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Turning his attention back to William, he returned to the problem, "Pressure plate. Can you tell if there's a timer, or when the plate is released that'll set it off?"

"There appears to be a timer. I can't quite see what it says though as it's under a mass of tangles."

Jonathan sighed. "Hell. Is there any way to move the wires and see?"

"Not without shifting my weight sir, and I feel that would have a rather adverse consequence." Well, that was an understatement.

"We're moving in. Mandy, let's go." He gestured toward the AAMS building.

"Aye sir. Let me have a look at it, sir. See what I can do." She nodded and followed Jon inside, both of them being very careful to avoid more traps along the way.

Inside, they found William, standing off to the side with a rather stoic expression on his face. There was indeed a rather large bomb stuffed into a wall that he had uncovered. It looked to be little more than a large red smiley face covered by a tangled mass of red wires. Mandy made her way over, looking from a safe distance. She moved left, right, lifted her toes, squatted down... "Definitely Goblin, sir. Those smiley faces are a dead giveaway. No, really?

"Mandy, do what you can. I'm going to search the place, and watch for any more traps."

Carefully, as befitting a bomb defuser, made her way over to William, gave him an encouraging smile, then squatted down to get a closer look at the timer. "Gonna check out the timer here, William. Usually these are the easiest way to put a bomb on hold, you know." She moved to brush the sweat off her palms on her mauve shirt before handling the device.
"Uuh... no. Ooot! ...Fel, the timer's in Goblin." She glanced up at William sheepishly.
Jonathan, while this was happening was in the next room, having just disarmed another, somewhat less explosive trap, and was moving on. "You defuse bombs. How the hell do you not know Goblin?" He called back.

"Well, in class, I'd usually use my robot Jeeves to defuse the Goblin bombs. The Gnomish ones are way easy; most of them..." She trailed off. Jon meanwhile, was mentally facepalming over her cheating through the class with her robot. "Well, nevermind. Maybe another time. I... I can try to guess what this says..." A small pit formed in Jon's stomach, but he moved on.

"This place is a mess..." The desk was smashed, the files burnt... but wait, there was something sitting there, among the rubble, clearly placed after the fact. A small unopened letter, with a name written on it in common! Derscha Kettlebomb.

"If... ewer... happy... anjew... gnoll... it... stomp... ewer... feet?"

Jonathan sighed. "Mandy, when we get back, you are taking lessons and learning Goblin." He grabbed a fragment of the smashed desk, a piece with a small marking on it, and tucked it away with the letter, and a few random files that had survived only half-scorched. He then moved back into the first room. "As soon at that thing's disarmed, we're gone."

Mandy sighed and slowly climbed to her feet. "I think I might have better luck with the bomb itself." She tiptoed over to the bomb itself.

Outside, the gentle sound of sweeping neared the door, as an Orcish voice spoke out. Mandy looked up from where she was... "counting" the wires. "Eenie... meenie... mine- what? Sir! The Orc just said there are troops incoming."

Jon looked between William and Mandy, when William spoke up. "You two should leave, sir."

Mandy choked. "William!"

William flicked a glance to her, then looked at Jon squaring his shoulders. "If you lure them in here and then escape, I'll make sure they get what's coming to them." Mandy looked between the two, a mix of pride and fear on her face.

Jon looked on for a moment, before tossing William a sharp salute, and a grim smile. This tore at him badly to have to leave him behind, but... he moved over to Mandy, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mandy. There's not enough time. We have to go." He hated himself for having to say it.

Tears in her eyes, she quickly leaned over and gave William a kiss, then stepped back and saluted him. Turning around, she didn't look back. They'd all said their goodbyes.

Jonathan looked to Mandy. "...know any good Orcish insults? Cause if you do, scream 'im as loud as you can, and get the hell out." Jonathan himself, having been in human form for the operation, transformed into his Worgen state, and prepared to let loose as loud a howl as he could muster. By the Light, they'd know someone was in here, and when they came, William was gonna make them pay DEARLY for that mistake.

Mandy nodded, took a deep breath, and yelled with all her might: "GARROSH IS AN ELF LOVER!" At the same time, Jonathan let loose with the loudest howl he could force out, the both of them then proceeding to get the hell out of the building as fast and silently as they could. Mandy was forcing herself not to look back.

Within moments, Kor'kron had flooded the building. Seconds later, there was a muffled "whoomph", followed by the ceiling oh-so-daintily collapsing in on itself. In the smoke that rose up, there formed a cheerfully grinning red happy face.

In a way, Derscha envied Spriggel. There was little more she wanted to do except take the next boat to Kalimdor and start the search herself. Yet, she was not a simple salesgnome in her father’s workshop anymore, and it was not so easy to leave her responsibilities in someone else’s hands to go chasing after her personal agenda. The AAMS could not afford to lose both managers.

The well in the mage district was proving to be a convenient meeting place again. Derscha sat on one of the benches, while Kordrion idly leaned against the wall of the well. They chatted aimless about a few idle topics, waiting until another arrived before tackling what they had actually come to speak about.

It was not that long of a wait before Jon Harmarth strolled up to the clearing, grunting a hello as he sat on a free bench.

“Mission… mostly successful,” he reported.

“Mostly?” Derscha asked.

Jon shot Kordrion a hard glance. “Will’s gone.”

The other man grimly nodded. “I know.”

Derscha sucked in a breath. “Oh, my.”

Jon sighed and retrieved the evidence he’d brought back with him. A splinter of wood that looked reminiscent of one of the AAMS’ desks, some half-burned documents, and a thin envelope with a hand written address. Kordrion gave the letter a curious look.

“The bit of the desk and the burned stuff were mostly to prove to Spriggel that, yes, the office was in fact, attacked,” he explained. “The letter… was a bit more intriguing. I haven’t looked at the contents. I stopped her from doing anything too stupid, by the way.”

“Thank goodness,” Derscha said. She’d been worried ever since the Ironforge office manager had gone off on her own.

“You really need to sit her down and have a long chat about her…. test on Horde Politics, or whatever it was. She apparently thinks she did great. Meanwhile, she was trying to go to Orgrimmar to talk with the mayor and ‘sort things out.’ “

Kordrion perked a brow at Jon, while Derscha mentally sighed at the frustration he’d experienced. Personally, she had wondered sometimes what death had done to Spriggel’s mind.

“That sounds very…. Spriggelish,” she finally answered.

“I did my best to bring her "knowledge" of the Horde back to reality, but I think she just ignored me.”

Jon passed the letter over to Derscha. She took it, and ran a finger over the hand writing; her name, written clearly in Arrayah Greyson’s neat script. The letter had cost someone’s life to reach her. “I’m sorry about your loss,” she said softly, looking back at Jon.

