A Dark Meeting

[Xastra]

A Cloaked Figure

((This is an attempt at getting role-playing started in the forums, maybe if we get enough interaction we can take it to the game. I intend for this to give people something to do at work, maybe help develop your character. Do what you want, just keep it IC))

A Cloaked Figure with a thin hand grasping a note approaches you. In a whisper the figure says “This is for the eyes of the Eleventh Hour, and their friends only.” As you glance down at the note you notice your name is scrawled on the envelope in an elegant hand. When you look to the figure again you notice that they seemed to have disappeared. No trace in sight.

The note reads:
“It has come to my attention that there is a dire matter of which we need to speak about. I would like to meet with a group of you in the basement of the Slaughtered Lamb to discuss this further. Please bring those you know to yourself as close.”

[Xastra]

Carnadosa

Hrmmm, well I know I paid my bill the last time I was there, so that's not it. Could it be the trainers want me to spend even more money?
If so why would I need to bring friends? hrmmm...

*shrugs* Oh well, I was thinking about speaking with the traineers again anyway, as my current skills seem to need just a bit of adjusting.
May as well check this out at the same time.
_________________
If you see me running, enslave broke!

[Xastra]

Arzamas

Arzamas glares suspiciously at the note. Looking around his room he searches for a large book. "Crystal Pylon User's Manual" will do just nicely. Opening it he gently places the note inside, and slams the book shut. "Magic and demons, nothing but trouble. Spies for the darkness will take any form, even parchment."

Sighing, he reaches for his own pen and some clean paper. His makeshift study is getting cluttered - treatise on tactics, unfinished short story with the working title "Chronicles of Kithen", maps and notes, smithing concepts for weapons, an unfinished love letter to his sweetheart, even a few chapters of Stonepot's "The Green Hills of Stranglethorn" which Arzamas was helping him edit for a second printing.

"Dear Friends,

You no doubt have also received a strange note from an even stranger being. I for one do not trust it or him, but I am going to investigate. The Slaughtered Lamb means demons, and demons haven't meant much but trouble to me. Let me know when you are available; send word to me in Stormwind.

May the light guide and protect us,

Arzamas Ingottoe"

Having sealed each letter with grey wax, Arzamas begins preparing his packs for the trip to Stormwind. Although he would not enter the inn alone, he does want to keep an eye on the place. Despite his reservations, he includes the manual containing the note.

[Xastra]

Pagdwa

Approaching the entrance to the Slaughtered Lamb, our Lady Pagdwa takes one look at the swaying back and forth in front of the building. Knowing that she is safe within the walls of Stormwind her step falters as she hears a rat scurry into the shadows. These streets should be safe... should be... After experiencing firsthand the horrors of Darkshire, Lakeshire, and Westfall, only a quick griphon away, only a lunatic would not watch her back when meeting on a night like this, with people like these.

Swallowing any fear she has, she walks into the lit room and is met with the modest furnishing and a nod from Jarel Moor, the bartender. Scanning the room she sees no familiar faces, which isn't surprising for two reasons. One she is a mere Gnome from Ironforge who only comes to Stormwind on business. Second, the recent surge of people into the Eleventh Hour, has left her with many names and no faces.

Pagdwa makes her way to the back of the room and down the spiral ramp. Startled by the Felhunter below she almost lets fly a barrage of spells before she comes to her senses. She looks about, and quickly ducks her head and hurries around the fire and down the next spiral. On her way out she hears a trainer mention the basement and “the great river of demonic power” it holds. A little flustered about losing her cool back there she gathers herself and continues down the ramp.

She finds her way to the chamber specified in the note. She finds a doorway lit up by torchlight, she swallows a lump in her throat hoping that the "great river of demonic knowledge" is just fancy talk. She after all, has a strong urging to learn more of the Arcane Ways; hopefully she will soon rival the great mage The Lady Jaina Proudmoore
Removing her hat she makes sure her hair is in place and uses some Arcane Power to clean her Tabard, she opens the door and is greeted by an empty room with a large table and chairs arranged for a meeting. Eyeing the beverage dubiously off to the side sitting on an end table she takes a flask from her pouch and drinks some clear liquid.

The room is empty for now, but maybe her friends, or better yet, this mystery person will meet her soon. Preparing for a long wait she takes the seat nearest the corner at the table made obviously for humans since only her eyes and above are visible.

[Xastra]

Potensa

Potensa closes the door of her den and leans back against it, eyes closed in relaxation. Again. Do they never give up? The numbers seem endless. Once again she sends a quick prayer of thanks for the protection of the light when facing the demonic invasion. It seems their dead are replaced almost as quickly as they are killed. Although in the depth of her heart she knows her role in this world was to master the arts of killing and destruction, the trials of war do become tiring. Without even thinking, she starts walking to the washbasin to clean the grime from her face and hands.

