nor there. If Fernand let Vorensal live, she was fully capable of alerting the Kirin Tor to this event, and then the Apothecary would have yet another organisation after him. It wasn’t merely a risk – it was an inevitable outcome...were she to live. Still, did the necessity of such an action make it justifiable? Fernand thought of Vectus, and Bhayne, and how they were both struggling to do what was proper. To do what they knew in their hearts to be the right thing to do. In particular, Vectus’s current change in attitude amazed Fernand to no end. It seemed like half a year ago he was foaming at the mouth at a chance to slice up any man or woman, and yet suddenly he was a more sincere humanitarian than Uther the Lightbringer. Vorensal muttered something incoherently. It almost sounded as if she was attempting to piece together a spell, which was entirely possible; the fungal toxin would be wearing off soon. Fernand brushed skeletal fingers gently against her sweaty brow, brushing several strands of damp hair from her face. No, he could not afford to let her to live. He would deeply regret Vorensal’s murder, but it was a necessary evil. Fernand would simply have to endeavour to follow in Vectus and Bhayne’s good example another day, perhaps even tomorrow.

‘I am truly sorry for what I must do, Archmage. I have always enjoyed your company, and I certainly hold no spite toward you. I wish for you to know that I do this with a heavy heart.’ Fernand withdrew a small case from an inner jacket pocket, and opened it with a soft click. Vorensal groaned and, lying back in her chair, attempted to string together another spell without success. The Apothecary picked up a syringe filled with a clear liquid and, depressing it slightly, flicked it gently to remove the danger of any air bubbles. He did not wish for Vorensal to suffer. The syringe held a mixture of Fernand’s personal design: it was a potent cocktail of strong tranquilisers and enough sodium formate to kill a kodo. The result was that the patient drifted peacefully asleep...and then simply failed to ever awaken. Fernand stood from the desk and moved behind Vorensal, delicately tilting her head back toward him. Quickly and firmly, he plunged the syringe into the soft skin of her neck, steadily injecting her with the toxin. Vorensal’s eyes rolled and she tried to thrash, but Fernand was ready for her struggles, and continued with his work as precisely as possible. It was over in less than a dozen heartbeats – Vorensal released a long, drawn out sigh, and closed her eyes. Fernand placed two bony fingertips against the pulse in her neck, knowing that her eyes would never reopen.

There was one last problem which required the Apothecary’s immediate attention. He could hardly leave the Archmage’s cooling body here in her office, with a needle wound in her neck, with everyone aware that she had spoken to a Forsaken Apothecary only several months prior. Fernand returned the empty syringe to his jacket pocket, and with a free hand, removed a rune used to create portals. After a lengthy incantation, a deep, lightless portal swirled within the centre of Vorensal’s office, filling it with the rancid stink of the Undercity. Fernand placed his wide-brimmed hat back upon his head and, with some effort, the Apothecary hefted Vorensal’s corpse over a shoulder, and shuffled his way through the portal. He would dispose of her body with the incinerators used by the RAS and, with some luck, the stench of carrion would have dissipated from Vorensal’s office before anyone even realised she was missing. Fernand allowed himself a smile of self satisfaction – however horrible his methods may have been, one could not argue with the effectiveness. Now all he had to do was contact Vectus and have Grimwald’s estate investigated. It would do the assassin some good, for after all, lounging about with that Alliance mage and his witless student would surely be driving him to new heights of boredom.

((Can't wait to see what happened next ))

I saw there was a new post and got all exited only to find this...

08/25/2012 07:07 AMPosted by Rabazza

((Can't wait to see what happened next ))

^I agree completely but was so disappointed, lol.

(( Cheers :P ))

((You are a horrible tease, Argy.))

She was colder than she had been in years. From the looks of her Guards, it was the same with all of them. She stomped her feet in the deepening snow and then led her horse in a wide circle. Valor was totally miserable also. The driving snow and ice had sealed his eyes shut, but that was better than the pellets striking his eyes and possibly harming them. Gentyl would remove the globs of ice over his eyes when they moved out.

If they moved out.

The storm might be too bad to travel in. They had hoped to fly, but the weather was worse above and her scouts were up there somewhere. Desmend had insisted on taking two of the Silent Guards with him to determine if they might rent gryphons and fly the rest of the way or at the very least, find a more direct trail to the cavern.

The gryphon master refused to rent them gryphons and so they had moved out. They were waiting on a wide ledge on the mountain side now, almost a plateau, really. Desrapture went ahead to search out the trail so they didn't tumble off the side of the mountain. Disco sent another red flare into the air. If her druids were anywhere near, they would hone in on the signal, but she simply couldn't imagine anything or anyone flying in the ice tempest above them.