Kordrion flicked his gaze to the letter once more, then back at Jon yet again. “Tell me what happened.”

"Everything went as planned up until we got to the Office itself. We did meet up with Dorgot, and he warned us that the Kor'kron had booby-trapped the building. They were waiting for someone to come back.

“I figured that gave us the advantage. William moved ahead to get inside. Almost right away, found a hidden pressure plate connected to a timed bomb. Pressure plate started the timer.”

Kordrion frowned as he listened to the report.

“Me and Mandy followed him in. She did her best to try and disarm the bomb while I swept the rest of the place, but no luck. Apparently she can't read goblin - that needs to change. In the end, he made us leave him behind. We made a ruckus to lure the Kor'kron in, then got out before they arrived. He brought the place down on them.”

“She assured me she know all the Horde languages,” Kordrion said. “I will see that changes.”

"Speaking a language and reading it aren't the same thing," Derscha corrected in a habitual voice. She still held the unopened letter in her hands, not ready to read it.

Kordrion ran a hand through his hair, then nodded. “You did well, all things considered.” He paused a moment with a concerned frown. “How she’s handling it?”

“Badly, last I saw.”

“All right.” He grimaced, then added, almost as an afterthought, “Were you all wearing your tabards?”

“There wanted posters around Orgrimmar for Arrayah,” Harmarth said to Derscha. “So at least she’s not dead or captured.” He looked to Kordrion to answer his question. “I wasn’t. Mandy and William were.”

She tore her eyes up from the letter at Jon’s news; it was the first bit of good news she’d heard so far, even as Kordrion grimaced at hearing about the tabards.

She realized the trouble the tabards could cause. “Oh, my. Not that I think you were very friendly with them before….”

“Not really, no,” Kordrion agreed.

“On the other hand, I doubt anyone who saw us other than Dorgot lived to tell about it,” Jon offered. “Remember, we lured them into the office... then Will set off the bomb.”

“Yeah...just wondering what they will find when they dig the bodies out.”

“Well, I guess that depends on how much damage the bomb did to the bodies.”

Kordrion shrugged slightly. “Like Derscha said, we weren't very friendly with them before so…”

It was unnerving to listen to. “This office is well and truly closed now, hmm?” Derscha asked. Even if they returned to Orgrimmar, it sounded as if there were no office left to return to.

“ ‘Closed’ isn’t really the word I would use,” said Jon.

“Looks it,” Kordrion agreed. “Closed… forcible relocation…”

“Rubble.”

“Semantics.” Kordrion gave him at half hearted smile at the back and forth.

There was really little left to do except read her letter. Derscha slit the envelope open with her pocketknife and slid the letter free. She took a slow breath before unfolding it, revealing a few short paragraphs. It was written in neither Orcish nor Common, but in script that Derscha hadn’t read in quite a while. She studied the page quietly, having no difficulty in remembering how to decipher the code.

As I write this, the Kor’kron are on their way to my location.

She lowered her head, aware the other two were watching her read, until the brim of her hat hid them from her sight.

It is my intention to delay the Kor’kron, to allow everyone more time to safely get away… I’m writing this not only to let you know of my plan, but also as a goodbye…

So should the worst happen, I want you to know that you were my best friend.

She read the letter twice, three times. Arrayah made no mention of any plans should she survive. No hint of where to look for her. Perhaps she hadn’t thought that far ahead, or perhaps she didn’t risk leaving evidence.

Perhaps she thought it would not be necessary.

“You said she wasn’t captured, correct?” Derscha broke the lingering silence, controlling the waver in her voice as best she could. She dared not look up from her letter, keeping her face hidden.

“If she had, there wouldn’t be wanted posters around town for her,” Jon reminded her. “Everything ok? What does it say? Or is it something private?”

Still not looking up, she answered. "She... and your William had a a lot in common."

Out of her line of sight, Harmarth’s expression hardened, and Kordrion looked to Derscha, refraining from asking the question.

She gingerly refolded the letter, placing it neatly back inside its envelope. They deserve to know what William gave his life for. “It doesn't say where she is. She went back to the office to delay the Kor'kron. And-”

The corner of the letter was crushed in her clenched fingers. She couldn’t say it. She could not say that the letter was Arrayah’s final farewell.

She’d never received a farewell letter from Lazack. His letters had simply stopped arriving after the Cataclysm. Arrayah had not criticized her for leaving home, or for spending months looking for him and never finding a single clue or sign of what had happened. She had been there when Derscha needed someone to grieve with. Now, this time, Arrayah was making sure Derscha received a proper farewell.

I know you, and I know that once I disappear, you will look for me. I thought I might give you something to find.

If only Derscha had listened and closed the office sooner.

She reached into a pocket for a handkerchief, relieved that neither Jon nor Kordrion were speaking. She knew what Arrayah would say if she were here, the same words of advice she’d given so long ago.

“But there’s still hope,” Derscha said, attempting to convince herself. “She’s somewhere. And just unable to contact us.”

“Never give up hope even when logic tells you otherwise,” Kordrion said.

“Isn’t that what we’d always like to believe?” she asked.

“If there’s anything further we can do to help, Derscha…” Kordrion offered.

She put away the envelope, pocket knife, and handkerchief. “I don’t want anyone else to risk their lives for this.”

“To be fair, that’s what our people do,” he reminded.

“I think you need to make sure people understand the full truth of what's actually happened,” Jon said. “And uhh, like I said before, talk with Spriggel. Because no matter what I said, she was absolutely convinced that Orgrimmar has a mayor.”

“There's no changing Spriggel's mind on anything,” said Kordrion.

“Maybe she’ll listen to Derscha?”

“If that were true, I’d have a desk.”

“Well...you have a splinter of a desk?” Kordrion said with a hint of humor.

Harmarth still seemed irritated at Spriggel’s antics. “Oh yeah, she said she's apparently getting it ‘repaired.’ “

“The last time I saw my desk, she’d turned it into a canal racer.” Derscha could feel a giggle wanting to escape at the memory. She vaguely smiled, feeling more in control of herself.

She needed to be reminded of the fun of just being silly. Plus, Spriggel’s brand of ‘organization’ had done an excellent job of keeping the intrusive investigators at bay in Ironforge. She made a mental apology to Harmarth and moved to sidestep the issue.

“Miss Lockbolten's very good at the task I need her for at the moment, but her trip to Orgrimmar was her own idea, and not something we'd encourage.”

“I imagine having her head on a pike would be counter-productive,” was his reply.

