The Rise of Strife (in character)

World’s End Tavern: Role-play and Fan Fiction
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The sun stood high in the skyward canvas. It would slowly dip into the horizon when the time came, very distant from the castellated towers and battlements that littered the horizon. Small rabbits and squirrels scurried away from Elwynn's path as he ascended the trail into the kingdom. His black, rattling shoulder pads kept many cautious critters far from him.

He will not be happy, thought Elwynn.

The brooding, tough-shouldered man made his way across the canals and into Old Town. Jenn Langston strode past Limited Immunity, her dress fluttering behind her. A flock of small birds drank from the fountain nearby, and subsequently picked their tail feathers happily. They nervously flew away when the stranger approached.

Elwynn then cut sharply into the headquarters and closed the door behind him; he let in some light from a window.

"Captain Morgan?" he said.
Alaric Morgan

Alaric sat behind a desk, mounds of paper work flooding the small desk and he silently prayed that the Light would save him. "If the Horde doesn't kill me... All this paperwork will..." He muttered sullenly. He would never understand why, he, a field commander was given this position that included so much paperwork. He wasn't a master tactician, he was a field paladin adept at wading into the enemy forces and crushing them with his hammer. Yet it seemed High Command had better ideas what to do with him so he shrugged and went back to reading the reports from the fronts.

Reports coming in from Theramore about the technology used by the Horde in the Barrens and elsewhere. Forsaken troop movements in Arathi, it was like the Horde advance was unstoppable, though Alaric knew the truth of the matter. Varian had yet to fully deploy the might of the Alliance and finally it was showing to be their disadvantage. Whatever held the King's hand was unknown to those below him but it was seen as an issue that needed to be addressed.

Alaric sighed as he stood up and moved to the small window to stare out at Stormwind when the door opened and he heard his name called.

"Captain Morgan?"

Alaric half-smiled at the man and motioned him to step forward, "Yes Elwynn?" He said simply, he wasn't a man to stand on titles and principles too much, it was one of the reasons he never required salutes unless at formal events. He also trusted the man who was serving as his scout in this organization. He hoped that Elwynn brought some news that would put them in the field yet at the same time if that was the case he knew it was a serious matter indeed.
"Captain, I... well, I do not have good news... to say the least," sighed Elwynn as he stared Alaric in the eye. Apprehension lined his face.
The Tavern was dark, empty. It wasn't bustling with people as one would have thought besides the staff that worked there. Sitting in his usual spot under the stair case with a bottle of what ever drink he was favoring, was a Kaldorei man garbed in the uniform of the SI:7. He was off duty, no real tasks or missions for him to take up, he swirled the dark brown liquid in the glass that held it and sighed. "Want me to pour a glass for you too?"

Emerging from the shadows was a human man, garbed in the same attire as the Kaldorei. He slid a glass near the elf and chuckled "Don't mind, do ya? How've ya been, Dareth?".

The Kaldorei, otherwise known as Dareth, took the bottle and poured some of the liquid into the glass "I've been fine...what about you, Josin? I thought you were sent North to Chillwind." The man chuckled, taking the glass "Last minute decision came up, so here I am..." he said with an amused tone as he took a sip of the drink given to him "Mmm, whiskey eh? Trying out the Gilnean grog this time are we?"

Dareth watched with a piercing silver gaze as the man placed the glass on the table "You can say why are you really here? I don't think you would have come here just to have a chat and a drink." Josin reached into his cloak wordlessly and pulled out a piece of parchment, which he would slide across to the Kaldorei "The millitary are looking for someone to scout out Orgimmar...see if there is anything new. I would go myself, but I wanted to check and see if there were any more of our boys and gal's that aren't spread how about your girl, Misty? Surely sh--"

"Family member is sick, has decided to take leave until they are better." Dareth interrupted calmly, raising his glass to take a sip.


Calm footsteps would walk across the hard, red earth that was Durotar. It was female, garbed in purple and black leathers covered by a heavy cloak. The moon shone brightly in the sky, casting shadows across the lands...shadows that the woman can use to her advantage...



" about Charlson? Maybe he--"

Again, Dareth interrupted him "Charlson recently had an 'incident' which involved him having to remove his hand. He's getting treatment."

Josin sat there, lips in a hard straight line while his eyes stared at the man in disbelief "Frigin' really?"

The Kaldorei glanced from his glass to the human "Really."


She watched from above, watching the lone orc that walked through the canyon road that lead from Razor Hill to Orgimmar, holding a torch. Target sighted, she can use the shadows to her wouldn't be easy as to get him to die silently, but there she could always try.