She shivers slightly as she dips her hands into the cool water, but half a moment and a shiver of energy later the water is warm and soothing. With just a slight bit of washing it seems as if a new gnome is released, and she comfortably walks over to check the mail.

"Hello, what's this? A letter from Arzamas?" She silently opens the letter and reads it, becoming confused. She looks up moments later, and searches her desk. Shocked not only that an intruder disturbed her den, but that she was so tired that she missed the disruption of her wards, she discovers a note lying on the desk. Attached to the cover is a small slip reading "I tried to deliver this in person, but you are an impossible mage to find." She carefully picks up the note, careful not to disturb the residual essence left behind by the courier. After carefully reading the note, she walks over to her chair and sits down in thought. While she could track the courier and gather more information, she thinks that may not be the most efficient route.

In reality, what choice does she have? She dares not leave her friends and companions to face this new threat alone. Veteran of more demonic encounters than she can count, what danger is posed by one more venture? Perhaps some new adventure awaits, a new scenario unthought of previously. Tying her hair behind her head and grabbing her staff as she walks out the door, she resets the magical wards that guard her little home. She hopes she's not too late as she begans the incantation to transport her to Stormwind. An unknown rendezvous awaits...

[Xastra]

Pagdwa

Sitting and waiting on the cold hard stone seat our Lady Pagdwa swings her legs back and forth obviously bored of waiting. The broadsmile that is awlays across her face hasn't slipped yet despite being bored.

Pagdwa gets off her seat and begins to walk around the room. With the quick spry step that seems to have taken the place of her slow wairy walk shows that she is either unafraid or has forgotten it completly. Our Pagdwa bounces curiously around the room in search of somthing to occupy her time. Either unknowning or uncaring (or perhaps all forgotten) of the dangerous that lurk in places like these.

After making a few laps around the room to find nothing but dust and a side table containing refreshments. Pagdwa runs her finger along the table and stirs up some soot. Coughing the cute little cough of a gnome she decides to lift the chairs into the air and make them float around in a mysterious dance, but alas not even this keeps her entertained for long. Soon she places the stone chairs back on the ground and retakes her seat with her legs swinging gayily about two feet from the ground. As her mind wanders she leans her forhead (which is about level with the table) against the edge of the table and waits longer.

[Xastra]

Kaith

The door to the dusty appartment groans open as its keeper enters within. He trudges wearily to a small table in the center of the small room, lighting the small oil lamp sitting on top. The man drops his traveling bags against the nearby wall while moving towards a half filled water barrel. He cups his hands and rubs some of the water onto his face, thinking of the events of the last few days.

"Kelthrys and Jehann have been returned, but at a terrible cost..." He thinks as he stares at his own reflection in the water. "I only hope their time in sanctuary helps them to find themselves again." He turns and sets his gaze on two black roses laying upon a small shelf. "And Datina..."

The man stares at the shelf; his thoughts broken by the out of place envelope sitting upon it. He arches an eyebrow as he plucks it from the shelf, turning it over to read the name written on it.

"Kaith Greybarren"

Kaith stares at the envelope a moment, almost regarding it with a certain measure of caution. After turning it over a few times he opens it and examines the letter.

"By the light...this is the last thing we need." the warlock thinks as he shakes his head.

Kaith carefully folds up the note, and takes up his traveling bags from the wall before blowing out the lamp. As he steps out of the appartment and closes the door behind him, Kaith looks up and down street. Seeing no one about and only hearing the usual sound of the Great Forge, he makes his way towards the tram to Stormwind.

[Xastra]

Arzamas

Being part of the Elven-Dwarven educational exchange program, Arzamas was required to instruct interested folks in some of the more basic arts of mining and smithing. Yesterday had been spent traveling the slopes and forests of Dun Morogh, visiting the familiar mineral deposits and wielding a pick, instead of a battle hammer. While this should have been relaxing and lighthearted, his mind was occupied with the possibilities of the future and a sense of urgency. The time spent here was time that should have been spent investigating. And he had told his friends he would be in Stormwind! At least he was nearly there.