“Thank you for what you’ve done.” Derscha stood from her bench. “I should let the others know what you’ve brought back.”

They bid each other farewell and Derscha made her way to the Stormwind Office. She was not sure what would happen next, but for now, she would trust in Arrayah’s ingenuity.

She was not ready to say goodbye, not yet.

Dear Derscha,

I don’t have long, as I write this, Kor'kron are on their way to my location. Our workers are being secreted away, as you surely know by now. I have returned to the office and disposed of the files that we hadn’t already moved. I’m sorry I failed to keep the office open, but at least our workers are safe, and client confidentiality was upheld to the best of our ability.

It is my intention to delay the Kor’kron, to allow everyone more time to safely get away. I’m not sure I will be successful, but I hope I will be. I will try to get them to pursue me, instead of searching for the others. This might be the last time you hear from me...

I’m writing this not only to let you know of my plan, but also as a goodbye, one I hope that isn’t necessary. I know you, and I know that once I disappear, you will look for me. I thought I might give you something to find.

So should the worst happen, I want you to know that you were my best friend. That I enjoyed the years we knew each other, and I enjoyed the time we worked together. Thank you for all you’ve done for me, from both when I was alive and since. You were my greatest friend. Please don’t blame yourself for whatever happens, as I knowingly and willingly walked into this. Have a wonderful life, and take care of everyone, including yourself. It is my hope to rejoin you in the future, but should I not...

Take care of yourself my friend.

They are here.

She walked through the streets of Orgrimmar, tugging the scarf higher around her neck with gloved fingers, partially hiding the tell-tale gash running down her jawline and throat. Her pallid skin and faint scent marked her as Forsaken, although one rather well preserved. Every now and then a group of orcs would come parading down the way, and she'd duck aside to let them pass. It didn't do well to draw attention to one's self.

She passed few Forsaken, though they all played at the same game as she, shambling along the edge of the street, half in the gutter, so there would be less distance to traverse to get out of the orcs’ way.

One of the Forsaken stumbled as an orc deliberately pushed him out of the way. She hurried her step, wincing in sympathy and turning her eyes away from the sight. She could hear the orcish laughter as they presumably pushed him down again.

Watch yourself, Val. The last time you stopped to help a Forsaken being hounded by orcs it nearly got you killed. And put you in your current predicament.

She took several deep, calming breaths to steady her nerves.

Then she berated herself for the mistake, glad for the loose clothing and general inattention of those around her. Forsaken did not breathe.

She thought back to the Forsaken woman at their camp, laying as still as the truly dead.

The traffic on the street grew even thinner as she approached her destination. The businesses had slowly moved away, or in some cases, had simply been abandoned as their owners vanished. She slipped into an alley between a pottery shop and an empty building and quietly scaled the wall. The tall, canyon walls of Orgrimmar provided plenty of shadows and overhangs for her to creep along until she found her perch above the remains of a collapsed building.

She settled in the little alcove, pulling her legs close and sighing at the inevitable cramps she’d endure later on. That was another thing real Forsaken did not have to worry about.

The alcove afforded her a view of the building down the slope- what was left of it. The ceiling had caved in, and piles of debris were being pushed into little heaps by a maintenance crew cleaning up the mess. Two Kor'kron soldiers stood nearby, overseeing the operation.

She had meant to return to the AAMS office sooner, but now it was too late. With the clean-up crew in place, she’d have no chance of sneaking into the rubble. She carefully studying the peons, memorizing faces. She’d had some success in talking to the lower ranked orcs for rumors; they were almost treated as poorly as the other races.

Garrosh and his lackeys don’t care who you are, if you’re not ‘strong.’ Doesn’t matter if they’re Forsaken, trolls, or even other orcs.

It was not what she’d expected when she first started infiltrating the city. She knew, of course, of the troll rebellion. Those who stayed in the city, helped him run his war machine, were therefore complicit in Garrosh’s atrocities. They were the enemy.

It was her job to spy and sabotage, not feel sorry for them.

Two peons overturned a large section of collapsed wall. One of them straighten up in surprise and waved to the Kor'kron overseer. Her viewpoint didn't allow her to see whatever they'd discovered, but the Kor'kron’s burst of laughter sent chills down her back and she sucked in a deep breath.

He unsheathed a knife from his belt and leaned over, hacking away at something that refused to come free. When he stood, there was a bundle of cloth in his hands, black with a large patch of white. The Kor'kron clapped the peon on the soldier, causing the smaller orc to stagger, then tucked the bundle of cloth under his arm. He picked his way free from the rubble and spoke quickly to his counterpart, unfurling the fabric to show off his prize.

It was a tabard. She’d never met anyone from the order personally, but knew the symbol from reputation and recent research into the AAMS’ activities. She scrambled down the cliff wall. Her commander would want to know that Terra Incognita had been in Orgrimmar.

It was a few days later when she sat on stack of shipping pallets, watching the passersby on the streets of Booty Bay. She twitched her foot now and then in nervous anticipation.

The commander had approved her plan. Had put his faith in her ability. She was not going to disappoint him. She was going to prove that she hadn’t made a mistake.

She saw the lean figure walking toward her. Kordrion Stoneheardt, the commander of Terra Incognita, and skilled rogue. He’d just left a meeting with the AAMS CEO. She took a deep breath, waited until he was closer, then cheerfully greeted him.

“Hey, mister.” She smiled brightly as he turned, surprised.

“Evening, help with you something?” he asked cautiously.

“Just a brief chat.” She playfully placed her finger on the side of her nose. “One professional to another, hmm?”

That got his attention. She let him pick someplace to talk, moderately relieved when he chose the inn. They settled at an upstairs table. Kordrion moved his chair so he could sit watching her with his back to the wall.

“So what can I do for you?” he asked.

“Vallandi Haywood, by the way,” she introduced herself. “I’m glad to meet you.”

“You obviously already know how I am.”

“Fair’s fair, isn’t it?” She offered her hand. “SI:7, special ops division.”

A brief look of distaste flickered across his face, but he shook her hand. “And what information could I possibly have that SI:7 doesn’t already know?”

“Hmm. More that we need some details that we think you can provide.” She looked past the table as a burly man approached. “Care for a drink?”

“Water. Details, hmm?” He didn’t seem inclined to take the time for pleasantries.

“A water for him, I’ll take a port, please.” She waited until the server left before continuing. “Yes. Insight. Expertise. We have a situation that we think you’d be able to assess. Interested in helping?”

He gave her a long, unreadable look before answering dryly, “Depends on which me you’re asking.”

“On which you?”

“Are you asking me as a commander, or me as a rogue?”

