World of Warcraft®

I don't blame her for hitting me.

The facts remain, even after I had forgiven myself, and after Shadowless had forgiven me. No. Ares. That was how he had signed his name previously. I think he intends to change his name once he has come home.

Eve blames me for his behavior. She says that if I hadn't abandoned him without a word, he wouldn't be rushing around, trying to find his death.

Maybe she's right. But that isn't a guilt I should be shouldering. I have enough problems. She has Tyrael to watch over. I'm glad that she doesn't want to kill him. I can see it in the way she interacts with him, that she accepts him. Is even protective of him. Maybe.

It's hard to tell when the only thing she did was jerk on his ear for making a joke about dating me instead of her. But I also saw her sketchbooks were out around their feet. And she looked happy. Well. She didn't look happy, but I could tell that she wasn't as glum as she usually is.

I tried to tell Ratheron this. That I will continue to pay for my sin for as long as it takes until I am clean again. I don't mind, as long as other people get it off of their chest. Then, it will all be history and they can accept that I am with him. I've made my choice.

And one day, my past will stop coming back to hurt me. One day, all of us can sit around a fire and laugh about it. Ares might find a new lover and he can be happy without me. And maybe Tyrael will get Eve to crack open like I've managed with Rath. And maybe we can just be happy.

I just want everyone to be happy.

She sat, watching her husband sleep, the sheets wrapped around her form as she sat in the windowsill, savoring the dawn on Cyaer Sunblaze's features. As he rolled over to face her, she smiled slightly, his features relaxed in sleep, and leaned back on the sill, content for this one moment before the chaos of her day would rise up to overtake her.

He was handsome, there was no denying that. But that wasn't all that was in their relationship. Of course, she conceded, the passion and desire was wonderful, but their marriage had been built on trust, and understanding. She rose, sheets trailing behind her, and eased back into bed with her husband, reaching out to stroke his cheek gently, his features, so like his father's, were ones she knew better than her own almost. From the strong jaw, to arching brows. She kissed his cheek gently, and he rolled over again, pulling her close to him in his sleep, and she smiled, resting her head on his arm, her arms around him.

She still hurt over Nic, she always would. She missed him still. She still woke up some nights crying, screaming. Wondering where he was. Blaming herself. She still half-hoped he would come back, and then she realized that she wouldn't likely leave Cy, if he did.

What she and Cyaer shared was not what she had had with her late husband. Two years later, she still missed Nic, and worried. Wondered. Hoped. She had taken a long, long time to move on. She had fallen into the black hole that is depression. Suicide. And Cy had helped her climb back out. Cy was there for her as nothing more than a friend at first. And then a mistake she made ruined everything between her and her husband, and her and Cy. And it shouldn't have happened. It should never have been an issue. If it weren't for her mistakes, Nic would still be with her. Still be alive. Still love her. And then she had to wonder, as she watched her husband's sleeping face, what? Would Mia still have died? Would the roles have been reversed? Cy alone, and hurting?

She kissed him softly in his sleep, the sun outside the small house in Moonglade burning away the morning fog, and she glanced out the window, jumping at the sound of footsteps, and then relaxed as they receded. No one knew where they were, save Ratheron and Dan. And she sighed again.

She was, without a doubt, in love with her husband. There was no question in her mind about that. What she had had with Nic was certainly not what she had now, but it shouldn't be. Two years is a long time for someone to change. And the House was demanding she remarry. She hadn't told Cy that, because at the time it didn't matter. Nic had been pronounced dead, and the politics and nobles favored those with solidity in power. Heirs or spouses were the norm. She didn't tell Cy because she knew it changed nothing about how she felt about him, or how he felt about her. She loved the man because she knew him better than she knew herself. She knew his moods, his mindsets, they could finish each others' sentences, for Light's sake.

With a jolt, she realized she and Nic had been able to do that too.

The pain was fresh at the strangest moments. Like waking nightmares, it could all come crashing back down on her. The empty grave for her late husband, which she still visited in the family plot. The hopeless feeling of loneliness when she realized what she had done to their relationship with one single mistake. It didn't hurt any less now, not now that she was married again. Not with time. Some wounds never heal. Scars that can't be seen can still be poked and prodded and kept fresh. Memories never die.

It hurt, to be a memory away from Nic. But it hurt just as much to realize he wasn't coming back, and every day when she went to leave the flowers on his grave as she always did. She talked to him.

It was her one moment alone, her one chance to feel like she was atoning for some small bit of the wrongs she had done to him, to Cy and Mia, and even to herself.

Cy had pulled her out of the pit that she had fallen into. She would have killed herself. Light knows she tried. Idly, she rolled over in bed, Cy's arms still around her, and she stared at the ceiling, her fingers tracing over the scars on her arms and the long one on her neck from so many years ago. She had to move on. And she had. Slowly. Nic still haunted her dreams. She still blamed herself, but she was thoroughly in love with Cy. She knew that without a doubt.

And it hurt to admit, somewhere deep down, that Nic was gone.

She would give her life for Cy, she had given her life for him, that day they fell down the cliff. And he knew she would. Nothing would change that.

Nothing.

She rose from the bed slowly, her eyes distant, and dressed quietly, but evidently not quietly enough as Cy rolled over and blinked at her, "Kel...?"

She smiled at him, and sat on the edge of the bed to pull her boots on, "I'll be back, love."

He sat up in bed, and she watched him with an amused smile, "I love you, Cy."

"I love you to, Kel'tira."

She leaned down to kiss him gently, and then grinned lopsidedly, "I'm getting breakfast. I'll be back, alright?"

He sighed, and nodded, "Hurry back?"

"Always."

((2/2))