The woman vanished, the cloak left to flutter off into the wind. The orc, feeling as though someone was watching, looked up at the spot the woman had been only moments ago. With a slight rumble emitting from his throat, he turned to continue, his hand on his axe. As soon as he turned, however, he was greeted by the sight of a human woman, her hands giving off a fury glow. He looked closer, and noticed they were claws.

"You're not going to kill me with out a fight, human.." he growled, pulling out his axe and hefting his torch "Lok'tar ogar!"


Josin sighed, rubbing his face with his hands before letting them fall on the table " who else can you spare? Surely there has to be one person you know that could be suitable..."

This was when Dareth grinned, and Josin mentally slapped himself "I shall give you...the Perfect woman for the job..."


Upon the alchemy table sat various vials and contraptions, many filled with multitudes of chemical mixtures. Derek Harrington, onetime noble of Gilneas, worgen, and rogue of the SI:7 stood before this strange mixture of ingredients in his human form, patiently waiting for one vial’s contents to brew while delicately crumbling leaves into a mortar. He cast another glance at the brewing mixture before taking a pestle and grinding the leaves in the mortar.

A rogue was usually thought of as an emotionless assassin due to their usual lack of expression. In truth, it was a part of their training that, at times, could prove as useful as any well-placed dagger or sword. At the time however, in his current state of solidarity, an expression of contentedness graced his features, such a contrast from his usual scowl, or even the mask of indifference that he wore when scowling wasn’t an option. Even at his highest point of fortune the only thing that would bring about these rare smiles was when he was alone and at work, brewing potions and elixirs or out in the wild collecting herbs. He even hummed at times.

Derek was currently brewing an elixir that, according to the recipe he’d bought, would enhance one’s agility, allowing for quick and precise movements. As a worgen, Derek already had a swiftness that was to be appreciated, but an extra advantage never hurt. Assuming one didn’t improperly brew that advantage. Apparently satisfied with the state of the leaves in the mortar, the rogue tipped its contents into the brewing mixture, causing it to hiss and steam.

After another few minutes Derek put out the flame under the vial, poured the mixture into another crystal vial, corked it, and placed it into a small, padded bag attached to his brown leather belt. There were several of these bags, most of them filled with other potions, elixirs and poisons. His vial stowed away, Derek got to work cleaning his alchemy set. It was important to keep all of his tools at a constant state of cleanliness, rather than risk mixing old ingredients with new ones, like mixing the residue of a deadly poison with a consumable, for instance. Once satisfied with the state of his equipment, the rogue placed a sheet of linen cloth over the whole thing, wheeling the table into a storage closet. He didn’t like sharing his alchemy set; he only trusted himself to properly use and clean it.

Derek locked the closet, stowing the key in a pocket on the inside of his grey undershirt, and then made his way to the staircase that led from the basement up into the dormitories. He entered the room through a wooden door, closing the door behind him, and walked over to his bed. There weren’t many items in his sleeping area, but there were a few touches of personal vanity; an ornately framed painting of the northern aurora over his bed, a closed mahogany wardrobe in one corner and a pair of wicked-looking daggers on display on top of his bedside table. The two blades were his regular weapons, but Derek never went unarmed, so while the two weren’t on his person he kept a small dagger hidden in his boot. The bed itself was fairly large, with black feather-stuffed silken covers and white woolen sheets. The pillows were white wool stuffed with feathers.

While the place did have a certain sense of familiarity to it, it wasn’t quite home. At times of honesty, Derek would sometimes confess to himself that he was homesick. Many found the endless rain of Gilneas a bother, or even a downright nuisance, but the former nobleman had always treasured the comfort of being indoors on a rainy day, or the refreshing spray that fell from the heavens when he gathered herbs. And then there was the landscape itself; towering mountains, thick, shadowy vales and steep cliffs. Even the Cataclysm had done little to put a damper on its natural beauty. Derek scowled and pushed the feeling away. ‘Thinking about it won’t make it come back, it’ll only waste your time.’

After hours of working on the one potion, Derek felt more exhausted than usual. He lay down on top of the covers of his bed, not bothering to remove his clothing or leather boots, and shut his eyes, hoping for at least a few minutes of peace.

That was her name, the name she was given at birth. Ever since she ran from home, she took up the name Angi and used Perfection as her working name. She had learned and trained for a majority of her life under the careful eye of Dareth Shadowstar....she wasn't about to let that training go to waste.

The orc charged, axe raised above his head before he'd attempt to bring it down upon her own. She stepped to the side, the axe missing her completely. Before the orc would have a change to recover, she'd plant her foot straight into the orcs face with a kick, causing him to stagger.