"Does it make much difference? We need your help. Are you willing or not?"

“Yes, it makes a bit of difference.”

She leaned back in her chair with disappointment at his indifference. “Do I have to invoke orders?”

Kordrion snorted. “Orders? Look, this is how it goes. If you want information from me as a commander you can take a hike. What TI contracts out for we keep confidential, and whatever else we find out information wise I don't tend to just spread around unless I feel there's cause. If you want something from me rogue to rogue you are going to have to meet my price, and it's not cheap.”

“How much are we talking about?”

He pulled out a piece of paper, jotted down a number, and roughly shoved it across the table. Her eyes flickered down at the rather large number.

“That’s how it is? I will admit, you do have a reputation. It's why I wanted to recruit you."

She fell silent again as the burly man returned with two drinks, carefully carrying them near the rims before setting them on the table. Kordrion flicked a glance at him, giving a brief nod. He pondered the water a long moment before taking a small sip, never once looking back at Vallandi.

“You know trying to recruit me is a road to nowhere.”

“I have to try.” She shrugged, taking a drink of her own port. “It’s much easier when people are willing to help each other, you know.”

“We're oil and water. Will take a hell of a lot to get us to combine there.”

She pushed the paper back without looking at it. “Quite a lot of something, I see.”

He started to reach for the paper before pausing a moment to shake his head, as if to clear it.

She watched the reaction calmly, taking another sip. “Any chance you’d reconsider? Or perhaps there is something we could do for you?”

“Highly doubtful.” He shook his head and moved to stand- the motion quickly leading to a look of alarm as he clutched the table, closing his eyes against a wave of vertigo. “Look, I’ve had a long day… need to get back.”

“I’d be happy to walk you out.” She stood, casually moving to his side to grab his arm for support.

He ineffectively jerked his arm away from her. “I can walk myself out.”

“I’d feel bad if you were injured when you’ve been so considerate to stay late on my behalf.” She waved the burly man back over. “I think my friend’s had a little too much, could you help us out?”

The waiter went to Kordrion’s other side, his large hands practically lifting the rogue up. Kordrion attempted to pull away again in alarm, triggering another wave of dizziness.

Vallandi drew a cloth from her pocket and quickly wiped down the outside of Kordrion’s glass, mindful of the contact drug mixed with the condensation.

“Transport ready, Val?” the waiter asked quietly.

“Just outside.” She motioned to the upstairs door leading to a outdoor walkway. The waiter guided Kordrion’s groggy steps outside.

As they hit the fresh air, Kordrion snarled in a quite, nearly inhuman way, a small knife suddenly appearing in his hand. “Let. Me. Go.” He staggered, making a fairly ineffectual swipe at them. “What did you do to me?”

“Just a back up plan. All good plans have them, don’t they?” She struck at his wrist; he let out an oath as the blade clattered to the ground. Vallandi frown at her accomplice as she pulled out a syringe. “Hold him still. He’s feistier than I thought.”

Kordrion froze at the sight of the syringe. His eyes darted, gauging how much space they had free between buildings. He redoubled his effort to pull free from the man’s grip, abruptly growing in size.

“Damnit- duck!” Vallandi shouted a warning even as she dropped to the ground, barely avoiding being swiped by a the growing wing of the sandstone drake. A downdraft informed her of Kordrion’s departure. She turned her eyes upward, spying the drake’s wobbly flight over the town.

Beside her, the other agent was holding his hand to head in a daze. She whistled sharply, and a flutter of gryphon wings appeared. She mounted, leaving him behind, and taking off in Kordrion’s direction.

The drake headed toward the hills surrounding Booty Bay, labored wing beats denying him the altitude to soar above them. He landed on the hillside, digging his claws into the dirt and rock, glaring at her approach even as he was forced to droop his head on the ground.

She made sure to land well out of the reach of his claws. “I really didn’t want this to be so difficult,” she said softly, sincerely.

He growled, not lifting his head. “Leave me alone, then.”

“I do need your help, though,” she pleaded, deciding to lay her cards on the table. She knelt down before him, at his eye level. “I need you if I’m going to save her.”

He lifted his head slightly, turning it quizzically.

“We have a prisoner,” she spoke quickly, glancing over her shoulder to be sure her partner hadn’t caught up yet. Penn was slow, but diligent. “She won’t talk to use. She may talk to you. But if she doesn’t talk to anyone…”

“Who?”

A second gryphon landed. John Penn glared at the two, sporting a growing dark bruise on his head. “Val, I thought you said this was going to be easy.”

“If you’d held him better and didn’t let him draw a knife! Call Solomon. We’re going to need his help.”

She kept a careful eye on Kordrion as they waited for Solomon to arrive. The drug was keeping him sedated, but she doubted it would be effective for long if he stayed in his drake form. He didn’t move, but his eyes watched their every move.

“This isn’t the agreed upon meeting place,” Solomon immediately criticized when he found them.

“Well, John's not so good at holding people." Vallandi pointed at Kordrion. "He transformed. Do something about it?"

The mage studied him, walking a few paces to the side. “Should be simple enough,” he declared, ignoring Kordrion’s baleful look. “Not the usual transformation spell, hmm.” He made several complicated gestures in the air, brows furrowing. Slowly a blue aura settled around the drake, who started to shimmer and shrink until he was reduced to a human stretched out on the ground.

Before he could recover, Vallandi stepped forward and stabbed him with the syringe. Kordrion’s head slumped to the side.

“We’ve got him, now. Solomon, get the portal ready. Time to report back.”

((Would post the 2nd part of the Jon/Spriggel bit, but I've had a hell of a time doing much WoW-related right now, and I just can't get myself to write it up. I'll try to do it eventually, but I don't see it getting posted up for a little while, sorry =\))

((Spriggel to the rescue!))

Spriggel readjusted herself without opening her eyes. She was CERTAIN, until 2 seconds ago, that she’d gotten rid of that poking alarm clock ages ago. She was poked again and reluctantly opened her eyes. She blinked a couple of times as her eyes adjusted to the strong sunlight filtering through the trees.

Trees? What happened to the crocs and miles and miles of soggy bottoms? She had barely processed that question when a beast stuck its snarly face into her field of view. “What? Who? Eeep! Ooof!” she exclaimed in rapid succession as she tried to sit up and backpedal away from the overhead worgen, which caused her to fall off the park bench.

Park bench? She kept a hold of the bench as she climbed to her feet, making sure it didn’t wander off from between her and her sleep prowler . . . was that Jon? . . . and took a quick look around at the park they were in. Stormwind? she guessed, as a barker walked through the park, “Come for the beer, stay for the atmosphere!”