The always-enjoyable ride through the Tram offers Arzamas little pleasure today. Light without fire, movement without effort - the gnomes have tried to explain the concepts behind it all, numerous times, and in great, complex, and often overwhelming and unedifying detail, and yet it still feels like magic. Gnomeragan was much the same way – non-magic feeling like magic. And demons – they weren’t exactly magic, but somehow magic-based or, like those Felhounds, fed on the stuff. Since the fall of Dalaran and the Northern Kingdoms, Stormwind had become the center of magic – was it also now a center for demons? Was this part of the reason he and others were told to come? Too many things to worry about. Arzamas leaned back and tried to rest for the remainder of the trip. Who could say what the next few days would bring…

[Xastra]

Arzamas

From Arzamas's journal -

Having arrived in Stormwind, I visited the keep - all appeared well there, but I realized I could not visit the king or the High Lord. I overheard one of the dwarven Senators mention that Lady Prestor had returned from her recent "vacation". This must mean she has re-established her dominion over Bolvar. We must put an end to her at once. The book we found regarding dragons could come in handy.
A small diagram of a headless dragon is crudely doodled next to another diagram of a shining sword.
The fireworks shop had several new wonders but that was mere a distract and a guise. I have not seen any bearing the mark of the 11th enter the tavern for the past several hours. I still do not wish to enter on my own.

On the adjacent page

Having heard more than I could ever imagine about chemical coloration, mechanics of blasting powder packaging and manipulation and the intricacies of hardened paper shells and fuses, I have taken to the streets. Perhaps the bread vendo-

The pen strays from its mark and picks up below

Just heard a lot of thumping coming from the tavern. Stone against stone. It has stopped for now, but I must know what is happening. I am leaving my journal here for the moment - to those who may find it, please speak with any bearing the mark of the 11th Hour. I am entering the Slaughtered Lamb, where I know not what awaits me.

Putting down his journal outside the Slaughtered Lamb Arzamas enters, steel at the ready...

[Xastra]

Arzamas

Arzamas, at the moment wary for a dwarven paladin, walks slowly, rather than strides, across the threshold of the Slaughtered Lamb. Jarel, wiping glasses, barely looks up and mutters. Arzamas peers around the room, and is about to speak when Jarel speaks louder. "You here after that Gnome? She went down to the cellar." A bit taken aback, Arzamas only nods and walks down the stairs, into the cellar.

[Xastra]

Arzamas

As he carefully descended, he somewhat nervously spoke "Everything alright down here? I heard some noise..."

[azmodean]

"How DARE that fool interrupt my studies.....,"I mutter as the figure quickly vanishes.
The camp I have made for myself is not comfortable by any means, but it provides me with enough light for me to study my recently acquired grimoires and scrolls. No wonder he snuck up on me, as dark as it is. However, my wards should have warned me of his approach. I must investigate this further. Strangers sneaking around me won't do at all...
Can't have it. Musn't have it!!
The firelight dances in the gloom, toying with my senses.... I can almost see what is lurking in the shadows. That is, until I try to focus on whatever is there. My wards should protect me from anything lurking around my campsite. They seem to not like fire, which is a good thing.

Now, where was I......

The letter..... Perhaps I should....

Bah! Rubbish! Into the fire! That serves you right, for sneaking up on me, ME!

"heheheheHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Azmodean is startled into wakefulness with his face in the tome he was reading the night before. The dreams of hordes of half-demon, half-dragon creatures trickle up from his memory, but they are of no moment.
He sits up, and rummages through his packs for a small bite to eat. Not from any genuine desire for the taste, nor for the gnawing hunger in his stomach. He only eats because it is a necessity for him to continue studying.
After a few nibbles on the bread he has brought along with him, he drowns himself in his text, ever eager for more power.
The entire day passes, noticed only because it is harder to see the words than it was before. He wakes from his scholarly stupor to find a creature, some huge bird, daring to circle him overhead.
Glaring at the creature, Azmodean utters a word of power, vaporizing the vulture in a cloud of feathers and ashes.

"And so shall fall all who interfere with my CONCENTRATION!," he yells to the empty canyon and the growing gloom.

"Might as well start a fire...."
"Wait, what's this? An unburned scrap in the ashes??

Azmodean reaches into the cold ash and removes the note from the night before. "Maybe this does bear looking into after all."

A short time later, his bags slung over his shoulder, Azmodean looks back at the forbidding tower as he starts for Stormwind.

"I will be back for your secrets, make no mistake."

"HEHEHAHAHAHAHAHEH!"

[Xastra]

Shouldering her bags, Xastra leaps off the gryphon with a cry of joy. "We are home Whisper!!" With her puppy prancing at her feet, Xastra strides with a cocky lilt through ironforge. As she passes the Great Forge she calls out to her friend and fellow blacksmith Bengus Deepforge. The familiar slam of hammer to metal brings back many fond memories toiling at the anvil herself. Threading through the throngs of Ironforge, Xastra makes her way to her apartment overlooking the central chamber of Ironforge. Climbing the steps she whistles to herself and leaps the last few steps up to the balcony. Activating her key stone, she presses it to the lock on her door and waits impatiently for the stone slab to slide back into the wall.