Nicias stumbled out of the tavern. He used the wall nearest him for support as he made his way down the dark empty street. Nicias just wanted the pain to go away. At first the drink did help numb him, but then it came back and no matter how much he drank it did not numb his pain. He cursed under his breath as he made his way towards an alley connecting two parts of Silvermoon.
The pain he felt hurt worse than any physical wound he had ever suffered. He wished he could cleave his hand off to make the pain go away, yet it would not help.
Nicias turned into the alley way and still used the walls to support himself as he stumbled down the alley. As he walked, he saw a dark figure appear in front of him, blocking his path. It had glowing eyes and shadowy magic emanated from it. Nicias squinted, making sure he was not imagining this.
"You seem familiar," It said in an distinguishable monotone voice, "Are you a member of the Rising Sun Fellowship perhaps?"
Nicias just scowled as he continued on towards the thing. "Piss off!" He said
"I assume it is better to be safe than sorry, I am sorry if your..."It stopped its voice as Nicias got closer. "You! Your not dead?! Oh this will be great news for the master! I shall bring you his head!" The thing said as it drew its daggers and charged Nicias with inhuman speed.
Nicias quickly drew his sword and shield and tried to get in a good stance, but he was far too drunk. The figure charging at him was blurry, yet he did not need his eyes to fight such a lowly opponent. He had fought for countless years and his body knew what to do. The thing suddenly vanished as it neared Nicias, like he suspected it would. Nicias did an amazingly fast spin with his shield, slamming it behind him with all his might. He just saw out of the corner of his eye a dagger, centimeters from his ribs as he spun and hit the thing. There was a crack as steel hit bone and the thing fell to the ground.
Nicias stepped closer to the thing now. The magic faded and in the things place was an elf wearing a mask. His head was bleeding from where the shield had made contact. Nicias dropped his sword and shield and with both hands lifted the elf into the air.
"Who do you work for?! Who is after the fellowship?!" Nicias yelled in a voice full of rage at the elf.
The elf was visibly terrified and shaking in Nicias' strong grip. "Master Firehawk! It was all his idea! He offered me gold to report in on the fellowship! Please I never did anyone harm! Spare me!" The elf pleaded. Nicias held the elf up against the alley wall as he thought.
"I have no purpose in this fellowship anymore, but I have a duty. I am the avenger, and I will do my duty!" He shouted. The elf's eyes grew wide in fear as Nicias' gauntleted fist hit him in the face. He did it again and again, smashing his fist into the elf's face. The elf struggled, but eventually stopped moving. Nicias put all his emotions behind his blows. Tears streemed down his face as he hit the elf again and again. He wanted the elf to feel it, feel it all! His pain! His anger! And all his sorrow! Nicias' fist hit the wall now. There was no sign that the thing had ever even had a face. Nicias let go and the body slid to the floor.
Nicias stumbled out of the alley, still drunk, but the pain was gone. He now had a purpose.
"I am the avenger, I will do my job and kill this Lord Firehawk if it is the last thing I do!" He said angrily as he stumbled out into the night.

from the pages of my journal:

My greatest fear has been realized, and my simple plaintive prayers for his safe return answered -

Nicias is back

I stand here anxiously waiting to see if Azmos was able to find her, and to tell her where I wait for her. My mind is full of questions, and I can only hope for the best.

I have only known her for a little bit, but she has captured my attention. Pfaedra's eyes are more blue than green, and her honey-colored hair reflects the sun's light in such a way as to light fires in the depths of my soul. And intelligent, I have talked with her, and find her thoughts fascinating...

...and I cannot fall in love with her, I can't...it would doom her to die. I know my history with women has been flawed, and I find myself wishing to stay away from the pain; to prevent her from my curse.

To protect her, that is what I must do, protect her...

...from me.

<Selethen Dawnrunner,

I am here to challenge you. One man against another. No tactics are banned, so long as it is understood that this is between you and me. If you bring another into this, I will kill them without hesitation.

May the victor claim the other's life.

Ares

It was short, direct, to the point. He had left that note in the rogue's guild hall. It would not be disturbed, he was certain of that. Though his name was relatively unknown compared to House Firehawk's assassin and retainer, he hoped that arrogance would bring him.

To a man like Shadowless - no, Ares - such a challenge meant nothing. If anyone challenged him, he would shrug them off. They were of no importance to him. His sheer indifference to the world was what made him so perfect in his role. As head of his unit, as the thread that bound lives together and pushed fate ever forward, he couldn't care less about what he attached himself to.

Perhaps it was because of fate that those who did find themselves close to him were relatively harmless in their own right. His eyes closed as he began to reflect on what he had set into motion.

He had collected notes from each and every one of his 'eyes'. Eve and Shadow belonged to him. Their knowledge was now his. And he had copied those notes and sent them back to each of his 'eyes'. Now they could push forward as a unit. Shadow would work within the Fellowship, protecting and watching, learning from Ratheron and doing what was necessary to keep everything flowing. Eve would stay close to Tyrael and the two of them would go after the head of The Black Hand, the sorcerer who had resurrected the Death Knight as a pawn.

His skin burned hotly and he found himself scratching at the partially healed wound beneath his new chest armor. Black gilded with gold. It was only on a rare occasion that he donned his best armor, and now felt like the most appropriate time to do such. Still, he thought his own place quite strange in this new alignment. To be the one to go forward and outright challenge House Firehawk? What was he thinking? Usually he would send his tracker in first to flush out all of the wildcards, then strike.

But he didn't have her. And she was right. A human girl had no place in this game of Houses. He knew that if had he need of her, she would come out of respect and loyalty. Well. Maybe not respect. The man chuckled to himself at that, shaking his head slowly. The woman respected nothing, had no filter on her mouth, and acted on impulse. That was what made her a good tracker, of course. She was often spot on when it came to her instincts.

Eve being on the front line also worried him. She was meant to sit furthest away from conflict itself. An information gatherer, a woman whose entire persona would fit his whim, perfectly malleable. He lost his grim smile when he thought of his new fourth in his unit. Risalyn had no place at all in this conflict. He hated the fact that he had to use her. He hated the fact that she involved herself with this guild at the worst possible time.

He hated that he knew, and could stake his life on the fact that she would rather die than abandon these people.

His thoughts drifted to those few faces he knew. Ratheron would die protecting her. Kel'tira was a pathetic sort of creature that he only had the pleasure of happening across once in awhile. A selfless healer. He knew that she had drugged him, and had probably interrogated him. Who wouldn't? If she had left him alone, he wouldn't have scarred the walls of that cabin. He was fairly confident that he had said nothing to her, fortunately.

He was trained to be tortured. Interrogated. To give away nothing. Eve herself had modified his demeanor, his mind, his personality to make it even harder to let anything unnecessary pass his lips.

The man's eyes closed behind his mask. He sat on top of a mushroom cap in Zangarmarsh. The trail he had left had been carefully laid. A blunder of mistakes made by an arrogant child. Just as everyone saw him, it seemed.

He had bragged, leaving the rogue’s guild, about how he would kill Selethen and make a name for himself.

He had made certain that it was known that he would be in Zangarmarsh. The atmosphere was horrible for his wound and made it itch like crazy. Perhaps it was infected again.

He had, most of all, made it known exactly what he looked like. Blazing auburn hair, a scarred face. For some reason people always seemed to make note of his scars, as if they were strange. But, perhaps that was why he kept walking into people's blades.

His own already hummed with hunger. Coated with poisons meant to slow the mind and body. They were his favorite and he knew, once he had met Selethen, that he would understand one thing:

If his body burned from fever and illness or if his muse sang of a great battle to come.