Jon Harmarth, for that was her sleep prowler, caught her attention again: “You sleep really soundly for someone who a knockout potion wouldn't work against, you know that?”

She tugged her hat down properly on her head, and straightened her tabard, wondering:
1. what Jon was doing here (hadn’t she seen him in Durotar?), and
2. what she was doing here instead of the Durotar desert-slash-bog, and
3. why had she slept in her clothes, and
4. on a city park bench,
5. that wasn’t even HER city.

Confusion clear in her voice, she stumbled through an answer, trying to get her bearings without letting the worgen out of her sight or the bench out from between the two of them. For some reason, she was leery of him. "I have . . . always . . . slept soundly? Are we in Stormwind? Were we swept up by one of those dust devils and blown back here? I'm not feeling like I fell out of the sky . . . .” She checked herself out for any new bruises or scrapes, and found none.

“You're fine. I got into the city and checked out the office, then brought you back here,” he replied.

She considered his answer as things began falling into place (or at least some place) in her head. “Wait, I remember? You gave me some water? But it wasn't. And you . . hey! you knocked me out!” she exclaimed - hurt, puzzlement, and outrage all competing for her tone.

What was going on here?

Except for his short temper - that she’d noted back in Durotar - which he had kept an admirable hold on - though perhaps someone (“else”) should suggest anger therapy – Besides that AND the drug he’d given her back there - Besides ALL that, he seemed like a nice guy. Apparently his misplaced gallantry kept him from letting her go into Orgrimmar?

Jon placed on the bench a piece of abused wood and some clearly mishandled (burnt, crumpled) papers that he (mistakenly) wanted to impress Spriggel with. “I grabbed this while I was sneaking around Orgrimmar.”

Spriggel dismissed his trophies as the trash they clearly were and pressed on to the important point. “You got into the city? Did you talk to the mayor and sort everything out?”

“If I did, I wouldn't be here to talk about it. My head would be on a spike.”

Spriggel shook her head at the rogue’s folly. “I TOLD you a diplomat was needed. Well did you at LEAST find Arrayah?" Derscha needed to improve her contact list if THIS was the best she could find.

“No, but there are wanted posters all over the city. You need to face facts, Spriggel.”

He continued on while Spriggel began thinking hard.

(When someone said she needed to face facts, they usually followed that with a LONG list. Luckily she’d realized this years ago, and found that if she concentrated hard, she could get a lot of thinking done while they went through their list).

Jon stated, “The AAMS didn't leave Orgrimmar by choice,”
while Spriggel thought, “Arrayah was missing even from the mayor of Orgrimmar.”

Jon continued, “Garrosh Hellscream forced them out,”
while Spriggel thought, “He probably needs help finding her.”

Jon pointed out, “The AAMS's creed has always been "Peace by any means, right?”
while Spriggel thought, “And who best to find her than her guildmates who know her – her looks, her thinking, her whatever elseness.”

Jon finished with “Well, Garrosh's is "Death to the Alliance, by any means", and right now he'd including the AAMS in that.”

Spriggel nodded her head, as his tone (a tone she had grown expert in recognizing) indicated that he had reached the end of HIS list of facts she needed to face, and she replied with one of her pat generic replies, “Yes, you've said.”

She continued out loud with her own string of thinking, “If they are looking for her, that would mean they've lost her too and want to open negotiations with AAMS.” She bit her bottom lip, “I wonder if we have someone else there in town . . . “

Practically barking, Jon interjected, “Garrosh does not negotiate, Spriggel. The remains of the AAMS building were rigged to blow. They were WAITING for someone to go back. One of the people we sent in to get information is dead now. What part of this do you not understand!?”

To Spriggel, the loss and pain was clear in Jon’s voice. “Oh, Light, I'm sorry to hear that.” She climbed onto the bench so she could reach across and pat the worgen's hand in sympathy - losing a partner (Spriggel’s mind shied from continuing too far with that train of thought) was an awful and painful thing. “And you say someone blew up our office there?”

“Yes. Someone did. It was the Mayor you are so keen to "negotiate" with. That was HIS negotiation.”

Spriggel scowled, “That's not nice at all. Nor reasonable. Hunh. And the orcs selected him for mayor - tsk tsk tsk.” She shook her head at the orcs’ folly.

Jon emphasized, “You may be surprised to learn this, but the Orcs don't "elect" their leaders. He was appointed by the previous Warchief.”

Spriggel could not help but educate the worgen on civics and in her “teacher’s tone” gently corrected him, “Perhaps, but even so, the populace have allowed the mayor to continue in his duties and That is a tacit election, if you will.”

“Then what do you say to the fact that he is currently dealing with a major rebellion?”
In exasperation, Jon didn’t wait for an answer, “You and Derscha need to have a long talk about your score on that Horde politics test. You don't know nearly as much as you think you do, and I'm about ready to give up on holding you back from doing something stupid.”

At the mention of the Boss Gnome, Spriggel glanced around frantically.
Had he contacted Derscha?
Was she here?
In the park?
Had he set up a meeting for that “long talk?”
Oh Light!
“You don't need to worry about me. That's what my office staff is for. You haven't spoken to Derscha recently have you?” she asked quickly.

“She's the one who sent me to sneak into Orgrimmar and search the office. Have you inspected that desk fragment and those files yet? They were in the wreckage of the office.”

Spriggel glanced down again at the trash on the bench, dismissed the piece of desk (really, what was Jon thinking?), picked up the files to placate the upset fellow, and flipped quickly through them - the bits and pieces, some charred, not making much sense to her. “It's probably best that you get these to Derscha. She'll know what to make of them with Array...oh.”

Spriggel stumbled over the new reality. “Well, here.” She handed the files over to the worgen - better that HE take them to Derscha, than . . . someone else in their party. Meeting up with Derscha . . . now . . . wouldn’t be a good idea.

Jon tried to press his political thoughts on Spriggel, “Look, I get that this is hard to take. But you need to accept that for now, the leadership of Orgrimmar is treating the AAMS as an ENEMY. A straight-up enemy. Kill on sight.”

Spriggel’s thoughts returned to the present and remained unpressed. She climbed off the bench, on the side opposite the worgen (just in case) and replied, “SOME of the leadership, perhaps. And we've (apparently) taken steps to prevent any . . . . well. . .” Spriggel ended lamely again, butting into the new reality.

With forced jauntiness, she continued, “Well you best be getting those (she nodded at the piece of wood and the files) to the head office. I'm sure they will want the most recent information on our Orgrimmar office with all haste. And I should check in with my own office.”