He recovered, growling and charging forward, swinging his axe twice, aimed towards her torso. She leaped back once to avoid the first swing, and then used the glowing claw to block the second. There would have been a vibrant ringing sound as the blade connected with the claw. Sliding up close, she'd knee the orc in the crotch, which made him double over. With him in this position, she raised her left claw to slam it on the back of the orc's head.

He fell to the floor with a hard 'thump', but wasn't down for the count just yet. He turned, attempting to catch the woman by surprise as he swung his axe in a large arch, but it connected with nothing but air. He took a more careful look, and noticed the woman had vanished. Quickly, the orc stood, panting for breath as he raised his touch to try and see if he could spot the woman.


He felt the back of his neck tingle, even if he could see nothing, he surely had the feeling that she was still here...and was readying to strike again. Then, his torch went out. He turned quickly, noticing the woman had appeared again, and used her glowing claw to put out the torch. "Dammit!" he swore, raising his axe to try and cleave the woman...but it was to late.

He felt something hot and sharp go straight through his chest, the combination of sizzling and a wet, sloppy strike was a sign that he had been struck through the chest. The woman, some how, made it all the way through the orc's thick chest cavity, holding the orc's heart in the claw that stuck out of the man's back, still beating. This was because the heart still beats even after it is removed, though it doesn't last for long as it soon stopped.

The orc then fell, Perfection letting him slide off her arm and onto the floor with a gaping hole in his chest. He stared up at the sky blankly, unseeing, there was no way he was going to be coming back from this fight anytime soon. With the orc dead, the fun part came next: Hiding the body. Grabbing it by it's hair, Perfection began to drag it into the was here she would get rid of it, here that she would burn it, here that she would leave the pile of ash that was once an orc.


Stormwind city. Perfection was glad to be back here after so long. She rode through the city on the back of her armored black gryphon towards the designated area where she had been told to meet with a man named 'Captain Morgan'. She honestly ever heard of the man, probably because her heard is filled with names of people she was suppose to kill. She sighed, steering her gryphon into Old Town and making her way towards the building where Captain Morgan was suppose to be.

When she arrived, she slid off her gryphon and untied a bag that was attached to her saddle. Walking towards the door, she reached out to take the nob and prepare to open it. A glint of golden steel caught her eye and she looked down to see her bracelet had caught a ray of sunlight of the afternoon. She stared at it for a few moments before shaking her head and entering the building.

She could hear voices from upstairs, it was obvious someone else was here talking to the Captain. Perhaps a friend, or what ever else he might have for company these days. Either way, she had a report to hand in, and a job to do, so she decided to carry on by walking upstairs.

Not caring if she was being rude or not, she walked into the room and stood on one side of the man that was already here "Captain Morgan I presume, correct? Perfection here." She glanced down at the small bag she was carrying in her hand "With a friend." She glanced over to Elwynn and grinned "I see you're back too. Well sorry to interrupt, I was told to scout Durotar as well. Hope you don't mind." Her voice sounded friendly, but she was hiding some annoyance behind that friendly smile she wore.

Tohrm floated in an ocean. There was no blood in his body. It was water that now ran through his veins, cooling, refreshing and purifying his soul of ash and vitriol. He laid drifting, arms outstretched, fingers woven into the cold clarifying depths of his meditation. His tendrils were splayed in free embrace of the breeze above, while his hair danced an aimless sway. A bright sun shone in the sky, yet he could not feel its rays. He was within, and part of the ocean, it enveloped his entirety for many long hours.


A pure, female voice stirred him, like a sweet and gentle stream flowing over a bed of smooth stones. In his dream it took the form of a glistening shower of water, pouring gently onto his crown, running through the knuckled grooves of his face, washing him of all anger, dirt and doubt. Cleansed, the shaman opened his eyes.

The sun in reality was brighter, and Tohrm allowed his vision a few moments to adjust to the day. It was early, but late enough for the sun to be smiling in the sky. Jahrah was also smiling at him; her delicate fingers lay in his leathery palms. He took in the refreshing beauty of her features, breathed in her scent of water and fresh life, and absorbed her essence like the draught of fresh water from a long needed oasis.

“Have you waited, all of the night?” he asked.

Jahrah nodded, “I often sleep under the stars, with my hooves in the water.”

The two Draenei sat on the bank of a tiny island, legs submerged in the gentle water, almost entirely removed from the hustle and bustle of Stormwind. Above them stretched the entrance to the great Capital, the Valley of Heroes. Most of the damage caused by the emergence of Deathwing had been repaired. Tohrm often rested in meditation, half submerged in the waters. Sometimes Jahrah was with him.