He prayed for the latter. Even if he were to fall, he would occupy this man's attention over the coming weeks.

A battle of assassins wasn't like when two knights met head on. It was a game of death. And Ares had no intention of dying.

----

Selethen had already been on the hunt when word reached him of the note. He smiled as he was told of it by a contact, how cute, he thought mildly as he made his way along the roofs of Silvermoon, the gathering dusk making it all too easy for the master assassin to make his way through unseen as he landed lightly at the back entrance into the rogue’s guildhall. As he made his way through those who saw him moved out of his way, offering differential nods and bows; he had no time for them. It bored him slightly how much his reputation made it all but impossible to find a decent challenge.

His skill at infiltrating even the most well protected target made him highly sought after, yet his services were almost only reserved for one family now. It was true that the Firehawks had given Selethen almost everything he wanted, power, infamy and even the ability to find challenges yet here he was finding his own. As he made his way to the board he looked at the note and the script, identifying the writer as right handed almost instantly and yet the font and style of writing didn’t suggest the kind of arrogance this note required. It seemed as if this person was baiting him.

Selethen tilted his head, the sound of voices floating over to him indicated again that this person was far too arrogant to use such an elegant form of righting. The name Ares didn’t ring any bells and Selethen felt that meant that this person was good at the craft of remaining unknown, again making the logical conclusion that this note was indeed a bait. A challenge within a challenge as it were Selethen thought with a dark smile on his face. It was odd how even having deciphered the fact that he was being baited made him all the more eager to jump in and take the bait. Selethen knew that the only way to see if this person was indeed the challenge he was being led to believe would be to spring the trap.

He smiled to himself as he checked to make sure he had his gear, his dagger and sword hanging at his belt, his wrist-mounted dart launchers were filled and ready and he had his assortment of throwing knives at the ready as well. He smiled as he turned and headed out the front door this time. Intent on using the information he had gathered while reading the note, Zangarmarsh. So this would begin in the swamps, oh how fun! Selethen thought to himself a spring in his step as he moved off towards the boat that would carry him to Quel’Danas and from there to Shattrath. In a few hours times he would be moving into Zangarmarsh to begin the hunt.

----

Selethen inhaled deeply, half closing his eyes as he smelled the air of Zangarmarsh, he smelled filth, animals, and death. It was obvious all over the land that death still stalked it. He grinned, a perfect place for an assassin’s duel. He had spent the last few hours hunting for Ares’ trail and after about an hour and a half he had found it but now he was debating whether he should continue.

The trail was so obvious that it was insulting! What did this Ares take him for? A fool? A petulant child who got mad when someone came tumbling into his sandbox? Hah! Selethen hadn’t survived as long as he had by assuming anything about his opponent. He could already tell this rogue was good, he made it obvious, too obvious, that he was arrogant which lent to the belief that he was, if anything, not arrogant but confident he could handle Selethen, even if he didn’t win.

So there was another purpose to this challenge, and he thought he knew what it was. This is why he continued to track this Ares person, not because it would be fun to kill the upstart, not that it wouldn’t be a plus, but because he wanted to know who he worked for so that he could take pleasure in ending their lives while Ares watched. He chuckled to himself at the thought as he continued to follow the trail till it disappeared. When it did Selethen spent some time looking at it and then he grinned.

“To the air you went. Oh how clever...” he murmured as he looked up at the mushrooms around him and smiled.

Good thing he had prepared for this, drawing forth a small whistle he blew a sequence of notes into it, almost too low for the ear to hear yet the creature he was calling could and it dived out of the sky and down next to its master. The dragonhawk chirping at its master softly as Selethen climbed into the saddle and urged the creature back into the air. He made a few circles around the area he was in and then he noticed a tiny dot against a distant mushroom and Selethen angled his mount in that direction. As he circled the shape became distinctly humanoid and so without further complaint angled downward and when he was about fifty feet from the mushroom he jumped out of the saddle and rolled to absorb the impact.

He came to his feet slowly as he looked at the rogue, it definitely was him, there was no mistaking the leather armor or the choice in weapons. Selethen didn’t draw his weapons merely, leaning his arms against their hilts as he watched this Ares for a short time, gauging and reading him.

“Well hello there.” Selethen said quietly, his voice smooth with an excited edge to it.

“Evening,” Ares returned calmly, as if it wasn’t strange for two assassins to suddenly meet on top of a mushroom. Behind his mask, which tainted his green eyes to a bright blue, he observed Selethen’s features. There was no mistaking his body language, his very air, this man was the real deal. Smoothly, he rose from where he had been sitting, but made no movement towards his own sheathed blades.

Being one who specialized in being unknown, he grew silent, simply drinking in that moment for what it was. He had spent the last while setting up nice surprises for Selethen, but that would come at a later date. For now, he simply inhaled, and wished for his muse to take control of this entire situation, for this to become the glorious bloodbath it was destined to be. His hair wasn’t as immune as his carefully armored body to the moisture, and his auburn hair had soaked through, darkening as the rain forever fell upon them. His armor, however, seemed relatively undisturbed.

Then, he bowed before the man, a simple gesture. Respectful, polite, it was nothing like the man who had written the note. It was nothing like the man he had been a moment ago, whose face had been emotionless. Now, a grin crossed his lips as he gave into that familiar feeling, that burning insanity and drive to push himself.

“Shall we?” he rumbled softly, seeming to be waiting for something.

Watched the man, taking notes of all the different aspects. It was obvious he fought in close using speed and technique, it was obvious he had done it for a long time. Probably not as long as Selethen but he wasn’t inexperienced. Then there was the bow, he was baiting him, playing him. This rogue was testing him, as if Ares was the one needing to be challenged and so Selethen shrugged.

“By all means, you called me. Let me guess: someone wanting me to not kill them? I can only think of a few names, considering my targets are limited to one group at the moment...” he murmured, he wondered which one was special to this man, wondered if he could bait him or goad him.

Selethen didn’t draw his weapons yet, though, he was waiting to see how long Ares could wait, whether he had patience.

“Now, why would I simply tell you?” Ares mused in response. The chill of Zangarmarsh was nothing compared to what he had endured over the years, decades, centuries. Noticing that Selethen didn’t seem overly anxious to begin, he, too, relaxed. Though it was obvious that the daggers at his waist weren’t his only ones. Various weapons lined his body, easy to reach. He was prepared for this fight.

“Maybe if you land a nice hit, I’ll let something slip,” he then returned with a small grin. But he already had been focusing on what he wanted his mind to speak, if he were forced. No one would get back to the Fellowship, not even if he had to die for this. His muse grew silent, much to his disappointment, and his grin, too, dropped. “Earn it.”

