World of Warcraft®

Verra herself had received a decent bout of healing from the druidess and enough of a power boost from Kethrilk to survive the walk back with little worry. The wound had begun healing enough at its own rate for Verra to enjoy her favourite past time. And among the tents and seats the wyvern could be found sprawled out with one leg(and wing) awkwardly perched so it would heal.

The leather of the wing was only damaged slightly, the worst of the wound was on her body proper, meaning that with enough healing she could still fly. At least, as long as she got some rest, the exhaustion of being an uneasy creature in times of war was intense. Verra usually found it difficult to actually let herself sleep, especially around Spannershield.

It could be called paranoia, but over the last few days it had been justified. Every turn lead them into another danger, another problem. Verra let a long uncomfortable growl out of her throat as she rested her beastly head on here legs. "Armour," she muttered to herself, as some kind of mental note before grumbling some more.


Stash on the other hand appeared to be having some kind of mental argument, whether to up and leave or not. There were morals or something? Was this an opportunity out? Now he was never an honorable goblin, but he still had a vague idea of what was right and what was horribly, horribly wrong. It appeared if he ever had to be a part of a cause, this was going to be it, so why not make it worth it?

He frowned, so far his contribution to the cause was his charms and good looks, but he hadn't done much on the physical side of things. He needed to find some kind of weapon, or build more explosives. He pulled out some writing implements and parchment and began scribbling out some schematics. He had no idea what yet, but he had to design some kind of efficient but effective gun.

Lost in his own world he eventually stumbled right next to Virella and sat by in his world while she was in her own. Rest and Relaxation, they had to enjoy it while they had it.

((2/2))

Lynara marched through the jagged plains of Deepholm. It felt so… alien to her, this world. Where was Deepholm truly located? She wondered to herself. It was not long until she was at the temple of Earth, it was it a pitiful shape she imagined. “Well we go from a place with far too much water, to a place with none.” She said as she collapsed near a pillar, her ribs were still injured from the crash and she had not had any water in a long time, food was a pressing issue as well.

A shaman walking by knelt down and began to aid the night elf, first by making sure she was awake. “Are you awake?” The shaman asked. He moved Lynara into a seated position as to make helping her easier.

Lynara opened her eyes and nodded. He smiled as he began to give her his canteen of water. “My ribs are injured, and I have not eaten in days.” She said. With a nob the shaman gave her a nice sized piece of bread that Lynara hungrily devoured. Washing it down with some more water she thanked the shaman as he helped mend her bones. “Thank you, I own you more than I can repay.” She said.

A smile was not something that often graced the face of a Death Knight, especially one such as Ithalin. But this was a special occasion. One that would have made even the hardiest Death Knight smile.

Retribution.

Such a good word. A fitting word. Ithalin had decided to keep his helmet and mask off for this torture. He felt like he should make the orc see what he had become because of his kind. The monster, the terror he now was. His face was non-exsistant. What little he had preserved had been nibbled away by fish in Vash'jir, and it was now just the clean white bone. He managed to do his best smirk without any skin. Now he had to simply wait.

Ithalin heard Balastraz before he saw him. His wingflaps and screeching echoed throughout Deepholm. The orc was trying to fight. That brought another smile to Ithalin's lips. Balastraz was smart enough to know not to kill the orc. He would show him a pretaste of the pain to come. Of the Retribution to come.

When Balastraz finally alighted on the ledge, Ithalin was ready. He had opted not to used his Rune Scythe, instead deciding to use his daggers. He could use them to cause small, non-lethal incisions that would cause extreme pain, but not death. He would not allow his victim mercy. His victim had never shown his family mercy. Only pain. Never death........

Ithalin returned to the moment when a groan of pain escaped his captive's lips. He nodded at Balastraz and the drake tossed the orc from his claws. The orc rolled over to Ithalin and stopped face-up. The orc looked up at this Death Knight and whispered, "Help...."
He got a saronite boot to the face before he could finish the plea.

The orc, who name was Goruk, awoke to find a skull looming over him, a glowing green-black dagger colouring the face the same colour. "Orc, my name is lost to the tombs of Lordaeron. You will not learn it before your death. Do not attempt any spells or summonings, or I will break your mind and use it to hurt the ones you love. I want one thing." Goruk looked at his hands and feet, only to find they were bound by ice. But he was a powerful shaman, and he would not be killed easily. He flicked his palm towards the Death Knight and began the incantation. He barely finished the first word before his mind shattered, becoming ice-cold, withering away the spirit of Life inside of him.

Goruk looked up and asked in Orcish, thinking to fool the human, "And what would that be, dog?"

He was shocked when Ithalin responded in near-perfect Orcish, "A confession for your ancestors, those who killed, maimed, and desecrated my family. Until such a time until I hear the words 'I confess', you will be tortured to far past what normal men should endure. But you will live. You will live until such a time I decide I can not put you under strain anymore. So I will ask you once. Do you confess?"

Goruk looked up at the Death Knight. "Why should I confess to something I did not do?"

"Wrong answer," Ithalin said coldly. He plunged the dagger Plague into Goruk's stomach, and drew it out with an intestine still attached. Goruk went to clutch the wound, to heal it, but remembered his hands were bound. "CONFESS, ORC!"

Still holding strong, Goruk said again, "I will not....confess." With a thought, the dagger Ice popped out of his gauntlet and he plunged it into each of the orc's lungs, freezing them solid, but just enough so Goruk would still breathe.

Ithalin asked again, "Will you confess?" Still he got the same answer. So he stood up, and then drove the heel of his Saronite boot into the open stomach wound and twisted his foot back and forth, making the orc scream for mercy. So he asked again, "Will you confess? All this will end."

Finally, the orc gave in and said, "I confess."

"Then your punishment is death."

"NO! YOU SAID IT WOULD END HUMAN!"

Ithalin simply smiled and said, "And so it does end, with the finality of Death." He slit the orc's throat before he could say more. And so he set to work. He sewed up the wounds he had inflicted and began inscribing runes on the orc's arms and legs. On the left leg, Cora, on the right leg Mary. On the left arm Arnold, and on the right Ithalin. All of these he inscribed in the runes used to enchant the Runeblades of Death Knights. Cutting free the thing cloth the orc wore over his chest, he inscribed Frosthand. Only other Death Knights would be able to read the names. But none would know the meanings behind the words.

Ithalin watched through Balastraz's eyes while he did his master's dark bidding. Ithalin had told the drake to drop the body at the entrance of the Temple of Earth, and he did just that. He smiled when the body hit the ground with a SPLAT. He left Balastraz as the drake flew back. He reattached Balastraz's saddle at had him drop Ithalin off next to the body. As he walked over to the orc, he smiled with satisfaction.