And with a bit of exasperation at Jon’s inability to get her ALL the way home (was he always this half-hearted at completing a job? Derscha REALLY should update her contacts), Spriggel bid him farewell. “Thank you (?) for bringing me Most of the way home.”

Jonathan Harmarth nodded silently.

And she continued with her usual cheerful farewell, “Light go with you, Jon. And stop by our office if you're ever . . . in . . . um, Ironforge and . . . say . . ehhh, hello?”

She stumbled over the last bit as it finally sank in what she was suggesting. She was certain there would be no visit in the foreseeable future, so she turned and headed out of the park and over to the tram, making a mental note to visit Ratchet and check the status of the new desk. It should be almost ready.

And maybe, she continued musing, if Orgrimmar was such a bad idea (according to some sources), and since visiting the Undercity and its mayor was not an option, then maybe she should see if the mayor of Silvermoon City could provide some assistance with the search. That was MUCH closer than Thunder Bluff or Bilgewater Harbor. And the trolls were too busy these days to be bothering any time soon.

Spriggel hummed the jingle to herself as she travelled home and made plans.

“Val!”

She cringed as Penn’s voice called out from inside her tent. She stopped her pacing, poking her head inside.

Penn was sitting in the corner, idly reading one of his books. “He’s awake,” he said simply, not lifting his eyes from the page. His bruise had grown into a large welt across his right cheek.

She looked over to her bedroll, where Kordrion was laying down on his side, squinting at his surroundings. His arms were tied behind him, though she had argued against further restraints. She hadn’t expected him to wake up for another few hours.

“My, you’ve good resistance, don’t you?” she asked lightly.

“Excitement,” he said, his voice raspy. “Tends to burn it off.”

“I’ll remember that the next time I need a favor from you.”

He made an eloquent grunt in reply.

John was still pretending to read his book. “Go tell them to get her ready,” she told him. The other man immediately snapped his book shut and brushed past her. Vallandi knelt down beside Kordrion.

“Not too groggy, are you?”

He cracked an eye at her. “Head feels like soup.”

“‘Fraid there’s nothing I can do about that. But I’d advise you not to try any sudden moves, hmm?”

“Who?” he whispered.

“Who?” She frowned, hoping the sedative hadn’t hurt his memory. “Oh- you must mean Miss Greyson, don’t you?”

He abruptly tried to sit up, immediately slumping back over again in a wave of dizziness.

“Hey, I said no sudden moves!”

Kordrion lay still until the spell passed, slowly opening his eyes again to look at her, his focus returning. “How?”

Vallandi glanced outside, gauging how long it would take for Penn to alert the commander that Kordrion was awake. “I… we’ve got a few agents in Orgrimmar,” she explained quickly. “We managed to get her out of Kor’kron custody and out of the city.”

He nodded slowly, taking a few deeps breaths. She noted his eyes growing brighter. “What do you need me for?”

“Listen, our commander, as far as he’s concerned, she little more than - a Forsaken.” She stumbled over the admission. “He’s willing to get her a healer if she’s useful to us. But she’s not talking.”

Light poured into the tent as someone pulled back the flaps. A tall, man with a touch of grey at his temples stepped inside, affording Vallandi a quick nod before turning his eyes on Kordrion. Kordrion perked an eyebrow at the intensity of the appraisal.

“Is he going to help or not?” Commander Donaby asked, still leveling his gaze down at Kordrion.

“He’ll help,” Vallandi answered, looking to him for confirmation. Kordrion reluctantly nodded. Donaby abruptly left, and Vallandi helped Kordrion to his feet.

The small camp didn’t have many tents, but one had been delegated as a holding tent for their prisoner. Kordrion’s steps grew in confidence as they crossed the small distance. His eyes flickered around, noting the Ashenvale vegetation.

There was no guard posted at the other tent. Inside, the still form of Forsaken woman was laid out upon a cot, her skin far more pale and thin looking than the last time he’d seen her. Arrayah Greyson was the image of a dead women- one who’d been severely beaten after death.

“I assure you, we didn’t cause those injuries,” Vallandi hastily said, seeing Kordrion’s expression of concern. “She wakes up now and then, but none of us really studied how to treat Forsaken.”

He nodded absently, heading over to kneel beside Arrayah. “Nature healing works best. Arrayah?” He lowered his voice. “Need you to wake up if you can.”

Silence. Then Arrayah’s shoulders shuddered, the lids of her eyes slowly opening. They turned toward him, staring past him at the far wall.

Vallandi stayed quiet, retreating to guard the entrance, allowing them a brief moment of solitude. She heard Kordrion whisper another question and the hushed sigh that may have been an answer.

If she’s willing to talk to him… then the commander will see the worth in saving her…

Commander Donaby hadn’t been pleased that she’d risked their operation by bringing Arrayah Greyson to their camp. He’d been willing to listen to Val, however, when she pointed out the usefulness of having someone in the AAMS helping them.

Vallandi wasn’t sure how Greyson had survived her injuries; the Forsaken had collapsed shortly after they’d arrived, and it must have been through sheer force of will that she hadn’t slipped away so far. That was something she’d noted in Orgrimmar: the undead were tough to kill.

She glanced outside at the sign of movement. “Incoming,” she announced, quickly stepping out of the way as Donaby returned to check on them. The man seemed to fill the entire space with his presence. He took in the scene with a sweeping look.

“Is she talking?” he asked without preamble.

“Barely, no thanks to your gentle care,” Kordrion replied as Arrayah closed her eyes.

“She’s not human.” His gaze rested once more on Kordrion with a peculiar look of assessment. “She’s an abomination. I thought that was at least one sentiment you would understand.”

“You need your eyes checked then, Abominations are large and have open guts. She seems to just be an undead who is trying to make something good out of a bad situation.”

"If she's truly trying to make good, she'll let us know what we need."

“What makes you even think she knows?” he asked dryly. “She’s AAMS.”

“You don’t think the AAMS itself is suspicious?” Donaby drawled.

“No. I think they are people who provide a vital service of keeping lines of communication and shipping open no matter how foolish those who think they are in the know get.” Kordrion rocked himself to his feet, planting himself in front of Donaby. “Get her a shaman or a druid to heal her and I'll talk to her. Not before.”

She took a slow breath, watching the scene before her. Donaby looked down at Kordrion, clearly unthreatened by the smaller man. “I’ll hold you to that,” he promised.

“Stoneheardt,” he said the name with some distaste, “is not to be left unescorted, until we know his loyalties. Understood?” He spoke once more to Kordrion. “I’ve dealt plenty of times with traitors and sympathizers. Don’t think you’re without suspicion.”