Selethen watched the man and let his grin widen as Ares’ features changed.

“Tsk tsk, and here I thought you were one who could play the game to its full extent. How very sad.” Selethen said, but as he spoke he lifted a hand, as if to wave away their conversation with a flippant gesture but it turned into an attack as he launched three darts out of his wrist at Ares, the bolts weren’t poisoned, they simply were meant to bleed the target and to let Selethen see how they reacted to being attacked.

Such was his way, learning his opponent and then striking at their weaknesses. Over and over again.

Abandoned! Fury twisted in Ares’ stomach, though he didn’t know why as he launched himself into the attack. His eyes were sharp, trained, he could spot the attack, but that didn’t mean he could avoid it. Darts, much like waves of magic, were hard to shrug off. He drew his left blade, set his hand upon his right still, as he turned his shoulder into the blades. Most of them bounced from the extra daggers sheathed within his armor, but one cut through into his left arm and stuck.

Hoping, but not believing that he could catch the man off guard by rushing into the attack headlong, he drew his left blade upward, to strike with the hilt of his dagger. Silence fell over him, he didn’t seem goaded at all by Selethen’s words, his demeanor, or his attitude. Words weren’t for Ares, they never had been. Even when he had attempted such, he always failed. That was why he had people like Eve and Shadow in his life. They would either speak or get the point across. And him? He just killed !@#$. And, once again, he grinned.

Selethen chuckled as he watched the rogue rush forward and into close quarters, he drew his own curved blade and locked hilts with Ares, his dagger he pulled out of the sheath but held back from the strike as he tested the other man’s strength. He watched his opponent’s eyes, there was no reason to watch his body as Selethen had honed his instincts to counter attacks as they came, he watched his enemy’s eyes to see what they intended, to read it on their face.

Nothing would be readable in Ares’ eyes, unfortunately. No malicious intentions, no searching gaze, nothing. The beauty of his mask wasn’t simply that he was under less risk of having his vision impaired. It kept others from seeing his eyes as well. All that could be seen was that mask, the brilliant blue glow, and the man’s lips twisted into an unreadable grin. His strength told of the long life he had spent honing muscles. If it came to a test of endurance, he didn’t mind such a thing, his blade locked with Selethen’s.

Ares had to give the blonde rogue credit when they tested each other. Even without his muse, he felt his very life in the balance as he drew his right blade and slashed for the man’s stomach, using the force of his draw to enhance the speed and power of the swipe. Pressing, twisting the blade. If Selethen lost concentration on one weapon, he would find the other one presenting a threat to him. Eerily, the daggers nearly shone in the darkened lands around them. Nightfall and rain made their enhancements all the more visible, a dim telltale pulse which spoke of their hunger. For his enemy’s very life.

Selethen twisted his dagger and caught Ares’ blade and then stepped forward, pushing against the rogue trying to shove him back away to give them a bit of distance to work in, he then danced back his wrist flicking out and a few more darts flying out of his mounted thrower and then he steps forward and launches a stab with his dagger, in his right hand, at Ares’ left shoulder, his sword sweeping in a low arc at the rogue’s knees. His weapons glowing slightly but not with the hungry light that Ares’ blades did but with a humming energy as if they shared their master’s desire to simply bite into their enemy and bleed them dry.

Distance meant that his opponent would have another free strike with his bolts. Ares’ arm ached from the one already digging into muscle and flesh, he wouldn’t let another attack happen. When Selethen pushed, he pushed. And when he retreated, Ares advanced, slipping up into his guard to aim a slash at his wrist. If he cut the straps and dismounted the dart launcher or took the man’s entire hand off, he didn’t care. But he soon also found himself under assault. He moved recklessly forward, cursing his muse once again for abandoning him.

His own blade shot towards the sword to stop it as he took Selethen’s dagger into his shoulder, a soft sound escaping him as it pierced through. But, in return, he had aimed his own blade, twisting it from Selethen’s wrist to slash the man’s stomach. He doubted that the other assassin had come with clean blades, and was curious to see what effects would take hold of him. But, on the same token, he wondered just how fast Selethen would recognize that he had to be careful just how he pushed Ares in this mood of his.

Once they were close enough together, Ares then changed tactics, jerking his head forward to headbutt the man.

Selethen twisted slightly as he saw the blade coming for his wrist and then at the last minute was diverted to his stomach, he twisted even farther but it still nicked his side and Selethen hissed in pleasure as he felt the blade bite into him and then felt it transfer some of his life-force. It made Selethen grin, only for a moment before he saw Ares intend to headbutt him and he lightly hopped backwards away from the man. It was obvious that Ares was angry and Selethen intended to use that to his advantage, he flipped his dagger into the air to catch the man’s attention and then he fired off a few darts before grabbing one of his throwing knives and tossing it at Ares.

As the knife spun in the air Selethen caught his dagger and held it in a reverse grip, ready to defend himself with it as he used the sword’s longer reach to poke at Ares, probing his defenses again as the smile came back to the master assassin’s face. It was obvious that Selethen was more than just enjoying himself for this fight, even though Ares seemed a little slow, was still far more challenging than the usual enemies that Selethen fought. It was amazing the kind of skill his opponent possessed, the potential that Ares had was enormous yet it was sad he had thrown it away, or had he?

Selethen smiled with giddiness as the ideas formed in his mind yet he set them aside for investigation and consideration later as he focused on finishing this combat. Deciding to act with lightning speed Selethen stepped forward powerfully and thrust in quick succession, once, twice, three times all at different locations: Ares’ pectoral, kidney and thigh. The purpose was to see if Selethen could further cause the other assassin to bleed more and further aggravate Ares.

“Ha!” Selethen cried as he lunged forward, both because he felt it was fitting and to see how the other man would react to the surprising sound.

Selethen had made a grave, potentially fatal error. Once again, he retreated. Ares, his legs unscathed from the last assault, was free to continue to press forward. Now armed with both of his daggers, uneven blades meant to throw the opponent off, to make them uncertain which weapon was coming at him, he had full use of both of his weapons. Droplets of blood fell onto the mushroom cap, quickly washed away by the rain, but still, they fell, mixing with the water. Ares wasn’t angry, not at Selethen. To him, anger was just a fire to fuel his power and focus his mind, making him all the more dangerous.

The man retreated, and once again, was met with Ares chasing him. Vicious, remorseless, he didn’t intend to let Selethen have a moment to breathe. Perhaps reading the man’s intentions, or perhaps annoyed at the man’s constant retreat, he suddenly threw his left dagger at the man’s chest, as if it meant nothing to him to lose it. Pursuing Selethen, he lashed out with his right blade with the same vicious intentions, to stop him from continuing to pelt Ares with darts.