WIth careless abandon, Xastra flings her bags into one corner and tugs her boots off, hopping from one foot to the other. Fumbling with the laces and buckles on her armor she strips as she walks through her apartment, leaving a trail of crumpled clothing and clanging metal plate behind her. In her distraction, Xastra fails to notice Whisper sniffing around and growling softly.

Upon reaching the bathroom she calls out the magical commands that activate the large sunken tub dominating the center of the spacious room. Steaming hot water bubbles out of the bottom of the tub and slowly the tub fills. The luminescent water glows faintly blue and wafts the sweet smell of lavendar into the air. Now singing a baudy tune (very off key), Xastra sits on the edge of the stone basin with her hand dipped in the water waiting for it to fill. The shimmering light flickers across her, reveling the trails of hundreds of scars criscrossing her body, almost seeming to form moving shapes as the light dances over her. "Ahh, Whisper...I am so glad I spend my gold on this contraption!", she calls out. Glancing around, she notices that Whisper hadn't followered her into the room. "Silly pup...probably chewing a hole in my bags trying to get to the Gordok chew toys!" With a sigh, she slides into the water feeling the hot water ease the stiffness and chill of one too many trips beyond the grave. The outside world noises muffle and dim and the beat of her heart is all she can hear, as she slips below the water. Breaking to the surface with a gasp, every sound seems amplified.

Whisper's soft growls have grown increasingly agitated and are now clearly audible. "By the light..." says Xastra. With a shrug the relaxation of the moment disappears from Xastra and she rises from the bath a warrior, ready for battle. Water streaming from her muscular body, she stalks into the next room ready to do battle with any demon or dragon that would dare to invade her private domain. She sees Whisper pacing around a piece of parchment on the floor, growling with her hackles up. Laughing at her puppy, she says "Aye, Whisper...never trust the written word...it will lie every time". "So what do we have here....", she says glancing at the parchement. "Hmm, demons...mysterious business...Slaughtered Lamb...that doesn't sound good!" Holding the letter in one hand, Xastra looks around at the disarray of her home and sighs at the number of chores needing doing. "Adventure...chores...." she debates. Hands down, adventure!", she says laughing out loud.

Digging into a pile of clothes thrown on the bed, Xastra pulls on a clean (well..cleanish) linen shirt and soft leather britches. "Well, it won't do anyone any good to go off with my gear in the shape it is in!", she says as she gathers up her scattered armor. "Maybe Bengus will give me a frequent customer discount one of these days", she chuckles. "Hmm...supplies..some Alterac swiss..spider sausage...where did I put that grog...". Stuffing her things back into bags and giving it a last push to get it closed, Xastra looks around her rooms and shrugs. "Time enough to tidy this place up later...", she says and slides the door portal closed.

Xastra swings over the railing and jumps down to the ground below her balcony. She gasps as the pain of impact shoots up from her feet, filling her with a delicious shiver of rage. Whisper is not nearly so foolish as her mistress and races down the steps to catch up. Together the two head through the courtyard to the smithy. Bengus shakes his head when shown the battered remains of her amor. "Xastra lass, you should treat this fine armor better. It is the stuff of heroes and champions! In this state, it would not hold up to a kobold!" "I can not repair such complicated work without very expensive magical ingredients...not a silver under 6 gold." WIth a groan, Xastra reaches to her pouch and slowly counts out her hardworn money. "Bengus...you will beggar me at this rate!".

Bengus helps buckle on Xastra's armor after he finishes his repairs. Standing back and looking at her in all her warrior's glory, he whistles and says, "Xastra, you look fit to take on an army!". Xastra impulsively hugs him and says "Wish me luck, I am off to investigate a mytstery. Maybe this time I will use my brain before brawn and not ruin your fine work!" Bengus laughes and wordlessly hands a healing potion to Xastra, skeptism plainly written on his face. "Right." he drawls.

Kneeling before the gryphon, Xastra tries to cooerce Whisper into her traveling crate. "Come on Whisper...it is for your own safety. It is a long flight and I dont want you falling off...damn it...get in the crate!" Grabbing Whisper by the scruff of the neck, Xastra stuffs the protesting pup into the crate. Xastra slides into the riding harness and threads her hands through the cords, bracing for impact. With a screetch the gryphon flings into the air, slamming Xastra hard into its body. Hanging on for dear life, Xastra hugs close. After threading the air passageways and exiting Ironforge, she relaxes back and enjoys the spectacular view of the mountains.