“There is no such thing as a traitor to neutrality unless I were to choose to throw my hat in one way or another,” he argued. “Let me talk to my wife.”

"To choose inaction is in itself a choice. To refuse the opportunity to serve the greater good- it is unacceptable."

It was sentiment she’d heard him bring up often. He did not abide his officers missing an opportunity; he had not been pleased with the rescue of Greyson, but accepted it as a new opportunity.

Kordrion seethed at the rebuke. “You don't serve the greater good, you serve the good as seen by one side. You blatantly ignore that others might have justification just because they wear the Horde insignia of their birth.”

He didn’t flinch. “Haywood, keep him under close watch.” He turned to leave, and then, to her surprise, seemed to reconsider.

“Don’t worry about your wife,” he said pleasantly. “I’ll be sure to let Ketty know you’re in safe hands.” He smiled and walked away.

Kordrion stiffened, a cold expression creeping across his features. “Why am I not shocked,” he called after him, “Running away because you can’t deny it?”

Val relaxed, having not noticed she’d been standing at attention. “He’s tough to warm up to…”

“I doubt I ever will.” He glanced back to Arrayah. “She’s not going to be able to talk until she’s healed up right.”

“He’ll get someone,” she said confidently. “When he sets his mind to something, it gets done.”

He nodded, accepting that, and the day’s labors seemed to catch up with him at once, weariness settling into his demeanor. “Can you remove the bindings?” he asked, flexing his arms behind his back.

She exchanged a worried glance with him. “I've risked a lot to convince him to wait until I could find someone she'd trust. You're not going to run off and ruin that, are you?"

“She won’t get healed if I do.” He grit his teeth. “Do whatever would make you feel better about it, I just want this off before I can't feel my hands.”

She sighed, motioning for him to turn around as she pulled a knife from the folds of her clothes. “I still can't let you go unattended. And I know he's tough, but trust me, Commander Donaby's very good at what he does, and is only looking out for what he believes is the best."

Kord’s back stiffened. “Donaby?” he repeated.

“Quinton Donaby,” she replied, concentrating on cutting just the ropes. “Heard of him?”

“Unfortunately.” He groaned. “I think the chances of him warming up to me are sub zero and falling.”

The ropes fell away. She looked at him quizzically as he turned, rubbing his wrists.

“My wife’s old commander. She joined my order instead of returning to his outfit.”

“Oh. I… didn’t know. Really.” Her cheeks burned.

“Unless you want my order to be hunting for me, it would be a good idea to let me use my stone,” Kordrion suggested.

“Commander Donaby said he’d give notice,” she replied simply.

“Because that is going to go over so well.”

“We’re on a limited communication scheduled,” she recited the orders they’d been given. “The commander’s in charge of all communication that could be traced here.”

He gave her an incredulous look. “How long did you say you’ve been with SI:7?”

“A year.” She smiled with pride. “The commander recruited me straight out of training.”

Kordrion muttered something under his breath.

“C’mon, I’ll get you something to settle your stomach.”

She looked on the bright side; they were working together now, and even if he didn’t see eye to eye with Commander Donaby, as long as she stayed friendly, perhaps he’d come around.

The new healer arrived the next day. Vallandi escorted Kordrion to Arrayah's tent, accompanied by Commander Donaby, to witness Arrayah being treated.

She was not someone she'd seen before, a Gilnean trained in druidic healing. He stood beside the Forsaken woman's cot, glaring at Donaby with an intensity just shy of disrespectful, clearly not pleased at the task he'd been assigned.

"Finished examining her?" Donaby asked.

"Yes," she replied curtly. "She is dead. And should be allowed to rest instead of this farce of a life."

Donaby glanced briefly aside to Vallandi before replying. "She was close to it, but she may be of greater use to the cause alive."

The druid pursed her lips. "I would say you are a few years too late, then."

Donaby sighed in irritation. "Let us not waste time with semantics. Can you bring her to consciousness?"

"Yes, I can. I supposed that is an order?"

"That's an order."

The druid made a disapproving sounds, but turned to work on Arrayah Greyson's still form. Out of Donaby's sight, Vallandi sighed in relief. Kordrion perked a curious look at her, and she flushed. There was nothing to be relieved about; Donaby would not have brought a healer who would refuse orders, not matter her attitude otherwise.

Arrayah's body twitched as the druid continued her work. Something was being repaired, and Arrayah's form became less hollow, and Vallandi had a vision of what the woman must have been like in life: a dark haired, vibrant young woman, with a understated intensity. Someone not much older than Vallandi herself when she'd been killed. The image lasted for barely a heartbeat before the illusion of life faded away. While Arrayah Greyson was not the woman she'd been in true life, there was a new solidity to her. Still, there was no movement or signs of her being awake.

The druid turned to Donaby with a distasteful frown. "There, that is much as I can do for her."

"Thank you for your service," he replied amicably, tacitly giving permission for the druid to leave. The healer wasted no time in removing herself from the undead presence. "Keep me informed when she wakes up," he said to Vallandi. "I expect to informed immediately."

"So noted," Kordrion remarked. "Hope she's not a sleep talker, then." He gave Donaby an innocent look at the other's frown.

"How did someone like you earn a command?"

"Fairly easily, I know how to do what's needed instead of what I want. More then I could say for some." Kordrion's smile remained chipper, though his eyes didn't stray from Donaby.

"I know what is needed. And I make sure it gets done."

"Then what are we doing here?"

"It would have been my preference to leave her to her fate.  But I'm willing to set that aside."

Kordrion snorted. "How nice of you. How nice of you. Look, you aren't going to learn a damn thing from her. AAMS don't deal with the politics, being neutral and all. She's not going to divulge their cliental lists."

Vallandi tried to catch Kordrion's eyes, shaking her head at him to stop.

The rogue bit off further comments; she noted his eyes were glowing a soft yellow, much as they had done back in Booty Bay shortly before he'd attempted to fly away.

"You're here to help us get information," Donaby said patiently, although, for the first time, he seemed to be taken aback as he caught sight of Kordrion's eyes. Then he plowed on. "I'm doing my job by pursuing every possible avenue. Are you going to back down from our agreement?"

"The agreement was that I would talk to her. I never stated about what."

Donaby took a step closer to him, towering above Kordrion's head. "You. Full of excuses and snide remarks."

Kordrion looked leery, but refused to budge. "Did you really expect me to just roll over and help you hurt people who have done nothing wrong? I would be betraying everything my order stands for to do so. We do not pick and choose based on happenstance of a person's birth or life, we protect those who need it. It wouldn't kill you to learn from that."