Tohrm was sitting forward, both legs stretched out into the water before him, hands placed passively in his lap. Jahrah did not mention that she had spent the night with her hands in his; she had even slept against his body. She had woken in time to rouse him as he had asked. It was also clear that she had draped water over his head and chest as she had whispered his name to wake him. The warm rays of the sun glistened against the cooling water still on his dark flesh.

“I thank you Jahrah,” Tohrm spoke with a respectful nod; he remained in the water a little longer. Jahrah’s touch also felt as the water did, and he chose not to break it. He could not wait long however, he was required at the Organisation today.

“It is no difficulty,” she smiled back at him, “There was rain during the night, so I have placed your belongings in my pack. I do not think your papers would have survived even such a gentle shower. Your jacket should be fine.”

Tohrm stared at her in silence for a long pause, soaking in the complexity of her eyes and listening to her breathe. A bell was ringing somewhere, but Tohrm did not notice. A long sigh fell through his lips, “Jahrah,” it sounded. “You are too good to me.” They both knew he meant to say that she was too good for him. He ran his fingers carefully down her cheek, but her smile still fell. It broke his heart every time. But there was too much heat, too much fire within him for her. She was pure, beautiful and kind. He was not.

Jahrah did not speak, but she soon rallied and her smile found its way to her lips. “Well, you should be leaving,” her voice shivered, quiet but too proud to mutter. Tohrm’s hand dropped from her face, and he retrieved his equipment. He placed an old, but clean shirt on. He then pulled his jacket on, checked the pockets for his reagents, accessories and his weapon. He then turned to farewell his companion.

“Jahrah,” her gentle orbs flickered to his face, the urge to embrace her was strong. “You are as beautiful and lovely as the waterfalls of Arrikhad in my memory.” He took her hands; their cooling touch ran pleasurably over his own. “Please, do not love me. You are as a flower, as a garden of bountiful and desirable flowers. Whereas I am dirt, not dirt but ash, hot and dark, and all that is left after a hateful pyre. Find love that is full.”

Tohrm left before she responded, enjoying the water for the last few strides before he climbed the fishermans way and followed the Valley of Heroes into the city proper. “Welcome to Stormwind, noble Draenei,” the steadfast figure of General Marcus Jonathan greeted. The mounted warrior seemed at home in this hall of heroes, as if he would just as well be made of stone and lorded as a great warrior of old.

It took Tohrm little time to walk to the Organisation Base. Despite the busy trade distract, humans were smaller than Draenei and most moved out of the way for him as he walked. His darker skin tone was also more confronting than the pale tone of most of his kin. It was similar to less-friendly family ties.

It was before midday in which Tohrm entered the headquarters, greeted everyone who was currently there, (showing a good deal of respect to Morgan especially), and then found a place to sit and read an information dossier he had collected. It was several hours of study later in which Elwynn arrived, calling out to the Captain. This was their scout who had been sent out Durotar way. They eagerly awaited his information.

The other scout had also returned. Perfection. A name hopefully fitting, they could use all the talent they could get. Tohrm watched the two scouts head up into the office, and returned his attention to the information dossier.

((2/2: I assume you're all in the office. Call me up if you wanted the whole crew in the office!))
Elwynn turned. "Oh, so you went too? Why didn't I know of this?" he grumbled to her, looking from his captain to the rogue that stood parallel to him.
Without a sound, Derek snapped awake. Living on the streets for months had taught him to be a light sleeper, but he hadn’t rested much as of late, and knew that drowsiness led to sloppiness, which led to inevitable failure. However, try as he might, sleep did not come as easily as it had before. Cursing whatever had awoken him, the rogue stretched and rose from his bed. After glancing around the dormitory and seeing no others in the immediate area, he began to change, putting on a fresh white linen shirt and black denim breeches. He stilled for a moment and heard the sounds of movement in the common area. ‘The scouts must have returned.’ he concluded.

As the vice-captain of the organization, Derek liked to give the impression that he was always ready for anything. With that in mind, he opened the mahogany wardrobe to reveal a set of dark leather armor. Pausing for only a moment to look over the equipment, he began putting it on, starting with the leggings, followed by the chest piece, shoulder-guards, bracers, belt and gloves. Last came the helmet. All of his gear was over-large for his human form, but it was easier to put it on this way and then transform afterwards. He did so, allowing himself an instant of satisfaction; it took more effort to stay in his human form, and reverting to his true form always had a feeling of released pressure. The ceiling suddenly seemed lower and his armor tighter, but the room was made with being larger than humans in mind, as was his gear.