Now the humans reckoning will come........

Lia & Perfection

Lia had just finished making the last of the bars from the second last crystal pot before she dumped that into the stack where the rest of the pots where cooling. She wiped her brown with her arm from the sweet that began to appear on body from all the work, but she was used to it, besides, she had the Assassin's claws to help her along the way also. She took a tray of cooled elementium bars and flipped it over to get them out. The fell onto the table, gleaming in the forge and crystal light like jewels, metallic jewels.

She raised a smithing hammer above her head before a voice, very familiar, touched her ears...

"Hey, you look like you know how to pound out some metal...think you could help me work on somethin' when you're done..." she looks at the armor behind made and nods. "...Doin' pretty much exactly what I'm attempting to do?"

"Lowy, of course" she chuckled and placed down the hammer before gracefuly walking towards where Low had began to make elementium bars, well, that's what she thought. When she saw the malformed piece's of metal, she couldn't help but cringe "Wow...ok...wow...how about this, you just make some basic shapes, and then I will do the rest, ok?" she said, clasping her hands infront of her with a charming smile.

With that, she and went back to her table to the elementium bars, Perfection still working very well on the crystal she gave her to work with. Lia raised the hammer once more, but again, before she could bring it down, another voice that sent familiar chills up her spine spoke.

"Specialty order," rasped a voice from over near Lowmaine, Lia and Perfection. The voice belonged to the skeletal figure of Virella, still with her hood drawn. She dumped down a bag of what must have been steel, elementium, whatever ores she could scavenge from around the temple.

"I require a full suit of plate armour, from head to toe including a helmet, I want it padded and I want it swiftly," she spoke, "If you require additional reagents, simply ask and I will attempt to retrieve them for you." Even when she wasn't insulting someone, the displeasure of having to deal with people was evident in her tone. "I would aid you in the endeavor, however I lack physical strength without magic and I do not have ready access to blood at the moment."

Lia slowly turned towards the Bone Witch, Virella, who had dumped a back of ore on the ground near the table. Lia just nodded and looked over to Perfection, who simply shrugged and mothed "Who knows?". Lia sighed and began pounding away at the Elementium, the sound it made would echo across the hall and through out the temple.

((1/2))

After some time, the basic armor for the Commander was done. Lia had made certain notches and holes of which she was going to put runes into. On her head was a small/mediumish green shale spider who seemed to take a liking in all the Blacksmithing and was rather tame, so she named him Emrand, seeing as he was emerald green. She was busy on one of the Commander's boots, placeing a rune that should help the gnomes running speed so that she could catch up with the rest of the patrol if needed be. Doing this required a lot of precision, so she had Emrand hold a magnified glass in front of the boot while she worked.

In her hand was a wire she had crafted from one of the bars of elementium and in her right hand was a glowing and heated rod. She was melting the wire around the rune so that it would stay in place before smoothing it the best she can with a small flat piece of stone. Any mistakes would be corrected my Emrand, her helpful little comrade. Perfection was working on the helm's crystal visor, which she had finally finished and was putting in place by pressing it against the metal part of the visor. The metal part also had holes and a slot of which the Commander would be able to breath. Once she had it in place, she took a strip of metal crafted it so that it will hold the crystal perfectly in place and still.

When she did that, she took the base of the helm and the visor and took them both over to Lia "Ok, done, how about yo----what is that?" she asked, pointing a free finger at the shale spider who was fixing the metal around the ruin "Done, and that's Emrand, he is my little helper. See all of these designs?" she pointed at the vine like designs on the boots "I just showed him what I wanted, and he did it" she said, looking at Perfection with a happy smile.

Perfection look skeptical "What if you accidentally crush him?" she asked. Lia's smile only grew wider "That happened already, he is a tuff little bugger, infact, that is how I met him, i stepped on him" she chuckled before giving the little spider like elemental a pat. Lia took the helm from Perfection and got to work, slamming the visor into place and testing to see if it can open and close. She then added a feature where if the Commander did not want to have the visor on, she can slide it on top of her head and lock it in place, where she can unclasp it later.

-----------------------------------

Work set on as Lia managed to finnaly make everything and place certain runes into all of them, and she still had elementium left. The next thing she made was the sleeve for the Commander's robotic arm, it was made with claps, one for the upper arm, and one for the lower, where it can clasp over the arm and protect it from any major damage, leaving only the elbow exposed to any danger. She also had to make sure that it was flexible enough that the Commander can still swing her arm at her next victim on the battle field.

The rune were as followed. There was one in each glove that helped improve lifting strength, like the ones Lia had on now. Two others were in the boots that would, as said, help the Commander run faster to keep up with the Patrol if need be. Another in the middle of the breast plate to take off and on the armor, all of which were connect by lines like wires as you would see on a metal vrykul almost. When active, the ruin would store the armor inside the ruin until it is needed once more.

She had also made a shield, which Emrand was carving in the symbol of the Patrol into it. The sides were smooth, with one slot that separated by the top of the shield and down to around half way, that was for her gun which Lia saw the Commander use recently on the ship before they fell into Deepholm. Now there was only one thing left to do before the set would be complete. Perfection mentioned something about Vimmi's chain saw being completely useless after the Gyreworm, and that gave her an idea, she still had some of that crystal left...

"Perfection" she said, the girl running up to meet her. She had taken off her leather tunic as was in a white undershirt, due to the fact that she was getting hot in her chest armor "Yea Lia?". Lia turned to her and placed a gloved hand on her shoulder "Go to the Commander, ask what kind of chain she wants then return to me when your done, okay?" she raised her brows as she waited for a answer. Perfection nodded and went to look for the Commander, when she found her, she would have ran over and knelt by her side and mutter the question that Lia had told her to ask. Mean while she did that, Lia started to get to work on the Bone Witches armor

((2/2))

Waraila glanced at Kethrik as he used the life force of the spiders to heal her injuries... injuries she hadn't really paid much attention to. It came then as a surprise that her head cleared considerably as the pain she had been constantly in from the impact and the subsequent battles had been more or less removed entirely. Sure the bruises were still there but they no longer hindered her.

“Yes, do what you can Kethrik” she nodded feeling far better after his healing, although she had lost track of the amount of time since the Naga attack... she had no sense of whether or not it was the same day, or even week... as being underwater then waking up deep in the cells of a mercenary ship hadn't done much to help her keep track of the flow of day and night. Even here there was no visible indication of the flow of time.. it was unchanging. “And thankyou.. I should be able to manage from here... “ she added appreciating the birdman's help..