"I choose to protect the people of the Alliance from any and all threats, no matter my feelings.  If it weren't for us, your 'Miss Greyson' would be dead, remember that.  I agreed to have you brought here, to bring a new healer in, to help her, not because it was my personal desire, but because it was an opportunity to save lives.  If -you- don't want to be a part of that, then I question your motivations."

Kordrion gritted his teeth, talking a calming breath. "If I talk to her and ask her the questions you want me to. Will you be satisfied with the answers you get, or pitch a fit because they don't fit with what you assumed you would?"

"I'm willing to change my mind when presented with a reasonable argument."

"And who decides reasonable? You? You've already been told that AAMS confidentiality is nonnegotiable."

"Now who is being close minded before even beginning?"

Kordrion started at him, then abruptly rubbed his face, muttering to himself under his breath. "I'll see if she's awake," he finally said with a touch of acid in his tone. He knelt beside Arrayah's side.

"Arrayah?" he asked, then in Orcish, "How are you feeling?"

Slowly, the lids of her eyes open and her gaze focused on Kordrion. Donaby stepped to the side to avoid looming in her line of sight.

"I've been better," she replied in the same language. "Did everyone make it out okay? How is Derscha?"

Kordrion nodded. "They did, yes. Derscha is waiting anxiously for you to get back to the office but otherwise holding up."

"Good." She closed her eyes again, exhausted from the effort.

He sighed. "They want me to ask you a few questions if you're up for it."

"Who is they?"

"Donaby and his cronies. They rescued you so they could squeeze you for information."

"Donaby...? Why are you here then?"

"Because they think I can make you talk. I'll try and keep it short, just answer as best you can and then we can both go home...hopefully."

"Make me talk?" The hint of a wry smile tugged at her lips. "Good luck. It depends on what they want to know."

"They want to know who ships through the AAMS to the Horde or takes shipments from them. They also want to know what shipping lanes you use."

"Classified," she immediately replied.

Kordrion gave Donaby a satisfied look. "Told you."

"You're not trying."

"It's a bit too soon be questioning her, isn't it?" Vallandi offered. It was clear that it was taking all of Arrayah's strength to speak. The Forsaken woman's head had slumped to the side, even her twitching coming to a cease.

"If she can speak, she can answer," Donaby said.

"She's not going to answer because she can't," Kordrion protested, rising to his feet.

Donaby looked past him, gritting his teeth. "We'll give her a day to rest, then."

Kordrion glowered. "I was rather hoping to be headed home within a day. It's not going to make a bit of difference to the answers."

"Already wanting to go home," Donaby drawled. "Some of us are here to win a war."

"A war you started. I've cleaned up some of the messes you've made. How big of one are you creating here?" He rubbed his face again, then shoved past Donaby and out of the tent.

Vallandi flinched at the sudden exit, before taking after him.

Kordrion angrily stalked away, slowly calming down, until he found a convenient rock to sit upon and allow her to catch up.

"Please," she beseeched. "I know this is my fault, but you're making this more difficult."

"I am trying to be patient. She's not the enemy though and I refuse to treat her like that. I am not going to interrogate her just to drag information out."

"I know she's not," Vallani quietly admitted.

"Then why not let her go?"

"It's not my decision. I'll talk to him about finding another way. He really can be reasonable."

"Could have fooled me," he rubbed at his forehead. "The man's a self righteous !@#."

"He's a good commander," she replied staunchly.

"Maybe if he were in command of a tree post."

Vallandi shifted her weight, a defensive edge creeping into her voice. "He's my commander."

"My condolences." A flippant reply.

"Perhaps he's not your idea of a leader, but he's gotten us through Pandaria, and all of us owe him!"

He simply snorted, not even looking at her as he stared into the forest. "I'm sure he's gotten plenty of people out of things. He's gotten more people dead, though. Just ask Richard Dearnly."

"We've been saving lives."

His eyes glanced at her with an unreadable expression. "Look, you don't seem that bad a sort. Don't put so much trust in him. I'd rather not see your name on the rolls of the dead."

"If I die in the line of duty, that's Hellscream's fault, not Commander Donaby's."

"Depends on if he leads you on a fool's mission."

Donaby would not lead them astray. Never. Perhaps she didn't agree with all of his methods, but there was no doubt that he was dedicated to protecting the Alliance from all threats, and accepted nothing less than total commitment from Vallandi and the others. Why would she desert him?

He eyed her, sensing the question she wasn't asking. "Just ask it."

"You said you wife worked with him, didn't you?" she asked. "Why did she leave?"

He didn't answer at first, pondering a blade of grass, lost in thought. "Because he's careless, he may very well be an apt commander when it comes to the logistical side...but that isn't all there is to it. You have to know and care about the people you command, not treat them like they are tools to be used without thoughts and feelings of their own."

"And if it clouds your judgement?" Vallandi challenged.

Direbreath Ravine. Vallandi recalled the commander speaking of the battle when they'd received news the one of the men killed in the fight, Richard Dearnly, had returned as an undead killer. Dearnly had spread rumors that Donaby had been responsible for his death, when in truth, the commander had been forced to collapse the ravine entrance before the Scourge overwhelmed the position. It had been impossible to rescue everyone trapped inside. "A necessary sacrifice, and not an easy choice," were Donaby's words. "I had to look at the greater good."

"The only way it can cloud your judgement is if you ignore it. That's about like taping one eye closed and going into a life or death fight. The more you know your people, the closer you get to them, the more you see what they can or can not do."

"You're wrong about him," she shook her head stubbornly. "He's recruited us, personally, each and every one. He knows our value."

"Does he? Does he know your value as what is written on a piece of paper or does he know your value as a person? You're like the rest, just a tool to be used and discarded when he's done."

"And you're a cynic who onlysees the worst someone you don't know!"

"Do I know you?" he asked quietly.

She refused to be thrown off by his sudden, inexplicable question, staring at him. They were talking about Donaby, not herself.

"I don't know you, Yet I have stated you seem like a decent person. This after you went out of your way to drug and kidnap me," he explained. "Think on that."

Kordrion raised his eyes to somewhere behind her. Commander Donaby was strolling their way, accompanied by a brooding Penn.

"Haywood, you're relieved," Donaby said as he came close, only affording Kordrion a brief glance. "I need you to do more reconnaissance work. Penn can handle him."

"Understood, sir," she replied. She caught Kordrion's apologetic look and ignored it. She was not going to waste any more time defending herself or her commander to him. She needed to prepare to slip back into Horde territory.

Donaby was right; they could not trust anyone from the outside.

((... as I finally notice I was posting on the wrong character! Oops. :D ))