Derek lightly stepped forward, taking his daggers out of the display case and sheathing them in two empty scabbards on his right and left sides. Before leaving, he examined the painting of aurora above his bed. He had never been to Northrend, having joined the Alliance only after the campaign there had ended. Many said it was a cold and barren place, but the same people had said things like that about Gilneas, and Derek had fur to keep him warm. Perhaps, now that the world had been saved again, he could take some time off to head north and see the aurora. The painter had done an excellent job of capturing their beauty, but the worgen knew that paintings could only show so much.

After a few more moments of thought he turned away, walking to the bedroom’s exit door. It momentarily struck him how much he’d changed over the past year; he used to be unfriendly and bitter, refusing to allow himself even a moment of musing or consideration over anything other than what he deemed relevant. While he still wasn’t very outgoing at the moment, he did treat his peers with respect, and could even be pleasant if he let his guard down, which happened easier and easier as time went by. Now, he allowed himself to think of ‘mundane’ matters more often. Maybe his change of character was owed in part to his resurgent interest in alchemy; there had been a time when he put even that under that category of time-wasting occupations.

It was all business now, however, as he entered the common area. His serene expression was replaced by an impassive one, his thoughts shifting to more tactical matters. Had the scouts discovered any new intelligence? Their arrival wasn’t on schedule, so they must have found something worth leaving their posts over. He nodded to the draenei- was it Tohrm?- who sat reading through a dossier and continued to the stairwell that led to the captain’s office, knowing that any scouts would likely be there.

Treading on light feet, he ascended the stairs and casually peered through the open office door, interested to see that the captain was in conference with two others. Derek recognized Elwynn as the paladin who was their main contact in Orgrimmar, but who was the woman? He took note of the golden claws attached to her wrists, and personally doubted that they were cosmetic. Based on her close-ranged weapons and leather armor, he guessed that she was a rogue like him.

Rather than draw attention to himself, he stood silently in the doorway- not hidden, but maybe out of the scouts’ fields of vision- and waited to see what the two had to report.
Lynara Leafblade flew through the city of Stormwind on her hippogryph Feathertalon. She had been told there was a letter for her. “Why not have sent it to Ashenvale?” She asked herself. “I was there only days ago.” She landed at the indicated mailbox and found her letter. Her name was written ever so elegantly upon the parchment. She recognized the handwriting and a smile came to her face. She began to read it to herself

I wish I could have told you in person, but I had only just found out myself… Mother something tragic has happened. I know she has not always been good, but. My sister, your daughter, our kin Reyara…

Lynara’s eyes grew wide and she collapsed against the wall her hands covering her face as she began to quietly weep. “Ithalya… stay safe.” She sobbed as she kissed the letter. She had just seen Reyara four days ago.

Ashenvale four days ago

She crept through the underbrush of Ashenvale approaching a known orc encampment. Security was not as tight as it should have been. Lynara had used the lack of a patrol to get closer and see what this camp’s purpose was. As she got a view she was shocked. Nearly every orc lay dead save one. Standing next to him was a female Keldorei in dark robes that seemed to radiate shadows. “Mother you can come out. My pet here is the only orc still alive. Wasn’t very hard there were far less of them than there usually are here. Only about five at this camp.” The woman said. The orc simply stood there staring off into space. His face completely blank except for the blood that smeared him and his weapon.

“Reyara. What are you doing in Ashenvale? You were banished a hundred years ago.” Lynara said, a hint of sorrow in her voice.

“Nice to see you too mother. Ts been a while, almost a hundredyears since we last saw each other and thisis the hello I get? Your first born child? Not even a hello?!” Reyara said angrily. The orc next to her grunted and shook his head. “Oh no. Don’t get any ideas. At all!” She said taking out her dagger and plunging it into the orc’s throat. She twisted and ripped the blade, cutting a great wound on the orc who collapsed clenching his throat. Finally becoming aware again moments before dying.

“Do you not remember the terms of your banishment? The reasons for it?” Lynara said. She knew better than to scold Reyara for the way she killed the orc. She was a powerful priestess; a master of the shadows.

“Did you not hear? They have granted me pardon in exchange for my aid.” She said. Lynara stood there dumbstruck at the notion. “I… nobody told me.” Was all she could muster.

“I am not surprised; after all you were the one who had me banished. It would have been kinder to simply have had me executed. That way I would not have had to live as an outcast. Hated by all our kind I ran into.” Reyara growled. “Their charts are over there. I’m done helping you.” Reyara said before she walked to the other side of the camp where she great night saber was waiting. He great cat waited for Reyara to get her balance on his back before running off into the forest.

Lynara collected the charts. They would certainly help, but they were only for this camp, but from the looks of it the horde were expanding their lumbering. Not a big surprise, but no less threatening.