With that she went back to helping prepare the injured to be transported to the temple, making sure that the more severe wounds that were visible were bound enough so that they wouldn't worsen during the trip, despite the healing done she didn't want to take chances. As she worked she didn't see the tree being made, although once it was fully grown, the slight noise of the creaking ironwood made her glance at it.

It was an impressive tree she had to admit, a feat she herself could do if she had seeds and enough strength to do so.. both of which she lacked at the present moment in time. All her seeds, indeed all of her remaining possessions save her patrol chain, had been taken by the Naga. It was only down to sheer luck that Vimmi had found the chain that she had it now.

As she held her chain, some of the names that were carved onto the tree caught her eye... names she recognised but were not recent deaths... those of the old patrol. Yes they had certainly had their fair share of losses over the time that they had been active. One though caught her eye and she raised her head to glance towards where she could see Vimmi.. still shouting orders. 'She still grieves for them... ' Waraila thought as the turned her attention back to the tree. It wasn't the first time she had seen Spannersheild drop into depression, and she feared it could occur once more. Even if she took secondary command of the Patrol it wouldn't be as effective without Vimmi at the helm, and she wondered if the gnome would be able to continue with her stated intentions under such strain.

More names were also carved on the trunk, and for a moment she considered adding to the number, but there was no time... the injured needed to be helped to the temple and besides.. there were too many names for her to write them down. Some she knew, some she didn't.... from Northrend, to the Grimtotem massacre and more recently the massacre at Taurajo... the names at least of the Patrol members lost were there though..

“This is a good strong tree Grish... “ she commented, placing one hand on it, sensing the gentle strength of nature.. “I hope the elemental plane will accept it here for a long time to come.. “ With that she shifted form and loped away in feline form to be ready for the journey to the temple... if it came down to it, she could still fight in order to get the injured to safety.

*****

how long had the trip been? Waraila couldn't tell, she had lost track between watching her surroundings and keeping an eye on the injured. Her nose hadn't warned her of threats, and whilst the skyguard were above, she knew all she had to watch for were ones hiding between the rocks on the ground. With Verra beside her she had trudged on, still keeping an eye on the Wyvern's injury as well.. to make sure the strain didn't reopen the wound.

Now though the looming temple stretched skywards above her, a place, she hoped of safety for the injured... already Spannershield was berating the shamans, and trying to get help for the Patrol. Waraila shook her head, amused, well at least for a moment anyway.

(1/2)

However the news that the shamans had been ready to receive them and had supplies and a place to eat and rest availible made her ears perk up slightly. Food was a welcome sound to her, she couldn't remember the last time she had actually eaten...

Almost immediately she followed Verra, watching the Wyvern sprawl amongst the tents and bedrolls, she could also see the slumbering form of Barzulo not too far away and wondered absently just how much work the Earthen ring were doing. “I'm glad to see you've got sense to rest when you're injured” she chuckled in amusement... “I'll see about the food the Shamans mentioned... once I get someone else to rest and make sure the injured are settled.. “ she added.

Stretching out, and wincing slightly she soon was on her way, avoiding Fenris who looked like he was contemplating something as she headed back out into the main chamber, where Spannershield was still arguing with the shaman. Sighing, the druidess started to head over there when a thought occurred to her.

“Turle.. “ she spun round, heading to find the second gnome in their company, wondering if her would help her persuade Vimmi to rest, she hadn't missed the exchanges between the pair of gnomes, although she had done her best to ignore it. However she was worried that Spannershield was near to breaking point, and needed a friend.. but she had already overstepped her own bounds over the past few days.

“We have a problem.. “ she crouched down near to the warrior, “I doubt Spannershield will rest unless one of us sits on her... but I'm worried... she can't continue on like this..” she glanced at Turle, showing for the first time just how concerned she was about Vimmi. “She needs a friend to talk to, to help her cope with losing members of her command.. I would do it, but I fear she's already heard enough from me over the past few days... “

Her words were also a hint that she thought there was more between the two gnomes than she would openly admit..

“Vimmi cares for those under her command... and this must be eating away at her. “ she sighed “I'll speak with her now, but I may be throwing oil on fire... “

With that the druidess stood up, and headed over to where she could see Vimmi now talking with a bunch of mages... Low and Lia had already vanished somewhere into the temple.. Or more accurately were now creating a lot of noise further in the temple with the ringing of hammers against elemental metals.. Whilst she was curious as to what those two were up to... she had more pressing matters at hand.

“Vimmi.. “ she spoke softly, pausing a meter or so away from the woman, well out of range of her fists.. “You need to rest.. and not only because you're exhausted.” she looked towards the shattered pillar that dominated the room. Slowly Waraila turned her head back toward the gnome, her ears flicking backwards and forwards as she thought she heard something outside.

“Today has been difficult for us all, and the fact any of us are alive is a miracle... “ she added, wondering if Turle was on his way over here or not...

(2/2)

Turle was standing outside of the temple, his curious gaze roaming over the rocky landscape of Deepholme stretching out before him. It was all still quite strange to the warrior how they ended up in this place. One minute, they were being sucked into the maelstrom, the next they were crashing through an entirely different plane. "Bah!" He muttered to himself, that line of thinking was out of his league, the fact that they -were- still alive was enough for him. No, some of them hadn't made it, even without truly knowing them, a fallen companion still takes it's toll.

A frown crossed over the Gnome's features as he let his mind continue to wander over the recent events. His thoughts kept turning to the look on Vimmi's face. It wasn't defeat, no, she wasn't one to accept such a thing so easily. Failure.. That was it. What commander wouldn't feel a sense of failure if a few under them fell in battle? Turle could still remember seeing the face of his second-in-command back in the Barrens. He could see the shock registering when the Orcish blade passed through him and ended his life.

A sigh escaped his lips and he shook his head to clear his thoughts. There was no way in hell he was going to let Vimmi suffer on her own like this. It was time to step up, to be her rock, to be her lifeline in this dark hour. She -needed- him!

A smile worked it's way across his lips and he nodded his head to confirm his own thoughts. Just as he was about to turn and make his way inside, a rather familiar feline form came into view. Waraila. His smile turned to a small scowl thinking of what the druidess had put him through with her little stunt from earlier.

“We have a problem.. “

His head tilted to the side and he blinked slowly listening to what Waraila was telling him. "Yes, it's not an easy feat being in charge. Decisions have consquences, sometimes good, sometimes bad. You're right though, I'll join you in a moment. The both of us will be able to persuade her to at least rest..the rest you can just leave up to me."