As Stormwind comes into view, old memories and pain clouds Xastra's joy of traveling. "Ah...Stormwind...again I return to you." She avoids looking at the Old Quarter and instead focuses on her route to the Mage Quarter. Her mood lifts as she stops to smell the flowers and absorbs the quiet peace of the park-like Mage's Quarter. "Wow..these mage's sure have it sweet here! Nice digs!" she exclaims. Hearing a muffled wimper for her bags, she quickly lets Whisper out to frolic.

Together they approach the Slaughtered Lamb. Strangely, the vibrant flowers and sunshine seem dimmer here and a chill runs down Xastra's back. Loosenng her sword in its sheath, Xastra gathers her wits about her and prepares for trouble. She strides up to the door and throws it open and confidently strides into the tavern's great room.

[Vanimas]

Vanimas returns to her home in Ironforge, overlooking the Mystic Ward. Although this may seem strange to some, a Druid owning a home in a Dwarven city (of all places), if they would know Vanimas... They would find her none-so-normal in the first place. The place came cheap, it's previous residents massacured in an enormously messy way. It had taken Vanimas nearly a week to clean the place, top to bottom. Her travels had prevented redecoration, though. She pauses at the threshold of the building, a letter stuck on the door. "Mmph?" She murmers as she takes it off the door, and opening it slowly.

She tosses the letter on a nearby table, looking around for any sign of her special someone. After searching the place throughly, she lets out a quiet sigh, saying to herself, "she must be out again..." Remaining upstairs after looking for Ebonshadow, she takes out a flask of Volatile Rum from near her stuffed bear. "Silly thing, must go..." She mutters softly, taking a long drink from her flask. The drink is usually used to make rocket fuel... Why would someone drink that? The rum is the only thing Vanimas drinks, after a night long ago. She steps out onto the balcony, leaving her bulky staff in the doorway. Vani drains the flask with but another drink, dropping the metal flask off the balcony, smiling softly at the decently loud clang.

Vanimas stands on the balcony silently, elbows on the railing as she looks out into the Mystic Ward, specifically at the pool. "Ebby, where are you... You better be keeping yourself safe." She growls out quietly, turning around and walking back into her home. With a glance out at the balcony, she drops her yellow robe, discarding the shirt that matches it. She stands for a moment, letting the heavy dwarven air caress her tired body before she runs a hand through her hair slowly. She pulls on her 'fancy red shirt' and 'cindercloth robe', admiring herself with a grin. "Always matching..." She mutters with a content sigh as she tosses her crown ontop of her previous clothing. After pulling on her 'crimsion felt hat' and 'imperial red boots', she is totally incased in red.

With a gentle sway, she makes her way downstairs, and picks up the letter that was left on the door. Opening it with a flick of her wrist, she begins to read slowly, wishing she hadn't finished her drink so quickly. She drops it with a shake of her head, and brings out a piece of parchment of her own, writing a quick note to Ebonshadow. She reads it aloud, to herself, afterwards. "Dearest One... Gone to Stormwind. Will return soon. Please wait here, I wish to see your face.~Vanimas; Maiden of Wisdom." She pauses, and then nods. "Yes, that is good. She need not know what this involves."

With that, she picks up her small mace that eminates a red glow and walks out the door, closing it after her. She walks towards the gryphons, considering taking one of them to Stormwind. However, after watching a few of them, she shakes her head. "No... I think the tram will suit tonight." She sees Xastra getting on one of the large birds, and waves slightly. Xas doesn't see her, however, as the bird takes flight quickly. "Mmph." She murmers, even more content with her decision.

As she enters the tram, the gnome known as Haggle is shifting around in trashcans again. "Poor thing." She says softly, handing him a fistful of silver, perhaps adding up to a fourth of a gold. He thanks her in his high pitched voice, shaking her hand and running off to count the pieces under a bench. "Crazy thing." She adds after a moment, when he is out of hearing range. She steps onto the tram, taking a silent seat. She eyes the sights uninterestedly, having seen them before. After a little while, she closes her glowing eyes, allowing herself a moment of rest.

As the tram jolts to a stop, she makes a small noise of annoyance and walks off into the dwarven district. She coughs slightly as she breathes the smokey air, walking quickly through it. She would have called her Nightsaber, but since the law of the land in Stormwind... She would have had to pay a fine. With a growl as she remembers this, she walks hurriedly through the smokey place, and into the Cathedral district. She nods a bit as she walks past the front, admiring the building. "Very nice." She says, as she always does, but she does not stop walking. She passes the park, noting how long it has been since she has seen the note... and she doesn't know how long it had been sitting there.