"Light let them be safe," she prayed.

She tried to flex her right hand, but her fingers were frozen to the reins. Gods, she knew better than to let it go too long without moving her fingers. She knocked her hand against the saddle to free it and groaned when the feeling returned like a thousand needles being shoved into her skin.

Valor was too exhausted to flinch.

She had been in a storm like this once before. They had trailed a band of horde raiders for nearly two weeks. A storm like this hit, getting worse the higher they climbed into the mountains. They decided to waiting it out in a small hollow on the side of the mountain when the sky horizon turned orange before them. The horde had torched the town ahead to slow them down.

Dead and wounded were everywhere when they arrived. People ran to escape the flames, only to be forced from yet another haven as that building caught on fire. Light forgive them, they had been so thankful for the heat they stood in front of a burning church for several minutes just to get warm before going to help the villagers.

Disco fired another flare. She thought she heard an angry squawk, but the whistling wind quickly snatched any sound away.

A few minutes later an object dropped from the sky in front of her. Was someone launching missiles at them? She looked heavenward in time to see another one heading toward her. She stepped out of the way and then knelt down. The first object was nearly encased in ice. It was a large bird. She put it under her cloak to thaw it out and yelled for someone to grab the second bird just as a third one fell.

Her missing druids.

She stood up and moved toward Valor, pinning Desmend between her and the horse to use their combined body heats to thaw him faster.

"Sepha, you're smothering me."

She backed up a bit, still holding him close. The boiled leather cuirass was not as cold as plate armor would have been, but it wasn't the best heat conductor either. She kept him tightly wrapped in her fur-lined cloak.

Cray and Fallenrose rubbed life back into Finn and Tilion. Desmend thawed enough to peck with irritation at her ribs. "Sepha, let me go. This is not at all dignified."

((I'll add the other two posts in a bit.))

A knock on the door startled Fernand as he sat at his workbench in the Modas il Toralar’s new laboratories. The Order had moved to a new site only recently, and the labs were still a mess; trying to get everything operational was taking time, more so than was necessary. Ironically, Fernand was making far more progress since the Claviger of the Fel Hand, Thelinna Que’sheth, had been captured by Alliance ruffians – since his return to the Order, Thelinna had made it clear that she would do whatever she could to vex the Apothecary, including hindering his efforts to set up the Fel Hand laboratories. As Fernand made his way toward the door, his leather shoes clicking against the tiled floor, there was a second knock. He released a number of mechanical locks on the door and opened it with a prim frown on his dry, cracked lips. ‘Patience is something of a virtue, or so I have been told.’ Before the Apothecary stood several Beliars, a rank held by the Order’s freshest recruits and only little better than slaves and servants. They were outfitted with a collection of tools and a burly dark green skinned orc carried two massive coils of copper tubing. ‘Sorry, sir, we didn’t know if anyone was down here…’ A female goblin in a hardhat squawked, and Fernand supposed it was a fair comment. Many members of the Order enjoyed the idea of coming by the Fel Hand labs and idly occupying themselves with whatever they fancied at the time, happy enough when the resources were already operational and running smoothly, but when Fernand had sought assistance to set up the place only Lisabine and Gologer had offered their time. Initially he made the mistake of asking this while Thelinna was present, and she had forbidden that Fernand receive the assistance he needed, but since discussing the issue with Aziel and being granted the warlock’s blessing in doing whatever was necessary to have the labs operational as soon as possible, things were finally on track. Fernand made a mental note of the Toralites that proved helpful to his needs, and those that were petty and scornful toward him. The Apothecary would remember.

‘No apology necessary.’ Fernand beamed, smiling and beckoning the Beliars into the laboratory proper. Seeing the workers he had requested lifted his mood significantly. ‘Please come right this way.’ Once inside, he closed the door and reactivated the locking mechanisms, before striding stiffly toward the back of the labs. The goblin struggled to keep up with the undead man’s gait. ‘What needs to be done today, sir?’