He offered the druidess a smile and a nod before turning to face away from the temple once again. It was time. This wans't going to be an easy feat either. Vimmi was stubborn, with the loss of a few of her members, she was going to be -much- worse.

(1/2)

Splat!

That was quite an unexpected noise. Turle's eye quickly scanned the surrounding area searching for the source. He rolled his shoulders in a shrug about to dismiss it as his mind playing tricks when something caught his gaze. Curiously, the Gnome pushed away from the temple wall and stepped out a bit to investigate this thing on the ground. As he drew closer, it began to dawn on him just -what- was laying before him. A body..the impact however had taken it's toll and there wasn't too much that he could discern from that. The clothing however, looked similar to that of the Earthen Ring shamans...Not good.

As if things couldn't get any worse, the warrior took a step back and glanced up just to see if he could spot how this "accident" might've happened. It seemed silly for anyone to be climbing around on the roof of the structure..or falling off their flying mount. What he did catch a small glimpse of was a rather large creature flying away. His vision wasn't good enough to put any details to it but maybe someone inside had some knowledge of flying creatures in the area.

Sighing, he turned and rushed back inside the temple. In his mind, he was debating whether to drop this news on Vimmi or to wait. If he waited, she would probably be angry about it, or if he told her now, she'd probably be..Turle shuddered at the thought. Waraila! He'd tell the druidess and they'd decide what to do with the situation.

As he rushed through the temple in search of Vimmi and Warila, he happened to pass by Lowmaine and Lia who seemed to be working on something..metallic. This gave him pause and he made a quick detour to stop by there to see what they were doing. Upon seeing them making armor, he glanced down and realized that he himself had been missing his precious plate set since the Naga attack. Not to mention, his prized sword was lost in the fray too.

"Umm, while you do seem busy, I would like to ask if it were all possible to have a weapon fashioned for myself? I've kind of been having to use my fists since those damn Naga took my sword and as much as I pride my strength, they probably aren't going to last very long." He grinned holding up clenched fists that were bruished and bloody from gyreworm punching. "Just if you have the time..No worries if you don't, I'll live. If you'll excuse me, I need to find Vim--I mean, Commander Spannershield."

With a brief nod, he darted off once again to resume his search. It didn't take long to find them and he walked up to stand beside Waraila just as she finished speaking. He looked over at the druidess and mouthed a few words hoping she would understand. "I need to talk to you!" After that, his attention was turned back to Vimmi where he would add onto Waraila's statement.

"It has been a long and difficult day, indeed. Though I wouldn't so easily lump our fortune into that of miracles as I would of having you leading us, Vimmi."

What a suck up!

(2/2)

((1))

… On occasion, you may think that unlife isn’t so bad. You live… you… die. You die for a really long time. And you stay dead for a really long time. But you’re alive. But you’re not.

You’re dead.

But you look like your alive.

I don’t. I look like a corpse. I move like a corpse. I get beat like a corpse. But I’m not a dead horse.

You see that half-rhyme I just pulled right there? My mind isn’t all bad. I’m pretty sure that’s how half-rhymes work. Was that actually a full-rhyme?

You know what, let’s not stay on this subject.

Back to your original question. The one you asked. You remember? I don’t.

You wanna know why I don’t?

Because unlife sucks.

Yeah, you think it’s cool at first. I got this big sword, I can shoot lightning out of it, woopy-diddly-doo. I can make ghouls do a merry jig through the plaza’s while I parade them around on wooden sticks.

That sound’s cool, right?

Now let me tell you my unlife.

My unlife is hell.

What’s hell?

I don’t know. I only know it’s really, really bad.

My unlife is where you can’t think. You literally, cannot, think. You look at yourself before. You were a pretty nice guy before. Not so much anymore. Everyone takes the whole thing differently. The most common is the HATE EVERYTHING approach. Which is understandable.

Others take it differently. They hide behind their religions and their morale rules, because they think that’ll save them.

Heheheh…

Those are the interesting ones.

They never go anywhere though. They invoke their neat-o HOLY LIGHT abilities. You know what the Light does? The light burns. It burns a lot.

It’s sad to see. It’s sort of like watching a hero self-destruct on himself. A second time of course. But the second time is the good one.

It’s an endless cycle you see. They cling so desperately to what little bit of their mind to have left. They think it’s going to end well. They think everyone will just stop by and say howdy to the friendly neighborhood dead guy.

Some will call it denial. I call it an addiction.

They end up the same way. They’ll either let go eventually, or they just wither away and die slowly. Rejection hurts. It hurts a lot. There’s a few ways to deal with it though.

The best way is moving on.

But moving on is hard.

It’s easier to die.

It’s much easier to die.

A lot of people tell me I have a bleak view. I need to WISEN up. Wisen not even being a word. But my brain think’s it is. That’s good enough, right?

Yeah, that’s good enough. Live in your shell. Because it’s all you’ll have, no matter how hard you wanna fight.

So you probably ask yourself…

Where am I on this corporate ladder of death?

I ask myself that a lot.

I usually tell myself something different each time. Make things interesting. But it’s also because I have no idea what idiocy I spewed forth last time.

There’s always one thing that keeps itself present though.

I’m not a monster…

I’m not in denial…

I’m not a hollowed out husk just yet…

Me?

I’m just ahead of the curve.

-THWACK-

“PUNCH OF AWAKENESS, ENGAGE!”

A swift blow to the forehead was enough to snap the Death Knight from his stupor. The top part of his vision being eclipsed by the fist that had failed to remove itself from his face. He stared down the length of the arm it was connected to, right back at his brother.

“… Everyone’s gone.” Said the man in the top hat.

A few quick scans with his working eye led to the conclusion that yes indeed. Everyone WAS gone. Unfortunate.

“… Jaggo, stop touching me.”

“Right-o, camarade. Terribly sorry to stop whatever in the unholy fel it was you were doing, but… this cavern is scary. And dark. And scary. And we probably should be dead by now. But we’re not. Which is good. We should not squander this fabulous trait of not dead that hath been bestowed upon us. So let us walk casually, in one general direction, where death isn’t present.” Jaggo finished with a smile which had it’s own *squeeee* sound effect.

“…” Silently proclaimed Alistair, being an odd change from his default response of “grr“.

“EXCELLENT. They went, this-a-way.” The man in the top hat suddenly morphed into a Worgen in an unnaturally speedy transformation. With a few quick sniffs of the air around them, it was quite easy to pick out the smell of death. Mostly because it was in a different direction then absolutely every feasible spot around them.