Having a blade thrown into the air didn’t distract Ares’ attention at all. Nor did the sudden shout as Ares found himself under rapid assault. Suddenly, the aggressive man was forced to retreat, yet he didn’t seem to break stride as he drew from one of the daggers on his left shoulder armor, catching each powerful swipe, deflecting them, as he was pushed back. Mentally, he was almost somewhere else.

Where was his muse?

And how long until the poison began to kick in?

Selethen smiled as he deflected Ares’ dagger with his own, listening as the blade ricocheted over the edge of the mushroom and into the darkness below the master assassin was enjoying himself quite a lot, it was fun having Ares chase him all over the mushroom’s cap, it was enjoyable to watch him try to stay in close with him. He laughed quietly as he pressed forward now, dancing to the side and angling his dagger to come in from the top left and diagonal downward at Ares’ neck and shoulder.

Selethen could tell his opponent seemed distracted yet it wasn’t because of him, it wasn’t obvious what it was so Selethen made sure to remain cautious never pushing too fast or too far while he tried to figure out what Ares was distracted by.

He didn’t speak. It was an oddity in itself, yet something so expected from a silent killer. He was silent, and remained so, Selethen doing very little to outright disturb him. His strikes, chaotic and seeming to be full of emotion, were simply a style of fighting. Shifting, never the same. Such would be seen now as he suddenly changed his grip on his blade, reversing his own hold on his weapon as he struck out towards that arm drawing a dagger towards his neck, intending to pierce through the arm and use his own arm as a shield against his blade.

His other hand went to his side, a brief gesture as he drew the blade back, as if to thrust it for Selethen’s stomach again, perhaps a favored move? It would not be so, a subtle gesture for Ares to brush his hand against his side, but he would follow through with the movement before redirecting his blade up towards the man’s face. Either he would pierce through flesh and release the small capsule of dust, meant to agitate, blind his eyes, and disturb his breathing, or his blade would be caught and he would release the capsule towards his face anyway.

Muse, why have you forsaken me?!

His lips drew back in an annoyed grimace, as if Selethen’s blades tickled.

Selethen smiles as his daggers bites into Ares’ shoulder and as soon as the blade does the master assassin spins to his right, showing his back for just a few moments as he spins around bringing his sword down in a diagonal slash across Ares’ chest, thinking the fight would end there. As he spun he felt a slight burn in his arm and realized he had been stung, knowing the other rogue probably used poisons Selethen knew that he would have to get out of here soon before the effects started to bother him.

Those few moments were all Ares needed, however. With his blade drawing just that bit more of life, with just a bit more of Selethen’s blood shed, the man spun his second dagger before moving forward to slam both at Selethen’s exposed back, twisting to remain behind him. Finally, finding the end of the first encounter near, he hissed softly into the other man’s ear.

“I do not know why my muse has forsaken me... It does not matter... I can win without it...”

He would then set his boot on Selethen’s back, kicking the other man forward. With his back so close to the mushroom’s edge, he would end up knocking himself back, over the edge. The sound of great wing beats flurried, and soon Ares rose high once again, astride Prime, the great golden Proto Drake. Not something that a lithe Dragonhawk would want to take on in the air, that was for certain.

Selethen hissed as he felt the blades slide into the gaps in his armor, as he was kicked he rolled forward and spun, seeing that the other assassin had retreated he knew he would need healing. It would require some time to deal with the poisons, he knew, but he also had plenty of aid from the Firehawks. He grinned and laughed, it wasn’t a laugh of humor but pure elation. Finally here was one that could fight him and give him a challenge.

“Well I hope I get to fight your muse soon enough, if you can hold well against me without it I bet it will be even better fun with the muse.” He murmured to himself as he whistled for his dragonhawk again, intent on heading to Silvermoon City to get tending immediately.

There would be plenty of time to hunt Ares later, after all the other elf was bleeding from several different stab wounds.>

The bite of the cold Northrend wind kept Jana inside her tent and huddled with her pet wolf cub. He was not much protection, but he did have slightly better senses to detect anyone nearby and would alert her. She bent over one of the new guildstones and grinned. "Neryth? Testing this private channel, do you hear me?" the buzz and crackle from the stone was faint. A soft blue light lit up on one side of the stone. Jana held it up to her ear and listened.

"Jana? I hear you loud and clear. This is a marvelous new feature. I am glad you were able to implement it at the last moment. Now we can each key the stones to call any member of the Fellowship in private. Each member must enter their own key plus a private key to the one they wish to speak with. This is far superior to the old stones." his warm and deep voice came over the channel clear enough for her to hear him.

"I am glad to be of service. Make sure everyone has a stone and knows how it works. I will leave it up to you to notify Lord Sunblaze and Lady Kel'tira of the details. I need to get back to work. Tell them for me there is more support coming. From a new direction. Just so they will not be totally surprised." there was a note of conspiracy and deviltry to her tone.

Pacing up and down in her study, Vivieka Blackthorn glared at Sydric, "House Firehawk is starting to really irritate me. They are trying to gain to much control. I do not like it. They have been bullying people and causing friends to leave the city. This is not acceptable. The Sindorei need to stick together, not splinter in political chaos. All I ask is you offer your death knights to House Sunblaze. Be discreet. Send a letter by courier. Let them know you support them if they need anything."

Sydric nodded and bowed deeply to her. "As you wish, I will do so this day." he left and the cold wafted from his footsteps. His armor was black and silver, the tabard a silverhawk rising. Within a few hours a courier was sent to the House of Sunblaze with the following letter.

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To: House Sunblaze

From Lord Sydric Silverhawk

It is my intent to support you should your House be attacked by anyone. Be it local or distant enemy, they are now my enemy as well. Rest assured a good one hundred death knights stand to draw blade and cast their unholy magic in defense of your fine House.

Lord Sydric Silverhawk

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Vivi wrote her own letters and sent more out that day than she ever had. Every warlock and shadow priest and blood mage in her acquaintance were informed of her wish to support the Fellowship and leave it under the command of Lord and Lady Sunblaze. There were many, and the answers came in slowly over the next few days. Not all answered her with enthusiasm, but all agreed that House Firehawk was overstepping their bounds. Each vowed to do subtle things to undermine the power building.

House Firehawk may not know who is doing this, but they should feel some stress for the lack of new support.