‘We are almost fully operational. The plumbing has been installed and both the in flow from the underground water table and out flow to waste storage and disposal units have been approved. As you can see, the generators are running well.’ Fernand gestured briefly to the roof, and the goblin looked up at the lines of fluorescent tubing glowing brightly overhead. ‘The fume hoods and flow cabinets are in good order. Next on the list are the gas lines, which is what will occupy your time for a good portion of the day.’ Fernand came to a stop beside an enormous steel cylinder larger than he was tall, and wider than a gorged ettin. He slapped a skeletal hand against the cylinder, which emitted a hollow, metallic echo. ‘I will give you the appropriate schematics you need to follow to connect gas lines from our gas storage facility to these chemostats, and gas out flow lines to release pressure. I cannot stress how important that last is. We cannot allow the pressure to build to an undesirable amount.’ He wasn’t certain if the Beliars heard him: they all stared wonderingly at the machine. ‘W-what is it, sir?’ The goblin asked in a tone of voice that made Fernand instantly suspicious. He didn’t particularly like goblins or gnomes near anything expensive and complicated.

‘It is a bioreactor. Basically a vessel designed to continuously cultivate an organism of interest, in our case, bioweapons. The gas lines you are installing will be essential in controlling the content and partial pressure of gases supplied to the bioreactor, in order to maximise the efficiency of biomass production.’ Fernand resisted the urge to slap the goblin’s hand away as she gently rubbed it against the polished steel.

‘Sir…? Is it true, what they’re saying about you? The others in the Order, I mean.’ The goblin looked up at him, a cunning look in her eyes which Fernand liked even less.

‘I suppose that depends entirely on what it is they are saying. And please, I’d prefer it if you simply called me Fernand, or by my surname, Argustus.’

‘They say that his Lordship is just waiting for an excuse to have his felhounds tear you to pieces, and that Lady Thelinna is probably going to give it to him.’

Fernand folded his hands behind his back, smiling tightly. A wisp of faded, dry blonde hair fell across his brow. ‘Let us say that it would not surprise me in the least.’

‘…Then why come back? Seems pretty crazy to me, begging your pardon, sir.’ The goblin seemed genuinely perplexed.

‘I have my reasons. Now, here are those schematics.’ He reached for an inner pocket in his neatly pressed black suit, and handed a crisp piece of parchment to the goblin. ‘I suggest you get started post-haste as it will take some time to hook up all of these chemostats.’ When it became apparent to the Beliars that Fernand had no intention of walking away, that he was observing them patiently, they began unpacking and sorting their tools. The orc started to unwind the copper tubing. The Apothecary doubted that the goblin’s questions were due to any sincere concern on her part. The vast majority of Toralites had a sadistic streak, and it seemed far more likely that she merely wished to see the Apothecary devoured by demons for Aziel’s amusement. Fernand despised the wanton cruelty and yearning for violence inherent in many of the Order...it all seemed so unnecessary. Counter-productive, even, as Aethelgyth and Thelinna’s recent capture proved. No, Fernand didn’t particularly like the Modas, but they were a means to an end. They had money and access to resources which the Apothecary would require for his own purposes. If there was one thing that Fernand had discovered about himself, learning of Lilienne and observing the state of the Horde during his voluntary exile from the Modas, it was that he was no longer willing to stand idly by and apathetically obey the commands of Aziel V’Ghera and Sylvanas Windrunner. From now on, he would be playing an active role in the game, influencing events to suit his needs. To do that, Fernand needed money and power.

The idea had occurred to him during his exile from the Modas. Fernand was forced to broker deals with members of the Horde and Alliance to ensure his and Lilienne’s safety, and what was it that everyone seemed to want from him? Why, weapons, diseases, vaccines and chemicals, of course. The world was in an interesting state: Hellscream’s war was months away, and the Forsaken were in a difficult situation. Beset by enemies on all sides, and Hellscream ensuring that the Royal Apothecary Society was unable to produce anything of practical use. The Modas Undermarket was unable to sell them the bioweapons they needed – Fernand saw to that personally when he destroyed everything upon learning of Lilienne. Meanwhile in Alliance territories, they had recently suffered through an outbreak of Cold Fire Fever, and seemed to be wisely concerned about any form of bioweapon after Putress and the Wrath Gate. The Alliance was equally keen to learn of these weapons in advance, and have vaccines and antibiotics at the ready. Both factions could be satisfied, but to do so they would need to pay Fernand a pretty penny indeed, and currently there was no other competition for the market. The undead Apothecary smiled to himself, his bony hands still clasped behind his back. If the Horde had weapons, and the Alliance panaceas, then the end result would be ... nothing. Fernand would force a continued stalemate, and if either faction decided not to work with Fernand, they risked the lives of their people, their hold on their territories, and their own economic surety.