“Generic yet heroic and loveable CATCHPRRRRRRHASE!” Shouted Jaggo, taking great care to roll all of his Rs in his pronunciation before casually striding off in a mix of western and southern distances. At least that’s what he assumed it was. Nobody had a compass anyway. A compass was an illogical and stupid sign of heresy and conspiracy. And it should feel bad. Because it’s a compass.

((1))

((2))

“Alistair, me brother. What were you thinking about in that thousand yarded stare stupor of yours?” Asked the top hatted man, his cane lightly tapping against the stones that he treaded upon.

“… Simpler times. Simpler times was all.”

~~~

And so the brothers moved on in silence.

As silent as being as loud and annoying as possible could get.

Jaggo had this unfortunate problem where he really liked to talk. He really liked to talk. Even when no one was listening. Unfortunately somebody was being forced to listen.

“So then they all came at me. And I mean they really came at me. Like… five… or… like, two… dozen… hundred. Yes, quite. And they were all like, SHABOOZEHY, and I was like, WAAAACHAAAAA.”

It was at that point Alistair just… stopped. Stopped listening, stopped caring, stopped everything. And suddenly his mood was lifted as very little as it could. Which wasn’t much. It was his lips twitching in one direction.

He merely trekked on. His body battered, bruised, scarred, pale, probably ripped open somewhere. Not that it mattered. Wounds healed. They just needed some blood. Or replacement flesh. Or… something like that.

“So then I go into this tavern in Stormwind, right? And this guy walks up. Starts telling me this really interesting story. Apparently he was an illegitimate child of Arthas and Jaina, but the twist was that he had AMNESIA. Pretty cool, right? So he pulled out his succubus girlfriend who he owned the soul to, and they start making out on the counter top. Some dwarf walked over and was like EHHHH LADDY QUIT DOIN’ THE NASTY IN ME BUSINESS. So the guy lifts him up with his mind and shouts FUS RO DAH, as it turns out he was also part dragon. And then he sprouted demon wings and flew away onto his cloud of sunshine to be with his other part dragon and furry friends.”

… I wish suicide was easier as an undead…

“Oh, by the way Alistair, we’re here.”

Alistair was the most happy he had kinda-sorta felt in his entire unlife.

The temple was… well, not anything either brother would deem special. It was a temple. In an underground cavern. There wasn’t much else going on.

Shamans doing their elemental things…

The Patrol encased in drama and general moanings.

“I’m going to go ponder some things that don’t make sense in that corner over there. I expect you’ll be brooding about nothing. So let’s split for a bit. Okay? Okay.” Jaggo morphed back into his human form and scampered off somewhere he probably shouldn’t be. But that was okay. He was far away from bothering anybody else.

And Alistair was left alone. And also left with zero tolerance for whatever the Patrol was getting themselves into.

So naturally he picked some shaded area and stayed in it. Everyone else? Who cared. His body had better things to be doing. Resting was one of them.

((2))

(( I've been relatively happy with my posts the last few weeks, but this one's pretty sh'ite. ))

Vimmi took a few moments to regard Perfection, as she was far too busy having a conversation with a mage who looked as if he'd rather be having a tea party in Blackrock Mountain than talking to her. It was becoming increasingly apparent that being a different plane to your destination made portal magic extensively difficult (and costly).

"I don't care how long it takes, can you do it?" Vimmi asked, holding up a hand in Perfections direction for her to wait until she was finished.

"Yes, however my efforts are much better suited-"

Vimmi disengaged from conversation after the 'Yes' and walked away, listening to Perfection as she walked. At first she simply seemed confused, what was this about a chain? It took a moment, but Vimmi presumably managed to understand that the woman was referring to her arm and the weapon. While she did not have time for simple inquiries, on the way to her next destination she was happy to answer.

The horrible metallic screeching filled the temple of the earth once more, distracting shaman from their duties. "It's not a chain-based weapon, it's a spinning sawblade from what I can tell. It's bent and blunt, completely useless. But it spins whenever I activate it, as far as I can tell there is no control mechanism. I'll need a professional engineer to look at it to detach the current buzzer blade."

The arm reverted back to the usual form, just as yet another distraction/patrol member made its existence an obstacle in her path. Waraila had approached, bringing more suggestions towards rest. Vimmi hated having to argue with her, because she knew in her heart the Tauren was right, but also knew that she couldn't give in, not yet, she had too much responsibility.

"Waraila," she started, but it was then another being arrived.

Turle. Damnit. Vimmi stopped moving, stopped stepping forward, and decided to at least give them the courtesy of listening. Today had been a long day, and days had stretched into nights, into days, into endless struggles for the last week. Thinking about the last good sleep she had caused Vimmi's head to throb, visions of falling, and Vashj'ir, and the Barrens flashing through her mind.

Sleep. She knew she wanted it, she knew that she at least wanted to lay down, but how could she? She had lost so many, they had fallen so far. They were right smack bang in the middle of the bonds of Azeroth and they needed to fix it. Vimmi clenched her teeth together and tried to fight the exhaustion, she could hold it out, she'd destroyed scourge beyond count and fought in wars beyond number... she could hold off sleeping.

The Gnome's head rotated around the room, and she saw members of her own patrol propped up against pillars, she noticed Waraila and Turle, standing there in strong defiance against all inevitability yet still willing her to rest. She took a long deep breath and closed her eyes for a long moment.

"Turle, requisition some armour and a weapon, Waraila get some rest you are one of the only capable healers in this patrol and I need your strength," she ordered, "I... will rest as well. Only for as long as is necessary, when I awake we will gather to full strength and begin work in this area."

She moved before she had finished speaking, off towards the rest area, off towards where the patrol had gathered up makeshift lodgings, prepared tents, and had begun to rest after the long week they had endured. It was here, as Vimmi took slow step after slow step, looking upon the group, that she realized exactly what the situation was.

They were tired too, they were wounded, physically, no doubt mentally or emotionally. These were people that had sacrificed their lives already. People who had left family, or friends, or daily life, to follow her into the abyss. People who had stuck by her as the whole world turned on her, as pirates, and naga, and SI:7, Deathwing, as everyone had struck out to get her, they had stood in the way.

Vimmi brought a hand to her forehead and sighed, they did all this for her and yet she pushed them for more, and for more. No. Vimmi needed to rest, they needed to rest, Azeroth wasn't going to fall apart overnight, and if it did it was more than she could ask of her people to fight it.

Vimmi found an empty tent, an empty seat near the others, and almost fell down into it. No more orders tonight, no more missions, no more struggling. Vimmi just closed her eyes and let her body go through the natural recuperation process... Vimmi drifted off into a deep sleep.