'I hope I'm not late' She thinks, walking a bit faster, nearly running through the Mage district. She arrives with a sigh, leaning against a wall near-by. She pants slightly, a tiny bit out of breath from her near running state across Stormwind. She hears the door open, and leans back, seeing the back of armor, but nothing more. "Mayhaps I am not last." She says with a greatful smile. She passes through the door, and glances around the Slaughtered Lamb.

"You here after that gnome?" She hears him repeat to someone, and she shrugs, following the voice. She sees the stairway, and slides down before the figure she followed in does so. Slipping into one of her feral forms, she slides into the shadows, prowling through the basement until she finds the lowest level.

[Dergo]

Loch Modan. One of the dwarven lands across Azeroth. It is here that many great adventure has started in the past, remember the tale about the saving of the stonewrought dam, the death of the three Trogg leaders and many an invasion of the Horde. Yet another tale starts here as well.


Birds darted through the sky, mere dots against the lightly clouded sky of Loch Modan. The grass waving gently back and forth, hissing soflty at the clouds to pass. The sun just slightly below noon.
Peacefull. Nature. Those are the words in Dergo's mind as he lay on his back against a slight slope not too far from the Farstrider Lodge. Nighteyes is curled up beside him, breathing slowly as he seems more asleep then awake - then again, you never know with Nighteyes.

Dergo's mind races back in time, a few days before. They had come home from such a weird place. It was called Dire Maul. Dergo still has trouble remembering the exact details. He vageuely remembered that after they had taken down the immense King of the Gordok, they had been congratulated by all the ogres present and given heavy necklaces not even the warrior could carry, and ale. Lots and lots of ale. Although Dergo doesn't remember much, he does remember the hangover that had followed. Even thinking of it hurt.

As Dergo smiled softly at the memory he heard a rustle in the bushes ahead. Dergo's senses spun him around and he knew from the steady rythm of the sound that it was a humanoid... one who was not afraid.

Dergo jumped forward through another pair of bushes. "STOP!" Mountaineer Dalk froze in horror and his face went as pale as Scorpik meat. "Dalk.. carefull now.. step back.. there is a trap there I set out to catch an escaped wolf". Dalk only nodded, still speechless from the shock. He slowly move backwards when suddenly a growl was heard. Dalk turned around and saw the rabid wolf come straight at him.
A flash of white soared past Dergo and Dalk and bounded right into the wolf with fang and claws. Dalk stumbled and fell sideways, giving Dergo a clear view of the struggle between wolf and frostsaber.

Dergo cocked his gun and waited for the right time. A loud bang was heard and small cloud of smoke appeared from Dergo's gun. It had struck the wolf in the ride side of it's belly. The wolf's mouth showed a trickle of blood, then the body slumped. Nighteyes retracted his claws and slowly came back to Dergo, who was already moving to Dalk and casually picked up the trap lain on the ground with a swift motion Dalk would still be talking about to his fellow mountaineers for some time.

"Are ye hurt Dalk?". Still a bit dumbfounded, but assured the danger was gone, he accepted Dergo's hand and pulled himself up "Aye.. just a few bruises on ma hiney I think." Nighteyes laid down beside them and licked his wounds, which were mostly small scratches.

"Ta bad we had ta kill da beast. He might have been able ta be saved if I got him trapped." Dalk could only nod to that. "So, why are ye here Dalk? You must have some pressing business if ya leave da tavern in Thelsamar eh?" Dergo said with a small grin on his face.
"Yes.. erhhh yes! Yes of course" Dalk searched his pocket and showed a slightly wrinkled sealed envelope from his pocket. "Someone left dis at da tavern for you. Since I knew ya would be here, I'd thought I'd bring it ta ye. Looks important."

Dergo accepted the envelope and opened it. He read the letter and his face turned to a slightly less cheerfull mood.
>"Derg? Is it bad?"
"Don't know lad... don't know... says I am expected in Stormwind for a grave matter"
>"Ah.. more hero stuff ey?"
"Maybe... we'll see. It's at least imortant enough ta stir up da eleventh.."
>"Hmmm things I don't need to know then... I'll head back to Thelsamar for my shift. It's starting in an hour"
"Hah! Ye'll never make it with ya fat belly! Ya can get ma ram from the farstrider lodge. I'll walk ta Ironforge and take da gryphon dere to Stormwind"
>"Ye'r a lifesaveer Derg."
"Yeah yeah... now get yer hiney moving, before da mayor discoveres ya have been playing with a wolf"
>"I havna-"
They both burst into laughter.