‘Here, you see, it takes all the running you can do to keep in the same place.’ Fernand’s prim tenor voice broke through the sounds of banging, wrenching and cutting by the Beliars. The goblin looked up at him, confused. ‘Sir?’

‘I beg your pardon? Oh, I do apologise. I did not realise that I spoke out loud. I have some other business to attend to. If you have any questions, I’ll be up the front.’ He smiled tersely and left them to their work. Fernand had quite a few things to consider – how best to keep Aziel satisfied with their agreement, and more importantly production of his personal business, and then dealings, distribution, protection...the list seemed endless. And always in the back of the undead Apothecary’s mind, the beginnings of a new bioweapon, one which would make the Red Death, Cold Fire Fever and Forsaken Blight look like a summer cold.

They thawed out the druids gradually, rubbing circulation back into their limbs. Rose heated some stones in the niche and everyone, including the thawed, but still cold druids, crowded around them for warmth.

"We can't fly," said Desmend. "The gryphons wouldn't make it in that storm above. Even if they did, we would get separated. We'll have to go horseback."

She had suspected as much, but had hoped they might get a bit of a break. Sometimes squalls were close to the ground and you could get around them. Sometimes, not this time.

Broodin and Mika sprawled out near the piles of heated stones, licking the remaining ice from between their toes. As soon as they were ready the band would move out. Gentyl moved to the edge of the ledge. Snow whirled angrily in the chasm. Even from this distance she could feel the flecks of ice biting at her face as it spun away from the center.

Helhammer crunched across the snow to stand at her side. "You should be inside warming."

"We should be at home in the tower," she replied, wondering how many people would meet their doom in this insanity.

"We can always return home and come back another day to handle this."

She looked at him. He studied her with those great yellow eyes. Helhammer would do whatever she asked without question or hesitation. Loyalty like her Guards gave her deserved better than what she was asking of them. "We can't wait. We've already waited too long."

Narnicka had approached her two weeks ago and asked if she would help. She was astounded by what he was asking. Somehow he had gotten information that Argustus was building a saronite bomb in these mountains. It was so powerful it would destroy a large part of the world if it worked as predicted and it was allowed to be used.

She didn't understand the mechanics. It was far beyond anything she could imagine or comprehend, but Narnicka was quite sure his information was correct. They had forestalled the attack until Narnicka could lead them, but in the end he was unable to go and they had to press ahead. They may have waited too long as it was.

Hel simply nodded and turned back to the stones, as anxious as the rest to soak up a bit more heat before they struck out. She joined him and the others. When they could put it off no longer, she motioned for them to mount up. No one would get lost going down the mountain as they had to follow the narrow ledge. However, once they were off this mountain, the blinding snow might easily separate them. They had to stay together.

Desrapture had come up with the idea of stringing their ropes together and passing it from one rider to the next and she had agreed it was the best solution. It was a natural tendency to duck their heads to avoid the stinging winds and snow. It would only take a few steps to get away from the person ahead of you and not be able to see them.

They stopped at the bottom, knotted the ropes together and passed it down the line. She fell to the back of the line. Even with the rope, they were traveling very close, nose to tail nearly. Valor hated being crowded and would strike at any horse that got too close to his hindquarters. Rather than put up with him squealing and kicking all the way, it would be easier to just bring up the rear.

The heat from the stones didn't last long and they were chilled to the bone long before they had started up the second mountain. They would stop at the bottom of this one and warm up again before crossing the third. After that, they could skirt the mountain bottoms to arrive at the cavern Narnicka had described. Or so she hoped. It was possible snow may have drifted so deep they would have a hard time getting through it.

Light protect us and guide us.

Gentyl raised her head into the howling wind and peered toward the front of the column. She didn't know why she had bothered to look up. The only thing she could see was the faint shape of the two riders in front of her. The driving snow reduced the visibility to no more than a few paces. The druids took turns flying ahead to make sure they were still on the right path. Then, nearly frozen and totally ice-encrusted, they dropped down to one of the riders to be wrapped in a cloak and thawed.

Their pace had slowed. Obviously, Stillig and Delver's rams were wearing out. Gentyl whistled shrilly and heard the whistle repeated by someone in front of her. It would pass on up the line until it reached the leaders who were breaking a trail for the others. She only heard one whistle. The others were lost to the wind which eagerly snatched them up like a starved child grabbing at a bit of bread.

She waved at the dwarves who had peeled off to let someone else take the lead. They took up new positions at the back of the column to give their rams a break.

"Tom!" She reached her arm out to him. "Get on Valor!"