Waraila was mildly taken aback by Turle's approach and his comment that they needed to talk, she just hoped it wasn't about Vashj'ir... she recalled him saying something about that earlier just after the crash.. but what it had been she had no idea. Her attention had been on healing... still he looked rather worried to her and she hoped that there wasn't something else up.

In fact, she had a deep suspicion that something had gone wrong. If it was only about Vashj'ir or about the current arrangements then she doubted he would be trying to hide it from Vimmi.

Still she had a duty to make sure that Spannershield didn't overexert herself, and asking Turle about it would only draw Spannershields attention away from resting. Only the twitch of her tail indicated that she had seen what Turle had tried to convey.

“Don't worry Vimmi, I will rest once I've eaten something and checked on the injured. I'm well aware that I am more or less in the same state you are.. “ she grinned amused at the gnome, leaving out the part where Vimmi looked far more chewed up than she was.. “I will keep an ear open though, but I doubt there will be anything to worry about... The Shamans have given us sanctuary here and I trust the Earthen Ring” she stated simply. It was the truth as she saw it... the Earthen Ring was far beyond the petty wars, like the Cenarian Circle was. Not to mention the presence of Sylvanora and her skyguard were also a factor in why she was so relaxed and uncaring of potential danger.

As she spoke she followed Vimmi at least as far as the edge of the area the tents and bedrolls were laid out, giving the gnome privacy to find a place to rest on her own. With a faint sigh of relief that Spannershield wasn't going to kill herself through overwork she turned back to head towards Turle once more.

“So what is so important that you felt it couldn't be said in front of Vimmi?” she asked, half curious and half dreading what the gnome was about to say. “There are still the injured to check and make sure everyone has what they need... and my advice to Spannershield about resting also applies to you as well. None of us can afford to push ourselves right now... “

Turle's eye widened in surprise when Vimmi actually -listened- to their advice on rest. A ghost of a smile touched his lips as he nodded to her command about acquiring armor and weaponry. "I'll see to it immediately. You just worry about getting some rest." Naturally, he stayed behind when Vimmi headed off to find a place to sleep. His gaze quickly swept the area making sure that everyone else was busy with their other tasks before quickly taking off after them.

"Give me but a moment, Waraila. I will tell you soon enough." He whispered upon meeting the druidess at edge of the tents. He had no idea how much Waraila knew or guessed about his relationship with Vimmi, but it was no point in trying to sneak around her anymore. A smile was offered and he moved past quickly in search of where Vimmi went to lay down. It didn't take him long to find her and for a moment he just stood over her sleeping form watching.

He took a step closer, lowered himself down beside her and planted a light kiss on her forehead. "Sleep well, ya damn fool. Not letting you kill yourself out here." He whispered to her before rising and glancing around. There appeared to be no one around but he still felt compelled to secure the area. After all, he still had no clue who killed that shaman and if they were still lurking around.

The Gnome quickly circled the area, making sure to check every corner, every tent for anyone hiding. Once he was satisfied, he nodded and headed back out to meet up once again with Waraila who hopefully was still waiting for him there.

"Waraila, we have a problem.." He gestured for her to walk with him as he spoke. "You'll see for yourself in a moment but..I think one of the shamans here was killed by something or someone here." His features twisted into a frown as he talked, leading the druidess to the area outside where the body had fallen.

"I'm not even sure what it is, the clothing is what clued me into it being a shaman..or what's left of one. Other then that, not much I can say. I did..see something flying away shortly after the body fell...It seemed strange for a creature to kill him or her and then return the body to here. That would require a fair bit of intelligence and the motive behind the killing is beyond me in that scenario. If it were hunger, why would it return to here?"

The Gnome shrugged and kneeled down next to the remains and glanced over at Waraila. Perhaps she would be able to smell something, the scent of the killer, anything useful. "I suppose we'll have to tell the shamans inside..I'd hate for them to find this just laying out here like this. All I can say for certain is that things..are about to get complicated."

Waraila smirked, well as much as a lion like feline could, as Turle followed Vimmi further into the sleeping area. She had guessed that there was something between the two, and this confirmed it. Well at least Turles' feelings were obvious in the matter anyway. Which made her think back to the first night onboard the ship, heading to the Eastern Kingdoms. She had inadvertently asked Turle to guard Spannershield that night.

The irony was amusing to her at least, not to mention it was nice to see something positive after all the disasters the patrol had been through in its short reformation so far. Still it wasn't for everyone to know, and she thought it would be best to keep the secret from the rest of the patrol until either Vimmi or Turle made it more obvious to them.

Then she caught sight of Turle checking everywhere, almost as if he was looking for something, or someone, and it was not Vimmi. It was a pattern of search that soldiers used to check their surroundings for an ambush... surely the gnome didn't think a sanctuary belonging to the Earthen Ring was dangerous?

Puzzled she waited for him to return, and was about to open her mouth to ask what he had been doing when he turned her own words spoken a scant few minutes earlier back upon her. 'Another problem?' she thought, almost groaning aloud at the thought of being kept from her own rest 'How many more of them are there?'.

Waraila padded next to the gnome though, willing to hear him out so then she could get the problem out of the way before seeking food and sleep herself. As she did so, she noticed that the shaman continued with their work, stabilising the broken pillar.. and going about whatever else it was that they did in this strange place. Not only that she could see that some were tending to the injured as well...

“Something killed one of the shaman?” she asked in a hushed, and startled voice. She had assumed that the temple was secure, in fact she was certain it was.. “We know from Sylvanora and Barthius that the twilight cult is active in this realm so it could be some kind of assault from them... but yes I'll check on this. “ she paused for a moment.. “and we need to inform Sylv as well.” the druidess added as she paused near the threshhold of the temple.

The scent of blood was strong, not only that there was fear, and death mixed in with the metallic smell of the blood. Shaking her head, she slowly approached the corpse, taking in the gruesome details of the injuries that had been inflicted on the body.

Tired as she was, Waraila spotted something on the corpse that gave her pause.. strange markings, runes.. almost like the ones Death Knights marked on their blades were carved into the body. Most were obscured by the rest of the injuries inflicted by the long fall that Turle had pretty much witnessed but they unnerved her... There were also cuts, to clean to have come from claws or teeth...

“This is no beast attack Turle... this was deliberate murder... “ she raised her head to look at the gnome. “The shaman need to be informed immediately.... but for the love of the Earthmother, leave Vimmi asleep. I doubt she can deal with this tonight... “

Runes... the runes bothered her... she had seen similar types of runes in Northrend, but had they been inflicted by the twilight cult on this poor, unfortunate orc.. or had it been someone else? She didn't know the answers to that..