Dalk headed to the farstrider lodge and got Dergo's mount. Dergo was still cleaning up the body of the dead wolf when he saw Dalk race by him, a bit clumsy on his ram, and he couldn't help but laugh again while he heard soft squeels of Dalk trying to control his mount.


When the corpse was cleaned and ready for transport, Dergo looked at Nighteyes "I forgot all about ye! Lemme look at yer wounds". Nighteyes had already fallen asleep again and turned his head at his masters voice. "ahh ya look fine.. nothing serious. Nice charge... ya got him good! Welp, wa need ta be going. Let's get this corpse ta da Lodge and then head to Ironforge" Nighteyes softly grumbled a bit and then followed in his masters wake.

[Arzamas]

Frozen in place and time, the adventurers AWAIT THE CLOAKED FIGURE!

TASHY

"GRHMPHerrr"

The disgusting noise of quail meat beeing torn from its bone seemed to disturb those around him, but Tashy didn't seem to care. In fact, he never really did. The habits of the warrior were not generally met with much warm welcome.

A young Mage nearby scoffed to her friends a snide comment about Warriors being "...drooling buffoons". Tashy's mind flicked back to his days Westfall, his lonesome journeys to Stranglethorn Vale and his ghastly encounters in the Plaguelands of the North; and he sighed deeply.

These people were in constant danger, and while he battled for the very freedom they constantly abused, they sat and joked about his bloodstained boots, or his grime filled beard.

One of the gossiping group, a tall and very proud human known around the place as Ghaze, stood and stared at Tashy menacingly, his young comptriots encouraging him rabidly.

Tashy wasn't surprised at all, those humans seemed almost intimidated by their own alliance with the Dwarves of Ironforge.

Tashy quickly noted Ghaze's hand on his belt, in which sat a pair of daggers, each coated in a fine glaze of what could only be poison, the mark of a rogue.

"Hey, meathead", the rogue called as he quickly strolled over. He towered above Tashy.

Tashy simply smiled and took another bite of his roast dinner.

Ghaze was obviously offended by Tashy's disregard, and quick as a flash he had drawn a dagger and had it held between Tashy's eyes.

"What's a useless warrior such as yourself doing in SouthShore, I can defend these people without your kind round here!"

Tashy didn't flinch.

Suddenly the cry of a young Gnome could be heard from the nearby stables.

"Incoming Horde, heeelp!!! HEELP!!!"

The rogue and ran out of the tavern and slipped into the evening sun.

Tashy rose from his stool and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

Ghaze quickly spotted the invaders, and crept up towards them, trying for a suprise attack. The three Orc Hunters were obviously sent as spies from the Horde occupied Mill up north.

Suddenly Ghazes foot caught in something. He looked down... too late. Before he could act he was encased in a solid chunk of ice.

A trap!

The Orcs unleashed a volley of arrows at Ghaze, and had him on his knees in second, while a few tamed bears charged down on the wounded rogue.

Tashy stepped around the corner of the tavern and drew his axe.

The Hunters moved in for the kill and Ghaze struggled to his feet helplessly, already near death, when from nowhere he heard a "Whoosh!!". He closed his eyes and awaited the impact of the hunters' arrows.

What he heard next was a sound he would not soon forget. The most ferocious roar he had ever heard, indeed, one he never wanted to hear again. He slowly opened his eyes to see the silhouette of a short figure, engaged in fierce combat with all THREE hunters and there tamed beasts. In a flash of light he saw its face. He would later swear he saw a SMILE!

In a few short second two of the hunters and all their hunting pets were felled, and the third was last seen running East over the hills, blood dripping from a wound to his thigh.

Tashy was last seen by the townsfolk mounting a griffon, which the local Griffon Master said was headed for Ironforge. They had just found a new hero!

As Tashy guided his griffon ride over the coast of Hilsbrad, he noticed a note tucked into the front pocket of his bag. He quickly opened and read it.

"The Slaughtered Lamb, that sounds dangerous!" Tashy said to himself.

He smiled and drew a flask of bourbon. His eyes shon as he flew southward in the dusk.

[Ebonshadow]

"Dearest One... Gone to Stormwind. Will return soon. Please wait here, I wish to see your face.

~Vanimas; Maiden of Wisdom."

A faint glow focused upon the other parchment found by the dining table, a matching note to the one found at one of the designated SI:7 drop points.