Lynara picked herself up and regained her composure. This news had shaken her right to her very core. But it was not the first time. It was not the first time she had lost a child at the hands of the horde. Deep within her core the hatred welled up. Like a snake constricting its prey it coiled around her heart. She knew what she had to do. She had to report in about her scouting in Ashenvale.

She walked to old town, Feathertalon walking next to her. The slowness of it helping her mind ease the pain, the loss. It was true Reyara had done terrible things, but her daughter had been cursed from birth, and she couldn’t help but feel responsible for it.

She eventually found the entrance to the organization’s building and went inside. She noticed that others were already here including Angi, a human that Lynara had come to consider a friend. “Captain Morgan.” She said approaching his desk and laying the charts on it. They were written in Orcish but the map had some lines on it written in Orcish. “I found these in an orc forward camp. They are plotting I can sense it in my bones.” She said looking down at the Captain, then Angi, and Elwynn.
Alaric Morgan

Alaric was about to answer Elwynn when more people bustled into his small office. He sighed as he grinned, shaking his head at each arrival. "Alright alright! Calm down people!" He said, amusement clear in his tone. "Since I know for sure that Elwynn and Miss Perfection here were ordered to scout out Durotar and Orgrimmar I want their reports first. Miss Lynara I'll have yours second since you seem about ready to explode and Derek for pity's sake get in here and act like a second in command! How many times must I tell you that sulking around only works when you aren't considered a figure of authority?" He said in a slightly more annoyed tone at his second in command.

He loathed all those who used subterfuge as their primary means of fighting and it was with chagrin that Alaric had accepted the rogue as his second in command. Alaric thought the normal things any commander thought when their second was a shady character, yet he let none of it be known to any besides himself. He moved to the desk, taking entire piles of reports and papers and moving them onto the chest behind the table, clearing the space for their use at the present.

"I want full details, as much as you can give so that we can decide on a course of action understood?" He said, he needed to make sure he got all the facts before he requested deployment and action.
Derek scowled at his captain's reprimand, but made no comment, silently padding into the room while eyeing the new arrival. He recognized her as the spy from Ashenvale, apparently back ahead of schedule as well. His curiosity piqued, Derek came to a stop at Captain Morgan's desk. While his annoyance at the captain had subsided, he chose to maintain the scowl, hoping it would give the scouts incentive to give their reports and leave with more haste; he had no time for pleasantries.
Elwynn looked to the side at the other scouts, staring at their faces in an almost pitying way. He could not help but feel that—whatever their matters were—his were far greater. As a matter of fact, it was not his feelings that placed him there in front of his captain. It was apprehension.

"Captain Morgan, I spotted Garrosh Hellscream amidst the gates of Orgrimmar. Tricky though it was for Veothore to disguise me, he managed to get me by as an orc. Anyway, Hellscream was with a few other orcs—bodyguards, maybe—and I heard something you might not be happy about..."

Elwynn stared around the room as the noise sank into silence.

"The Horde have an attack plan. I am not certain what it is, but I am certain that they have one. One of Hellscream's apparent bodyguards seems to have let it slip; he said 'What about the attack plan, Warchief?' ... and then I think Garrosh screamed something, but I am not sure, it was quite distant..."
"Let's see...pepper, uh, oh! Right. Yes. Let's throw in some arcane dust too!"

The little gnome was eagerly observing the results of her latest beer creation, in a small cave in Loch Modan. Nobody visited out here. Connika liked it that way. The fewer people to witness the failures of science, the better. That, and last time she completely accidentally blew a hole in some grumpy dwarf's wall, she'd had to pay for the damage.

Unfortunately, this looked to be another failure. The brew smelled...well. Interesting would be a good way to phrase it. Yes, interesting. Not terrible at all. At least it hadn't gotten set on fire this time. Fumbling in her green and white robes for a small notebook and nibbled quill, Connika scribbled down 'Note to self, more arcane dust next time. Also, buy more biscuits for Biscuit.'

Satisfied that all was right and well with the world, and realising it was getting late...or was it early? She could never be bothered to keep track of such trivial things...she began to trace a teleporation rune in the wind. She still had no clue how she'd ended up working for these guys, but they gave her money for stuff. And the failure part of science didn't pay cash, so the fact that these guys gave her cash? Well, it worked. Sort of. But they needed to hire more gnomes, or at least buy some gnome-sized furniture. Did none of those too-tall meanies realise how, by the seven hundred and seventy seven Gnomish Virtues, one such as her had to strain just to get into the stupid chairs? A sudden thought of inventing a Height Disparity Reorganisation Matrix crossed her mind as the teleportation magics whisked her back to the sleeping quarters in that little

Flipping pink strands of hair from her face with a long practised air of annoyance, Connika surveyed the quarters briefly, before her nose caught a whiff of something. She sniffed the air a few times, noting that someone had been at work with herbs or something. It was either science, or something boring. Probably the latter. Nobody was present, so she advanced onward to see what was for dinner. Except the kitchens were empty. Lazy humans and their lazy excuse for a cooking schedule...