As Waraila tried to work out the puzzle, carefully memorising the scents around the corpse, her head snapped up at the approach of the grinning Ithalin, who was staring at the orc.

“Ithalin?” she growled faintly, the scent on the body was disturbingly similar to the smell of the undead that was standing there looking all to pleased with himself. “Did you have anything to do with this?” she asked, her voice slowly rising to almost a roar as she spoke the words.

The druidess was certain that the scents were identical, even through the stench of blood and death. If Ithalin had murdered one of the Shamans then he would answer to her for this atrocity.

"Lowy, of course" she chuckled and placed down the hammer before gracefully walking towards where Low had began to make elementium bars, well, that's what she thought. When she saw the malformed piece's of metal, she couldn't help but cringe "Wow...ok...wow...how about this, you just make some basic shapes, and then I will do the rest, ok?" she said, clasping her hands in front of her with a charming smile.

Low grimaces but nods in affirmation at Lia's request. She knew she was right, as much as she wanted to shout at her that she knew what she was doing she knew that she needed all the help she could get. She sighs heavily and states, “Alright. Lemme straighten...” she motions to the hunks of metal. “This mess I made back out...got some obsidium too so we can make it out of lighter materials. I'm not the same as the Commander; I prefer to be in the thick of things and not getting hit if I can help it...” she steals a grin over at the rogue nearby, who's diligently completing all tasks asked for by Lia. “Backstabber can vouch for me, I think. Also I told you guys I hated that nickname, right?” she adds with a bit of a chuckle.

She soon sets to work undoing her work so far, all in all after about half an hour melting them down and getting elementium bars once again. She decides instead to work with the more malleable obsidium first, smelting the ore and making bars out of it, then as she starts setting them aside to begin heating them and then pounding them into shapes she gets an idea...

A grin crosses her face as she soon decides to take a few elementium bars and and melts them down with the obsidium bars as well, creating a sort of hybrid metal as a bit of an experiment. Years of mining have taught her that this is a bit of a risky move, but if she can chance it just right in terms of ratio, she could create a metal that's more durable than obsidium, but only a tiny bit heavier as opposed to elementium's normal weight. She'd be just as light on her feet with a suit of plate made out of this stuff...but she had to save some elementium in case she needed it.

Soon the batch of metal comes out of the forge, and it's just as she thought. “Perfect...” she grins. This was going to be so much fun to use... Soon she's pounding them out into rough shapes just like Lia asked for, and soon has a perfect rough shape of shoulder pieces, mirroring her old, spiked ones that she had before she left them at the bottom of the ocean, save for the spikes, of course. Those would be pure elementium, mainly because that way she was sure they wouldn't chip, dent, or break off unless coming in contact with something incredibly durable or powerful...like a rock elemental. And even then, the odds were in her favor.

She takes out a small picture of a day far in the past, mainly for reference, and stares at it for a moment. In the picture is her, a sunset to her back and her glaring at the person taking the photograph with a grimace and a cigarette hanging limply in her mouth, her dread-locked hair falling loosely around her head. She had been in Tanaris, on some foolhardy errand to help out some sleezebag Goblins do something involving the sandtroll city of Zul'farrak; the same place where she had found Charlene all those years ago.

((1/2))

She sets the shoulder pieces aside and continues to smelt and to hammer, and soon has a full compliment of armor, or rather, rough shapes representing the armor ready; gloves, bracers, breastplate, shoulders, legs and boots. The boots were made out of elementium as a force of habit; Low has been used to moving at a certain weight and like this, she'll have a decent balance and will be able to hold her ground effectively, should push come to shove. Imagining the scenarios she may find herself in as she continues to hammer the metal has her grinning. So far she's seen some good fighting with the Patrol, and as such she's become slightly attached to the rag-tag group of soldiers, casters and civilians. She's distracted out of her daydream by a voice; Commander's gnomish companion (comrade! Gnomish comrade) Turle. She could tell he was probably feeling the same way she had been this whole time; that is, not being in armor. He was even more naked however, considering the warrior hadn't seen him with a weapon in some time. And just as the thought came to her...

"Umm, while you do seem busy, I would like to ask if it were all possible to have a weapon fashioned for myself? I've kind of been having to use my fists since those damn Naga took my sword and as much as I pride my strength, they probably aren't going to last very long." He grinned holding up clenched fists that were bruished and bloody from gyreworm punching. "Just if you have the time..No worries if you don't, I'll live. If you'll excuse me, I need to find Vim--I mean, Commander Spannershield."

She grins at his brief slip-up mentioning the Commander's first name (which she only knows thanks to Stawson's dossier that she was given before setting out to meet the Patrol in the Barrens. She stops hammering out and shaping the spikes she's been making out of molten elementium (still blunted until she can sharpen them) and puts her hand to her chin in a gesture of mock thought, before grinning at the gnome, stating “Yeah, we can probably do somethin' for ya.” She turns to Lia and states “You keep doin' what you're doin', I can make a weapon just fine...I got somethin' in mind and I know what I wanna make it with.”

She grins at the gnome again as he turns to walk away to find the Commander, and says slyly, “Yeah, give the Commander our best, an' tell the poor woman to get some fekkin' sleep already.” Just as his eyes leave her, she winks and then sets back to her work. She thinks for a moment on the Commander's weapon. Not her normal one per se, but that mechanical arm of hers that seems to turn into a lot of really fun things at seemingly the right times. She's seen it turn into a buzzsaw, and now a gun so far...she wondered if the Commander even knew what the thing was truly capable of. In her time as an engineer, Low's seen a few people with fake limbs (the term was “prosthetic,” but many laymen simply referred to them as “fake” or “robotic” for lack of knowing better). She figured the reason she had the prosthetic was fairly easy to guess, but that wasn't what interested her about it. As far as she could tell (without getting a super-close look at it or anything) there were no buttons on it, which left its method of functionality completely a mystery to the scarred female warrior...either way, maybe she would ask the Commander later if she could get her to sit down and take a look at it.

Lowmaine's hammer made noise once again with renewed gusto; she knew exactly what she was going to make Turle, but for now she had to make a normal sword, and then draft up the schematics to make sure it could work based off of the dimensions, size and weight needed...

Either way, she figured that the two of them were together, why not fight like they were?

((2/2))

*Varonus's Post*