His little mare had slashed her leg on a broken branch buried in the snow, so Tom wrapped it as best he could and got off to lead her. She wasn't critically injured, but she was lame.

"I'm--" His shout was interrupted by a wolf dashing across the crusted snow to hamstring the mare. A bolt of magic erupted from his fingers and the wolf dropped. Several other wolves darted in to tear their comrade to pieces. Ripp and Dkaidra shot several of the wolves eating the first one. One of them was only wounded when the pack turned on it. The angry snarling turned to yelping and then a horrifying howls as the pack ate it alive. Gentyl shuddered. The dead and dying wolves might keep the rest of the pack busy for a while so they would stop harrying the mounts. It was only a matter of time before one of them succeeded in crippling one of their mounts if they didn't get to safety soon.

Safety. She snorted at the thought. They were headed toward a bomb factory, with what was purported to be the deadliest one ever created. She shook her head, trying to get the images out of her mind she had been conjuring ever since Narnicka told her about the cave and the scientists.

"Tom!" she shouted again. "You need to ride." She reached her arm down toward him. He hesitated, then grasped her forearm and swung up on Valor behind her. He was surprisingly nimble for a man in his 70's.

Not long after that, a large bird plummeted from the sky and landed in her lap. His beak was clacking together as he shivered uncontrollably. She wrapped him in the spare cloak she had spread across her legs. When he had stopped shivering enough to speak, she recognized Finn's voice.

"The cave is just a mile ahead."

"When you're thawed out enough, go tell the leaders so we can be ready."

A few minutes later he shot toward the front of the line, flying low beside the riders to take the brunt of the wind off.

Gentyl took out her compass sometime later, fearing they had drifted off course. Surely it wouldn't take this long to cover a mile. The compass held true to their heading.

At last the leaders stopped. Tom slid off Valor and got back on his mare. Gentyl rode to the front, the crusted snow crackling as the destrier broke though it.

"What's wrong?" she shouted to Ripp who was now one of the leaders.

She pointed ahead. "Fire. It has to be the guards at the front of the cave."

Gentyl squinted to where Ripp pointed and at last made out a very faint orange glow diffused by the swirling snow. "Let's get everyone even with us. When they are here, you and Dkaidra need to take out as many guards as you can. I'll have the mages help you. We have to get close enough to kill them without raising an alarm."

She nodded to Dkaidra and both of them took out crossbows. They held while the other five hunters joined them. Dreadthus chuffed softly in anticipation as only a worgen could do.

Snithersby, Kirisan and Osrio faded into nothing and made their way to the guards. The rogues would hit first, then the hunters. Hopefully they could secure the entrance without raising an alarm.

Gentyl jumped and jerked Valor's head up when something grabbed her leg. Snithersby stood beside her. "Sorry, Sepha. We have the entrance."

She nodded and moved forward, the rest of the raiders followed suit and they were soon gathered around the raging fire nestled not far inside the cave. While her people warmed up, she examined the bodies of the guards. They were all geist or forsaken. Why would they need a fire? It was either there for a signal or for something living.

(( Great stuff coming from Pia, as always! ))

As Stillig rode in the front of the column breaking trail he was thinking to himself 'I love snow, I really do,' But this wasn't snow. It was hell called down from the peaks of the north. It had been a miserable trek so far. Stillig had seen part of his beloved mustache break off from the cold! His kit was probably gonna fail him as the leather straps of his armor was snapping from being frozen.
And, to top it off, his skin of Brandy had frozen!!!

(( To those involved, sorry about my sudden unexplained absence. I am still alive, just wrapped up in work stuffs. We'll try and finish this up in the near future. ))

Gentyl allowed her people to warm up at the fire. Its existence still puzzled her, but they had to move on. She and Helhammer moved cautiously around the bend in the tunnel and found a large alcove. It looked like it had once been used for storage, there were still a few pieces of broken crates scattered about, but for now it was perfect for keeping the mounts out of the storm.

"Let's go get the horses," she whispered, still not sure what or who was close. Helhammer nodded and waited for her to get ahead of him so he could cover her back. His protectiveness irritated her at times, but he was a determined bodyguard and had saved her hide more than once.

"Bring your mounts in," she said when she got close to the fire. "We'll keep them out of sight inside." Most of them were trained for war. They didn't balk at fire, magic or loud noises, but not even Valor would go around the bend. They had stepped past the fire with no hesitation, some even visibly relieved at the heat, but that's as far as they were going.

She tugged on his reins again, but he jerked his head back and pulled away from her. "What are they smelling?" she whispered.