Selethen stalked through the once budding village, yet now it was just ruins. Lifeless. Empty. Completely devoid of any life, including the spirits of the Quel’dorei who were killed there. It was odd that even after it was cleansed that the village of Goldenmist felt more lifeless than it had after the Lich King rampaged through it. Selethen could still see the shining towers and beautiful gardens. It was odd for him to see the devastation first hand and realize that he could have helped stop it. Selethen grinned at that, no he couldn’t have stopped it. None of them could have, Arthas would have taken their land from them one way or another it had always just been a matter of time.

Selethen rolled his shoulder and grunted in pain, while his wounds had been healed by the Sorcerer they were still tender and sore. As he thought about it Selethen thought back to his encounter with Tychus...

“You mean to tell me you were fighting an assassin who challenged you? Over the Fellowship?” The sorcerer asked, his fingers steepled before his face as he viewed the small wooden chess board in front of him. Across from him sat his apprentice Darius, the younger man in a similar position except he had his chin held within his right hand while his left rested on the table. It appeared that it was Darius’ turn and the battle-mage was debating how best to defeat his master’s move.

“Yes my lord, it was odd. He would give me no details yet it was obvious he was highly skilled. It was curious he kept mumbling about his ‘muse’ as if he would lose without it.” Selethen said, he watched the board it fascinated him how these two worked, it was like watching gods battle with power yet here they sat the crackling energy between them the pieces on the chessboard.

“Intriguing I shall have to investigate this assassin, Ares, it might be beneficial to understand his muse and how best to use it against him. But it is of no matter, I expect this resolved immediately, destroy him I need you ready to fight against the Fellowship to stealthily eliminate several of its ‘champions’ so that my task is easier. Aserius has already fallen to the poison yet none know it outside those in this room. Magister Tyranus has been kind enough to step up within the Firehawks to act as our ‘liaison.’” Tychus pointed in the direction of where another elf stood, this one had fiery red hair and wore the robes of a Sunreaver yet he had the emblem of House Firehawk emblazoned on his left breast. He inclined his head slightly to the master assassin and in response Selethen nodded.

“Very well, my lord, I will see it done. Thank you for healing my wounds. I-” Selethen was cut off as if the air ceased to be within him and he clawed at his throat as he was raised into the air from his kneeling position.

“Listen well assassin. Your smooth tongue might have served you well with previous clients but I care little for banter and drivel.” Tychus said his eyes now focused on the assassin yet he hadn’t moved a muscle yet somehow he was holding Selethen in the air with ease. “I expect you to win, and if you fail, it will be the last time you fail me. Understand?” Tychus’ voice was cool and completely courteous yet it was that very tone which told Selethen all he needed to know, this man was evil. This man was not one to piss off, this man was not one to try and pull the wool over.

This man knew all the tricks.

Selethen snapped out of his reverie with a sigh as he checked his weapons. This time he had come prepared, coating each in an invisible poison, a concoction he had created that would numb the target making them think they were being cut and at the same time slow their motions. It was an ingenious invention as it made it easy for his blades to continue forcing the target to bleed more and more. Selethen grinned as he also checked his dart throwers and his knives, all of which were coated in the same poison.

There would be no mistakes this time, Selethen had made sure to bring all the toys.

Unlike his opponent, Ares had been given no help. Without Eve to return to, he had little to no chance of recovering his full strength. Oh, he would live. He hadn’t been stupid enough to walk into an assassin’s duel without a mix of antidotes and salves for his wounds. But the man’s blades had bled him nearly dry. Something about them had made it particularly hard to stop the blood flow from his shoulder. At least the dart had proved to be a mere annoyance. But his entire left shoulder ached after being struck so many times.

His gaze dropped to the man below him. His muse had abandoned him. And that was fine. Ares could handle this on his own. There would be no problem. There couldn’t be a problem. Selethen was too close to the Fellowship’s movements. If he failed now, he would have failed Risa. She would be killed. Eve would be killed. The whole lot of them would die because of him. And the stubborn assassin wouldn’t let that be.

He slipped into the shadows. This time, there would be no bow. No introduction. No casual banter. He would seek to slip through the darkness, but he hadn’t even drawn his blades. A fine powder coated his hands, not unlike those in his capsules, but they were of a much finer make. This was a strong, paralytic poison which would slowly seize up the entire body. If he was lucky, this encounter would last far less a time than the last. But now, he was acting as Ares. Chaotic in his methods, always changing, and impossible to predict because of that.

Reaching forward as he moved, he sought to place one hand over Selethen’s nose and mouth. A playful gesture as his other hand caught for his throat. Not to hurt the man, no. This was a tender, almost delicate touch, like a lover sneaking up on another with a surprise. And, having given little to no hint of his presence, let fate fall where it would. The poison would take time to work. He was only grateful that he had coated his entire being in an odor sealing perfume, making it very hard to detect what he was trying to do.

“Who’s it?” Ares purred at Selethen, if successful in his grab. He wouldn’t even try to hold the other man particularly tightly, hoping to control that ‘I’m being watched and I’m going to be killed’ sense that developed so often in their field. He wasn’t trying to hurt Selethen. Yet.

Selethen heard the light steps of Ares and he smiled, it was just all too easy yet he let the man think he was getting the upper hand as a hand clapped over his nose and mouth and one teased at the back of his neck. The second touch sent a shiver down Selethen’s spine yet it was rather odd how he enjoyed that before he heard Ares speak. Selethen rolled his eyes at that, moving instantly as he grabbed Ares’ wrist of the hand clapped over his mouth and pulled it away from him, spinning and twisting it as he also kicked out at the man’s kidneys trying to daze him. “Well hello again.” He replied as soon as the hand was away from his mouth, he didn’t breath yet not until he had space between him and Ares again.

Once there was he wiped a hand across his mouth and nose, the powder coming off of him with his hand and he shook it a few times before hopping from foot to foot like a pit fighter would. He was ready and this was the most fun he had had in a long time. “Let’s dance shall we?” He asked quietly drawing a throwing knife and his dagger, the dagger in a reverse grip while he held the throwing knife in a forward grip. It was an odd take on the traditional way of holding the throwing weapon in the reverse grip but Selethen had spent years becoming the best at his craft and this way had proven invaluable against countless assassins.

Selethen spun as he hopped, twisting into a crouch, the throwing knife now his forward weapon while the dagger was the back one, it held along his forearm and at the ready to strike in a number of different ways as Selethen teased Ares with a wink and shifting his weight around from front to back. Completely at ease with this, completely ready, far more confident and far more aggressive in his tone than he had been in their previous encounter.

The spores had been set. Against bare skin, they would do their work. Even that contact had assured Ares a steady victory. Now he just had to survive long enough to see through it. And that would be the hard part. When Selethen grabbed his wrist, Ares made no attempt to fight, instead dancing with the assassin, his movements complementing the other’s, twisting as to avoid having that knee strike him in the stomach.