With nothing left to it, and with a stomach rumbling noisily, Connika made her way to the office, in part because she heard people talking. Reports, or something. Booooring. Instead she headed over to the Worgen man, mister 'second in command' or something. She wove her way in between the legs of all the humans blathering on to stand next to him, peering up. "Whatcha doin?" she asked him loudly. He looked grumpy. But then she thought Worgen always looked grumpy, what with the grumpy-looking faces. Or maybe he was just hungry, too.

Or maybe she'd just inhaled too much of the smoke from her failed beer experiment. That was as logical a possibility as anything else.
Derek’s eyes narrowed. ‘So the Horde plans to attack us,’ He thought, a claw idly tapping his chin. ‘It was only a matter of time; anyone who thought that the temporary truce during the Cataclysm would last was kidding their self. But where do they plan to attack? Hmm… Well, they’ve been after Ashenvale for so long, maybe they plan to attack the night elves in force. Maybe that’s what the scout from Ashenvale is here for.’ A smirk formed on his lupine features. ‘Will the cowards be doing it with or without magnataurs to hide behind this time?

The rogue was suddenly jarred from his thoughts by a small voice. “Whatcha doin’?” It asked.

A scowl coming back to replace his smirk, he looked around for the one who had spoken. It wasn’t one of the scouts. His gaze dropped. A gnome female stood a few feet away, looking up at him. He pondered the question. ‘Can I ignore her? No, she knows I heard.’ Realizing that it would be rude not to answer- and more importantly that he gave a damn about being rude or not- he let out a huff of impatience and replied.

“What does it look like I’m doing? In case you didn’t hear, things far bigger than you may soon come to pass,” Just because he had to give an answer didn’t mean he had to give a polite answer. He looked her over, noting the cloth armor befitting a caster of some sort. If he had to guess, he’d say she was a mage; she didn’t wear the lurid colors of a warlock, and mages were more common among gnomes than priests were. “Now, unless you have need of my assistance, please be on your way. I have important matters to attend to.” By offering to help her he knew he’d put himself in a dangerous position- gnomes were always asking him to experiment their newest device or get them something from the top shelf- but he did feel like he’d been a bit too rough with the girl. ‘Woman,’ He corrected himself.
Nadra sat there in the corner of the office, staring in awe at the commotion. Her warp stalker, Telaar, lay next to her chair, and had just been woken up by the sudden noises. Disgruntled, he let out a roar, but it went unnoticed.

When the draenei hunter heard about the Horde's attack plan, she quivered. Her reactions to the fact that these plans involved Garrosh Hellscream did not ease her worry, either. As Elwynn explained to Captain Morgan what happened during his scouting, she listened intently.
In the darkened forests the rain steadily fell over what was once a battlefield, the corpses of those who had fallen that day were still visible, having not been moved to be honoured by the survivors, if there even were any that knew or cared.

Ashenvale had become a warzone over the past few months, far more than the few skirmishes that had occurred in the years before. As she turned away from the carnage, the large feline took one last glance around to see if there were any signs of survivors, regardless of which side... but the battlefield was quiet.

Only the dead resided there, and Waraila knew that to remain was foolish, there was nothing she could do about the dead... except silently pray that the Earthmother would welcome them all and reunite them with their ancestors.

It wasn't a surprise a few minutes further on that she found more dead orcs, probably part of the same carnage she had just left.

“What foolish waste..” she thought to herself before moving on. It wasn't that she was uncaring about the lives that had ended that day, or the day before. It was that she had no loyalty to the Horde's vision of conquest, despite the fact her people had sworn loyalty to Thrall, the current Warchief had not done anything to earn her respect so far. If anything she was rapidly becoming apathetic about the wisdom of her people joining the Horde in the first place.

The druidess though had very little say in anything to do with her own tribes matters, let alone the combined tribes of the Tauren in Thunderbluff. No, she like the rest of the druids of Moonglade were remaining neutral in the entire war.

Or at least that was what she hoped anyway, but the night elves of Ashenvale would only see her as Horde regardless of her views, so she had to keep moving, lest she became another casualty of this pointless war.

The Southfury river was only a few more hours travel eastwards, and once she crossed it she would be near to the western entrance of Orgrimmar. That was if, of course the war front hadn't moved this far.. if it had then she'd would have to travel through the plains of Azshara to the Northern gate, which would add another day at least of travel. But it was far safer than trying to cross through the battlefront, like the one that raged on the border with the Barrens.