“It has come to my attention that there is a dire matter of which we need to speak about. I would like to meet with a group of you in the basement of the Slaughtered Lamb to discuss this further. Please bring those you know to yourself as close.”

Through clenched and bared teeth, the rogue hissed a gutteral curse, followed more audibly by a phrase that had become ingrained into their daily vernacular.

"Sounds dangerous, Vani. Absolutely no good comes of this."

Trained eyes flicked across their adopted abode. Vanimas had obviously had downed most of a flask of their prefered rum, donned some more comfortable and more than likely fashionable traveling gear, and headed out to Stormwind. The Druid at least appeared to be armed, as one of Vani's maces was not in the usual space in the study. Nodding in approval, the rogue turned and dashed through the library, and off the second floor balcony.

Already in a full sprint by the time the muffled boots touched the floor, Ebonshadow heard Vanimas playfully admonishing "I have a front door, you know!" echoing in memory, and laughed. Swift legs dashed through the hallways of the Dwarven citadel, narrowly brushing past the Alliance forces, and evading the notice of the guards. She smiled at the impressive time she was making, until a loud "POP" reported that a shoulder was out of socket. The hallway spun around, and the rogue no longer had use of a sword arm.

Ebonshadow winced at the pain, but only because it was too familiar. There are only two things stronger then a Thunderbrew's vice-clamp like grip; their coveted Moonshine recipe, and their rolling brogue.

"Werre diya thin yer goin, thief?" came from a voice from behind a thick, wiry beard.

"Now is not the time, Grumpy. I have familial business to take care of." Ebon stared into the rugged dwarf's one good eye, hoping to find some hint of compassion. His grip on Ebon's right arm somehow got stronger, and something cracked. The rogue determined the sound had been from the Great Forge, rather than give the dwarf the satisfaction.

"Thets steel 'Thiefcatcher Thunderbrew,' to yeh... Thief. Werre yeh goin?"

Ebonshadow, pained by the discomfort and the delay, sighed heavily and began the familiar routine. "Thiefcatcher Thunderbrew, you know as well as I do that I have my papers from Seven... on me, even... that give me permission to operate for the Alliance. The longer you detain me here, the further into danger one of your citizens travels."

"Funny, ah thought if ah locked ye up, less folks would be gettin hurt." His grip softened, but the intensity of his glare was a reminder of their opposed history.

His stony eyes flicked to the blades on the darkened leather belt. Two short, wicked looking devices, glowing unnaturally and glistening with the rogue's special blend of herbs and oils rested in their barely used scabbards. They looked foreign strapped down and at rest.

"Those look recently used. Werrer the corpses, theif?"

"Western Plaguelands. Two dozen of Darrowshire's finest get to finally rest. I promise you I'm doing the right thing, Grumbeard. If I wasn't, do you think my free left hand would be so still right now?" The dwarf paused, grunted, and let loose a chuckle along with the elf's arm.

"Git goin. I'll tell Lana thet yeh'll be around for tea in two nights. Dinnae be disappointin her."

Ebonshadow worked the blood back into the numb right hand and bowed to the Sentry. Thunderbrew turned away mumbling about "Elves in the Forge" and continued his hunt for Horde stalkers. The remainder of the run was at a more leisurely pace, knowing that the other guards wouldn't stop to look at another adventurer only moving as fast as the rest of the citizenry.

The rogue approached the handler from the right rear oblique out of habit and placed the fee in the locked box next to him. As the handler explained the virtues of these fine beasts to some younger gnomes, Ebon grabbed the reins of the nearest Gryphon and took flight.

These flights were one of the favorite respites from doing the dirty work for the Alliance. It was the feeling of utter freedom, wind in the hair, the higher altitude causing the thoughts to wander as air became light. They reminded the Elf of days on the beach in Stranglegrove, looting the buccaneers and consuming their volatile bounty as fast as it could be found, loosing track of the previous life Ebon would rather forget.

Upon landing in Stormwind, Ebonshadow made a bee line for the bank, and grabbed an old silk bag from the smiling teller. Walking about clad head to toe in leathers with your face covered was a sure sign that you were trouble. All those same skills, packaged differently, made it easier to maneuver in the 'polite' society of Stormwind. A quick dash to the top floor of a local inn to exchange the leathers for silks, a quick dab of something mild smelling that Vani had laying about, and Ebonshadow the Rogue was gone. All that was left was Ebby.

"Time to go find Vani, and see what all this hubbub is about," giggled Ebby lightly while fidgeting with the boning in the bodice of the dress Vani recently had bought her. She skipped out into the cool night air towards the Slaughtered Lamb with a smile in her wary eyes and her dagger stashed in her billowing sleeve.