Brushing his hands off once Selethen had retreated, he gave a tired sigh, as if wondering why he had even thought that the powder would work. Really, he just didn’t want it getting on his own exposed nose and mouth. Particularly his lips, which were the thinnest in terms of flesh. That would be devastating. Still, he raised an eyebrow, watching the man dance from foot to foot. How antsy. Still, it brought an earnest grin to his own lips, slightly twisting that scar that marked down one side of his mouth. Drawing his own weapons readily, he took a stance, careful to appear natural.

All of his own weapons had been replaced. His dagger found and throwing daggers back in his shoulder armor. Wounds wrapped and bound and armor carefully stitched, it was as if the fight had never happened. As if he, too, had been given a boost of strength and vigor. Suddenly, he outright laughed at Selethen’s vigor.

“Remember,” he purred his words in a borderline seductive growl. “That spinning is what got your back ripped open...” suddenly, he was rushing at Selethen at top speed, that grin twisting into a slight snarl. What his full expression was, how his eyes were alight by this challenge, this hunger and this desire to fight, to draw his muse back, were all hidden behind the mask which tainted his eyes blue and covered half of his features.

Furiously, he would attempt to land strikes with both blades, as if content to merely slice into Selethen’s flesh. Where before he would try to stab, these glancing attacks aimed at the man’s chest and face threatened to slip over blade’s edge and cut into his forearms instead, particularly where that damn dart launcher was. Because damn the Light if that thing wasn’t annoying.

Instead of running away from Ares as he had last time he pushed forward, charging at the elf just as Ares charged him. He smiled wickedly as he caught Ares’ dagger on his own and then pushed it away as he struck out with his dagger towards Ares’ knee. The master assassin then side-arm threw the dagger at Ares, at such close range it would require a massive amount of failure on his part to miss or a major streak of luck for Ares to dodge it; however because it was such close range it would probably hit Ares with the hilt rather than the blade, but it was still a solid strike and would cause the assassin to be slowed.

“You enjoy remembering only where you got me.” He purred in response as he drew another throwing knife, forsaking his sword for the moment as at such close range it would be too difficult to get it out of his sheath. He felt Ares’ other blade slice across his forearm and he hissed, as he did he heard a clatter and knew his dart thrower on his right wrist was now useless, he would have to protect his other one if he intended to use it.

Once again, he found himself amused, even if he was in pain. The dagger had struck home against his knee, and he knew that there would be hell to pay. He had disabled one of those stupid things, and he laughed, even as he lowered himself, thrusting his right hand outward towards Selethen’s throat, twisting his body to set his injured leg behind himself, least he be targeted there. The blow to his chest, he hardly seemed to notice. Then again, he didn’t even make a sound of complaint at being cut into.

“Gotta take all the pleasures in life,” Ares drawled back, no longer seeming obsessed with his muse, he actually seemed to be enjoying himself this time around, holding his left blade defensively now. But he already could read ahead, and knew that the change of him getting out of this alive was growing increasingly bleak. May as well go down laughing, at least. Blood was already running down his boot.

Selethen grinned at Ares’ words, “Its too bad you decided to make me your enemy, now you’ve gone and made my master require me to kill those within the Fellowship.” He said as he launched himself into a speed assault. His left hand, holding the throwing knife, made a feint at Ares’ head yet the real strike came as Selethen flipped the blade in his hand and then brought it down towards the man’s leg. He then had his dagger moving forward towards the other elf’s chest to force him to block the attack.

This assault was then followed up by a headbutt, Selethen wanted a bit of room to bring out one of his other toys. If Ares wasn’t in the mood to play the back and forth game he would simply continue as he was now, he could survive the cut on his forearm, all he needed now was a strong stab on the other rogue to assure victory.

Ares jerked his head, only to find that he had miscalculated the feint, and instead slashed downward as well, a stabbing movement as he made to drive his blade into that forearm in an attempt to intercept it and cut through muscle, tendon, and flesh, only to remember that his shoulder didn’t want to move that way. He jerked slightly as he brought his other blade up to catch the blow to his chest. And oh, delicious, Selethen was moving into pull an Ares-like move.

Only that was his specialty. Still with his head turned from attempting to avoid the dagger, he had a bit of room himself to get momentum as he countered the headbutt with one of his own. With his mask providing only a little help against such a thing, he saw stars behind his eyes from the sheer impact of his head meeting Selethen’s. And yet, injured or not, he would dig his heels into the ground, only to jerk back as he attempted to twist his blade, and Selethen’s own, trying to get one, if not both daggers to twist up into the other’s neck.

“Hah!” Ares truly laughed. As if he cared about the Fellowship. What did Selethen think he was, some bleeding heart out to protect the whole lot of them? The sound was honest enough, for most of Ares really didn’t care. It was only his unit he cared to protect. Not some group lead by Kel’tira. “Oh, that’s a good one!”

Didn’t make a sound as he felt his skin open up and his second dart launcher slip to the ground, he also saw stars but kept pressing forward as his head met Ares’. It was good that the rogue thought to make it appear as if he didn’t have a care about the Fellowship, but Selethen knew this one had his own reasons for helping.

“I shall be sure to make all the women bleed and cry out for aid before I kill them. Maybe one of them will be yours, no?” He retorted as he halted the motion of their locked daggers and twisted them, their points now towards the ground and bringing their chests together. Selethen quickly released his throwing dagger and let that hand move behind his back to a small metal ball on his belt.

Plucking the ball off the belt he quickly dropped it on the ground and closed his eyes as a bright flash, sound and smoke filled the air. The makeshift noise-maker explosive would give Selethen time to break closer quarters with Ares and launch a series of three daggers towards where the rogue last was, at his chest, in an attempt to further bleed him while he drew another throwing dagger, his second to last one and closed the distance between them again.

Oh, this man told good jokes. Ares tried to imagine him trying to slit Eve’s throat, and could only snort as he suppressed his laughter. When it came to Risa, he spared no thought, for despite his attempts to stay true to his desire to protect and aid her, the wounds she had caused were deep, and that small fraction of him which had nearly suffocated her still lived and breathed. It was the part that he held closest to himself when facing this man.

Feeling his shift, watching his eyes close, it was all the more obvious what the man was doing. Both of his legs had been cut into, one more serious than the other, and he knew that movement was a very limited thing at this juncture of combat. He took a deep breath, not wanting to inhale the smoke, and found himself suddenly deafened by the force of the bang. Silently, he hoped that Selethen had a second so that he could dissect whatever he had just used, but it was a momentary thought. For, as the man danced back blindly, Ares was free to watch. The lenses of his mask had been designed specifically to filter out flashes of light, as had been demonstrated against the Shadow Knight.