Shaking the rain out of her fur, Waraila loped off at moderate pace although her ears were twitching in every direction, trying to keep ahead of any potential ambush. She knew the Night Elven mentality was to shoot first and question the corpse later, pretty much like the Orc's philosophy was in times of war. It was an amusing comparison but the situation was anything but, even the cenarian symbol marked in white on her red fur would probably not stay arrows if she strayed across the path of one of the Sentinal warbands.

It made travelling in the damp forest less pleasant than it could have been, to always be on alert for an ambush. Still once she reached Durotar or Azshara she'd be a lot more at ease.


A few hours later

The warfront had blocked off the easier way of reaching Orgrimmar, so instead Waraila had swum the Southfury river to reach territory that the Horde claimed for its own. Whilst there was a bridge to the North that would have made the crossing easier, it was not a risk she was willing to take regardless of her true affiliation. She knew paranoia existed between Horde and Alliance, she had seen it in her years of working with members of both.

Even within the Cenarian Circle there were those who despised the members of Horde races, and of course those who despised the Alliance races too. Some had returned to their various homes to take part in the war, it was a personal decision and not something that was prevented.

Which of course made druids just as much of a target as anyone else.

Still, she was behind the Horde line now, if there were Sentinals in Azshara they would be fighting the goblin forward bases, but she doubted the fighting would be anywhere near as intense as the war in Ashenvale. There were fewer trees on this side of the Southfury river for them to make their normal tactics effective enough to push much beyond it.. and the river itself was a good defence.

“State your name and business!” A high pitched and demanding voice rang out of the darkened forest, along with a very bright light pointing in her direction. Squinting, she sniffed the air, gunpowder, a chemical scent, trees, wet grass....

“I am Waraila” she replied, recognising that there were goblins with some of their strange weapons nearby... probably gunpower driven... most likely bombs of some kind knowing their propensity to blow themselves up. As she spoke she shifted her form, back to her true form so then they would recognise that she was a member of the Horde.

At least in looks if not in heart anyway.

“My business is none of yours, but the war is progressing and there's no way past the border”

“You're a scout?” the goblin asked, still wary.

Waraila debated whether or not to tell the goblin the truth, she disliked lying but there were times when it was better to in order to survive.

“I was..” she began slowly, trying to think of a way past this suspicious goblin without giving too much away. Cenarian druids were also not well trusted by the Garrosh loyalists for their attitudes against the war. Even though she personally despised the Alliance for their cowardly attack on Taurajo, she also knew that two wrongs did not make a right.

“Then pass, the Warchief has sent word that scouts are to immediately report to his forces”

Waraila couldn't believe her luck, her slowness in answering had misled the goblin into thinking she was one of the active Horde scouts. She had once been but she had resigned her position with the Horde military not long after she had returned from Northrend, but she wasn't going to dispute the goblin's misunderstanding.

“My thanks, small one, I hope you continue to defend our people with honour” she intoned as she moved away.

Now maybe she could relax, she would be in Orgrimmar before the sun rose that morning. Perhaps she would rest a day or two before continuing her journey.
Perfection listened quietly. What Elwynn said was the same thing that the second orc she killed told her. She took a few steps forward, giving the large man(Derek) a friendly smile as he scowled. He kind of reminded her of a small dog trying to be vicious, and remembered her pug back at Dareth's house, barking at squirrels. Even Assassin's have pets, it's a good distraction after ripping someone's throat out.

Looking back towards the Captain, she placed the bag upon the table and spoke, her voice calm a usual "Pretty much the same thing he just said. I tried to get some more information out of a few that were present...the first was disappointing, had turn burn him alive..." she began to untie the bag, gloved fingers working nimbly at the ties. "...second one mentioned the attack, but when I 'asked' him to explain it more...not even the threat of death would made him speak...isn't that right...Greg?" She pulled the cloth around the item down, revealing an orc's head.

It's eyes were rolled upwards, his nose smashed in, a burned claw mark going across his jaw from the right cheek, dried blood ran down his chin. Lifting this head, she used her other hand to start moving the mouth as it were some sort of puppet, the flesh at the stump of the neck would have been scorched to prevent 'unnecessary bleeding'. "Yes, that's right, because I'm a dumb orc who is loyal to his stupid warchief that probably doesn't even give a damn about his own people." Perfection said in a mocking voice of an orc, or at least tried to.

"Jokes aside." The Assassin would carelessly chuck the head to Derek as she leaned on the desk "They do have an attack planned. What it is, where it is and what it's purpose is....I don't know. A more 'detailed' look would be needed before we can come to any sort of conclusion...."

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