Varonus's eyes surveyed the temple as the group seperated to go about their own duties. His elven ears perked up at the sounds of conversation between.. what sounded like Waralia and another companion with the notable voice of gnomish descent. Turning his head to his side, looking over the center piece the remnants of the World Pillar hovered above, he took note of the druidess making her way from the rest area.. before Turle approached her, whispering to her something the elf couldn't understand.. but the alarmed face on both of them told him that something was very wrong.

As the druidess departed toward the temple threshold the elf's eyes narrowed; he stood up from his seating position, turning to Alvanar and murmuring silently, "Stay here and watch the others.. I'm going to see what the fuss is about." the dragon nodded in acknowledgment as it stood up on its four, powerful legs, "Remain cautious, Lor'dinan, I feel death and blood on the air."

Nodding to his draconic companion, the elf made his way toward the Temple entrance keeping a close eye on the druidess as she turned a corner out of his sight. Slowing his steps as to appear less alarming, he approached the corner in time to hear the familiar, yet furious voice of the druidess call out.

“Did you have anything to do with this?”

Something had happened, the stench of death was now all to strong and the elf's attuned magical senses caught the hint of dark energy around that corner, specific to Death Knights..

Pulling his aqua colored sword from its sheath, the blade bursting into an azure blaze upon being drawn, the elf rounded the corner and brandished his sword, readying himself for any confrontation.

Before him stood Waralia, in her feline form, growling at the death knight Ithalin, who had been accompanying the group. Varonus's eyes narrowed as he spotted the eviscerated body of the orcish shaman on the ground at the death knight's feet; Ithalin's skeletal face sporting as much of a grin as his boney features would allow.

The elf pointed his blade at the death knight, his eyes narrowed in a glare as he spoke, "Has a traitor snaked its way into our ranks?" his voice carrying a hint of anger, a rare occasion to anyone who has known the mage.

Malak had been sitting in his little corner remembering everything that had happened to him in the past few years. From the torture chambers of Gilneas to the battlefields of the Company; but Fenris was tired of just sitting around and so as he saw Vimmi crash on the floor of a tent he let loose a low chuckle and then walked out to find a gathering of a lot of shamans and several of the Patrol. Curious as always, Fenris walked over to the group and found that the elf that had seemed wary of the Worgen warrior was now pointing a blade at yet another Death Knight. Malak ignored all of the people for now and simply kneeled down and looked at the corpse before him, marked with the ancient runes of runeforging and at all the burns and signifiers of torture.

“So tell me Malak, why don’t you just give up hmm? It will make this so much easier…” Then the burning returned and Malak clenched his teeth, he was unable to transform here and so he was in his human form being tortured by those who wanted to be “his saviors.” “I would rather burn in the Nether than join whatever bullsh*t you have created!” Malak managed to say between clenched teeth and then he had to howl in pain as the burning brand was slipped into the cut that was in his side. Oh the burning was gloriously painful and brought with it some clarity that helped Malak hold himself together. But the pain was gone and Malak hung limply from the ceiling.

“Why do you stand all this pain? It could all be gone and you could return to the life you had before.” The voice was musical, feminine and told him things he would have given up everything for, a long time ago that is. Malak chuckled and opened his eyes to stare into the deep blue orbs of his torturer, “Haven’t you heard? I’m all animal now…”

Malak stood quickly to shake off the reverie and then he turned to regard the Death Knight a look of pure contempt on his face. “Tell me Death Knight, if you must sate your thirst why sate it on a defenseless orc? Actually better yet, don’t answer that question and just fight me! I could use some nice entertainment…” Malak quickly unsheathed one of his swords and twirled it into a reverse grip and then got right up into Ithalin’s face. Malak smelled the stench of death and it was a glorious scent to the warrior, he would enjoy fighting this one he thought. “Come on Death Knight, or did your master teach you to only kill the weak ones?” Malak quietly taunted, those who were closest would be the only ones who could hear what Malak said.

It was like a change had come over Malak, his body was vibrating with barely contained rage. His honor was appalled at this display of mercilessness, it was one thing to be cruel and vindictive in battle but against a defenseless mortal was not what Malak did. The torture just made it even worse for Malak hated all those who had to torture their opponents when they were unable to fight back. It was not honorable and that was one thing Malak prized himself on being, honorable enough to fight in a fair fight. Even if Malak outmatched the person in talent and skill, at least they had the chance to fight back.

“Did you have anything to do with this?”

"Has a traitor snaked its way into our ranks?"

“I could use some nice entertainment…”

A blue orb appeared in the darkness, radiating enough light to show the features of a charred face. “Commotion…” Alistair growled, unfortunately being roused by the sounds outside the temple. The thought of utter genocide from this minor interruption of his own personal… “rest” crossed his mind at least once. But then again, the same thing happened with everyone he met.

Perhaps there was genocide happening outside. Now that would be something to get involved with.

Alas, his curiosity got the better of him. As well as the impossibility of shutting the voices out.

He stepped casually towards the door, leaving his rune blade behind. In retrospect, this was a very bad move. Especially considering he had no armor at all on his upper body. No matter though, his skills in the unholy were probably enough to keep him going. Provided his arms worked long enough for him to get anything off.

Setting foot outside, he could already see the entire thing.

There was a dead body, several members of the patrol and…

… Him.

That other Death Knight. He could vaguely remember snippets of him, and his general distaste for his methods. Or was it the other one? No matter, his mind was strained enough. Using it now might cause him to slip into unconsciousness.

Casually, Alistair walked straight through the middle of the group, taking no care in nudging those in his way to the side. His target was now at his feet, the body that he could only assume started it all.

Runes… Runes carved in it’s arms, legs, and chest. The same ones he had imprinted, nay, burned into his skull. He recognized them immediately, and what they each spelled out.

Cora, Mary, Arnold, Ithalin, and finally Frosthand.

His eyebrow raised slightly as he pondered this. The few names together he could piece together as a family. The middle one, not so much. What they meant was the biggest mystery. What was this? Revenge? A sick game? Or just some psychotic breakdown?

“… The runes…” Alistair spoke. “The runes.” He repeated, this time being loud enough for all to hear. “They say something…”

…

Slowly the Death Knight lowered his hand to point at each.

“The limbs… Death to the Horde.” He then pointed to the chest. “… Frosthand.” Alistair raised his head, confident that his lie would provoke some action against Him. His face showed no emotion, an invulnerable poker face.

“What is this? A message of revenge? A service for someone else?” Alistair placed a hand to his chin, crossing the other around against his burnt chest. “… I would advise against rash action so close to the temple. The Patrol has enough of a… reputation.” And with that he fell silent.

Now… he watched.