"Unsure," Stillig replied, "but it can't be good."

"Blindfold them. We can't leave them in sight in case that fire was a signal for someone they expected."

Horses, and most other mounts become quite tractable once you remove their vision. They can still smell whatever makes them nervous, but they at least move. There was a lot of snorting and nervous dancing, but at last they were all moved into the recess. She left two guards to hold the horses and another to hide in the shadows on the opposite side of the tunnel and keep watch on the entrance. The advantage would be anyone coming in from the dark would be more or less blinded for a moment once they got to the fire. It was a slight advantage, but for a good hunter, it would be long enough to drop the unsuspecting visitors. She hoped.

Valor shivered all over when Gentyl led him in with the others. His nostrils flared and his ears flicked nervously, trying to make up for his loss of sight. He nosed into her chest as if asking for reassurance. She stroked his neck and patted him softly. "Better for you here than in the storm." She hoped she wouldn't regret those words.

The remaining party split up with half slinking down either side of the tunnel. The rogues took the lead followed by druids and hunters. They had only moved a short distance when they found one reason for the horses' skittishness. A pile of bodies were stacked to one side, arms and legs akimbo in fairly good condition due to the cold. The party stopped to look at them. Humans, elves, dwarves, gnomes and even a few horde representatives. Most were emaciated and showed signs of some kind of wasting disease no one was familiar with. It didn't seem to bother whatever had been gnawing on them.

Cray did not like this horse. Or this cold.

The world itself was against them, it seemed. But somehow, by the blessings of the Light, they made it to shelter. He was relieved, and led some of the Holy Guard deeper into the tunnels, hoping to find somewhere that they could maybe light a fire and warm and dry themselves.

That was not what they found.

Bodies. Diseased, rotting corpses. His eyes grew wide with fear.

"No one breathe," he ordered, shooting a quick glance behind them. "Back up. If we don't catch our death from the weather, this pestilence may do us in."

There was an odd glow to the tunnel. The walls were rough hewn with little thought for precision or beauty and in fact much of the tunnel was probably natural. There were the telltale signs of artificial excavation also, though. Small, flat chips in semi even rows across the surface. There were even small piles of rubble still at the base as if no one really cared to clean up after themselves. The floor was clean, however, aside from a carcass here and there or a pile of bones no one seemed to care enough about to move unless they were in the way of traffic moving down the center. It was as if workers dropped in their tracks and that's where they rotted.

This nagged at Gentyl, and probably everyone else. Aside from the natural instinct to at least bury a person decently, there was also an animalistic urge to remove the dead from areas where creatures lived. If a pup died in the den, the !@#$% ate it to dispose of it. So, why did whoever was here not even bother to clean out these carcasses? They had mad a crude pile toward the entrance. Maybe those were the ones who dropped in the way and had to be moved to keep working. What if there was a reason the workers here didn't want to touch the bodies? Did they fear becoming contaminated also? If so, had she doomed this entire force to whatever these workers had wasted away from?

The rogues in the lead stopped, holding up their hands to signal the group to wait until they had scouted around the corner. Gentyl ran her fingers over the odd, glowing, soft green veins in the wall. How they would be able to see without torches had been a concern when they planned this. Whoever worked here had sputtering pitch torches here and there along the way, but much of the light came from the glowing veins.

Something else to worry about. Most of the time, glowing green goo was accompanied by the scourge and their plague wagons. Was there a difference between green goo and green rock?

She watched the plumes of green tinged breath coming from the party. It was just reflection, but it was a damned macabre scene nonetheless.

The rogues returned and held up fingers in signals. They had killed four ahead of them. Follow now.

They were getting to the work area now and even though they were cautiously advancing, there was now a steady trail of bodies. Geist. How had they found enough hanged criminals to reanimate this many? One of them scuttled around the bend ahead toward them. It looked up in surprise and confusion, but Rose incinerated him before he could make a move or a sound.

The acrid smoke drifted up from the charred remains and any other time Gentyl would have worried about it alerting guards, but if they didn't mind the smell of rotting bodies everywhere, she doubted this would cause a stir.

They were in the straight of the tunnel now and had to keep to shadows as much as they could, but for the most part they were in a steady fight with the scrambling little creatures who stared at them with undead eyes out of their ragged hoods. They stopped. They stared. Then, when it registered they were invaders, they scurried forward, the boxes bouncing on the ground behind them. Thumping. Bumping. Jumping. Then there was only a soft gasped as the undead slumped to the ground one last time.

At last they had the core of the complex in sight.