Throwing himself to the side, he hit the ground as he threw his own blades, both, after Selethen. His intention had been to roll, but realized that in doing so, he could very well damn himself, and so quickly drew two of his own throwing blades, prepared to intercept the man’s strike, even as he felt the poisons coursing through his body taking their hold. Silently, he laughed at himself, then, for having thought that this man wouldn’t coat his blades.

“I am an assassin, not a man,” he hissed in pleasure, and let his odd phrase be at that, knowing that he was done. This fight was over.

He saw the blades coming and in just the nick of time spun, but not quick enough as he was scathed by the blades along his left shoulder and his back. Selethen hissed as he spun and fell to a knee, glaring at Ares as he panted making sure all his limbs worked still. He could tell the rogue was down and out. He had two major injuries to his legs and with the poison that Selethen had used it was only a matter of time till he began to feel the effects of those poisons. “So you enjoy a man? Well to each his own I must say, I’ve never had any real need for sexuality. It simply is a waste of time.” He murmured as he got up and circled the downed assassin like a wolf hunting its prey.

It could be seen in Selethen’s expression that he wasn’t yet done with Ares yet what he had in mind was not what the other elf was thinking. “So tell me, what does an assassin like yourself have to gain from helping them? My master will sweep them away like the filth they are. Yet here you are defying him.” Selethen shook his head, “Albeit you are doing it through me but still it is hilarious to watch... I should try and determine which one you care about; to throw yourself into such a suicide mission. Did she reject you? Or he I should ask?” Selethen teased, toying with Ares, knowing there was no way he was going to get information out of the other. Selethen didn’t need information he just wanted to play the game he enjoyed so much, he wanted to savor his victory of the challenging rogue, even if Ares didn’t have his muse to help him.

“Jealous?” Ares purred in return, holding his arms up still. His left began to tremble ever so slightly, the muscles unwilling to maintain that position. Yet he didn’t relax, didn’t lower the blade. Instead, he attempted to force his body back under control. Like Selethen, he breathed heavily, and that was what made their poisons course through each other all the faster. “Odd, that a man with no sexuality would shiver at my touch... Perhaps you’ve just been denying yourself all of this time, afraid to face your own reality...”

The banter was amusing to him, and bought him more time. Why, did he wonder, did people always take their worst assumptions and pin them to him? Why did they find it so intriguing to paint a face on the assassin that didn’t exist? He let his mind begin to wander, spinning a chaotic web even as he lay on his side, not even flicking an ear, much less turning his head to watch the other man.

‘I’m not afraid to have you at my back,’ he seemed to be saying.

Selethen had to laugh at Ares then, oh he was funny but sadly it was almost time for him to get moving. “Ah if only I could stay and play longer but I cannot.” He replied quietly, “As such take this as a gift!” He then threw another knife this one aimed at Ares’ back, “As payment for the yesterday and I’ll have to tell your friends in the Fellowship how you failed, before I kill them of course.” The master assassin said with a laugh as he turned to walk away, heading for his dragonhawk.

As he moved that way he began to feel woozy, as if one of Ares’ poisons was just now affecting him yet it seemed to him as if there was something he was forgetting. He shook his head and tripped into a wall. He caught himself and then realized. The powder. Selethen struggled again with his mind and kept walking only to spin around as he looked around, the world around him spinning as darkness clung to his vision and he fell to the cobblestone with a clank, out cold.

The blade struck through, horribly so. Ares winced in pain as he slowly lowered his blades so that he could reach around to ease the dagger in his back out before it causes major bleeding. There he lay, then, forcing himself to breathe still, even as he looked towards where Selethen lay. He laughed, then, only to choke and cough blood. Seems that blade had nicked a lung. He grimaced and settled himself in for a long night as he crept towards the fallen assassin, leaving behind a trail of blood.

Until, finally, he was within arm’s reach. And there, he closed his eyes and gathered his strength. He drew the sheathed dagger on his right shoulder pad, slowly, carefully. He then moved to stab down into the fallen assassin’s right hand, straight through, with the last of his strength. Vision swimming, he wondered why he had done such a thing to a man who was doomed to have his entire body freeze up until his very heart and lungs stopped. His head hit the ground heavily enough for him to grunt in annoyance, but the guildstone lay far, far out of reach. Even if he wanted to call someone for help, he had hidden it. And now it was safe as he choked on his own blood slowly. It was somewhere else. Far... far away.

Strolling out of his well guarded home, Sydric made his way to the Royal exchange. His gold was secured and he had no need to worry about investments. A steady stream of income came from his vassals in Hillsbrad. The mines and the crops were well worth the initial efforts to settle there. He knew the Firehawks would be concentrating on troops and political moves. They needed resources to feed and arm their best.

His task today was simple enough. Strolling through the Exchange he met with another farmer he knew supplied the Firehawks with grain. Only one of many of course, but one supplier missing might make a difference and cause others to raise prices. Sydric hailed the elf and coaxed him to the Silvermoon City Inn.

Upstairs in a private room they had a well prepared dinner and talked. Sydric made him an offer he could not refuse and the elf left feeling actually very happy. He never dreamed he could have such a windfall. He would use his newfound gold to move to Pandaria. Where Sydric had assured him the crops were nothing short of fantastic.

The next day Sydric rode through his new grain fields. Sending his well trained crew in to harvest. Several wagonloads of the precious cargo were sent to a warehouse waiting for word from Vivieka. One crop short of winter supplies would drive prices higher on the open market.

Vivieka did some of her own private buying and selling. The ladies of the Doomguard society wanted fresh meat and the local breeder of livestock was only too willing to sell a bit early for a premium price. It might seem odd that the meat in the markets was suddenly of lesser supply. And of course supply determines price.

Who would even imagine why the buying of livestock would occur within a few short days to a large number of individual buyers? Each purchase made and paid in cash and the stock sent in small groups to the small ranch in Hillsbrad. For now they were just less meat on the open market.

Small moves done over the course of several days. All seemed natural. None of the Houses that supported Blackthorn would suffer. They knew to stockpile and wait. When the time was right the support for the House of Sunblaze would be given.

In shadowed corners the street talk buzzed and small rumors became gossip that flew around the City. The Firehawk bullies strolling the streets were often the victims of pranks and snickers from behind shadowed alcoves. They were not fast enough to catch all of them. And those that succeeded made it all the worse for the rest were encouraged to be bolder. Morale was one thing that was easy to tear down and hard to keep high.