Divided Loyalties Part 3

As the clouds broke beneath me I could just make out my destination in the distance. Ravenholdt Manor's roof top reflected the evening sunlight. My griffin's wings beat in a laborious rhythm against the prevailing winds. The oppressive weight of the gemstones I was to deliver to Wrathion seemed as much a physical burden to my mount as they were a mental agony to me.  Seldom had I so anticipated the completion of a contracted as I did this one. With a stumbling lurch the poor beast landed in the well guarded courtyard. Once my identity was confirmed by one of the guards, I swiftly removed the heavy saddlebags. With a pat and a word of praise for a job well done I turned on my heel and I headed into the manor.

Wrathion and Fahrad seemed not to have moved much since my last visit.  Positioned at either end of a large table covered with maps and dispatches they were consumed with their quest to discover every last member of the Black Dragonflight. My rude deposit of the saddle bags into the middle of their contemplation gained me their rapid attention.

"Ah! Do you see how they shimmer?" Wrathion asked after dumping some of the shadowy gemstones out into his hand. "Many fine gems sparkle in the light, but only these seem to sparkle with darkness." The look on the boy's face didn't seemed more thoughtful than entranced. "I'll preform an enchantment on these while your on your next mission." So Kaitou had been correct in his assessment, Wrathion was going to do something to those gemstones or at least turn them to his purpose. "Are you ready? The gems you collected will be able to augment the power of the weapons I gave you, but I require another ingredient. It will come from your next target."

A snort from Fahrad drew both of our attention. "We've located her here, in the caverns beneath Karazhan." Pointing at the top most map in the middle of the table Fahrad continued. "Fearful for her life, she is researching arcane secrets buried beneath the foundation."

Wrathion then took up the narrative. "Her name is 'Nalice'." I gave a start of  recognition and then Wrathion confirmed my suspicions. "And until recently she stood at Wyrmrest Temple as a representative of the Black Dragonflight." But just before the Cataclysm she had disappeared, no one had known why. Then the destruction of the Sanctums...the death of Korialstrasz and all the hatchings. "Now? She's on the run." This I hadn't suspected. A target I KNEW, my mind raced with the possibilities. Fahrad's voice drew my attention back.

"She's surrounded herself with a small army of deranged dragon cultist." Fahrad continued with his debriefing. "They may not be right in the head, but they're well-armed. And dangerous." With a shrug Fahrad rolled up the map and reconnaissance notes before handing them over to me.  I could tell nothing from his expression how he felt though his tone as he discussed Nalice was both dismissive and mocking.

Wrathion once more took control of the conversation. "Your primary mission is to destroy her, but if you can bring me back a vial of her blood, I'll be able to use it to augment the power of the daggers I've given you.  Your accomplice Zazzo has already been dispatched to the scene and awaits you there. He'll have more details." Oh lovely my gnomish babysitter was going to be there to hyperventilate in my ear again. Just what I needed. At least this time I was going somewhere I was familiar.

"I hope to see you back from this mission alive." Wrathion's tone seemed almost a dare. "But if I do not, I want to say I have enjoyed seeing you work. You're a credit to your race." With a wave he dismissed me. "Good luck." I glanced at Fahrad's face but it remained an impassive mask as he observed his prince once more consumed with the gems I had delivered.

The journey to Karazhan was uneventful. I good nights rest in Darkshire's inn before the final leg resulted in me arriving well rested. Zazzo was his spastic best when I arrived and while I was fresh and rested, he was looking a little frazzled.

"Madness. Insanity!" Zazzo jumped up and down with agitation. "I don't know what Nalice is doing down there, but the entire basement radiates with diabolical arcane energy. She's got an entire cult worshiping her as a goddess."  Wring his hands the gnome mage gestured to the greatly altered Karazhan landscape. The ghosts of the past that had previously haunted Karazhan had been exorcised and now its streets were filled with Dragonkin and cultists. However as Fahrad had insinuated they were not very bright.  Patrols only graced the center streets and buildings. Like a fly buzzing my ear Zazzo's voice penetrated my mussing once more. "If we're going to take her out, we have to do it soon. I hope your ready for this."

I simply nodded before slipping into the shadow. Nalice's henchmen were nothing compared to Creed's Worgen. They were preoccupied with the some strange devices which seemed to be collecting the stray arcane energy that surrounded Karazhan. Even better I KNEW this place, had walked its shattered pathways many times before. It was a breeze to slip along the outskirts of the village and around to the cellar's entrance.  The only true start I had was when one of Karazhan's former residents decided to make an appearance, however she seemed to feel that I was not worth her notice, merely drifting on after staring at me for a few moments.

Nalice herself was holed up in the deepest part of what had once been the Master's Cellar, the extended storage catacombs beneath the keep.  The particular area she was using actually contained a a well I knew the Violet Eye had noted for its arcane energy. So consumed was she with her arcane studies she didn't even notice me until I garroted her human throat.

"An Assassin! Did the little whelpling send you after me? Come rogue. Let's dance."  Eyes blazing Nalice went after me with everything she had, and as a dragon her her skills were immense. "I've got some secretes of my own, rogue." She taunted as she suddenly became invulnerable to my attacks putting a shield around herself and throwing arcane landmines across the floor. However it was simple to see that these generated not from herself but from devices she had manufactured, not unlike the ones her cultists had been working on. Quickly disenageing them made her vulnerable once more. "I...I need more time!"

Nalice's eyes darted around the room seeking assistance but her lackeys were far away, she like many others of her kind preferred to plan alone and it would be her undoing.  Wounds riddled both of our bodies but it was clear that Nalice was in worse condition than I.  "This isn't how it ends. Not for me. I'm a survivor." I almost felt pity for her. She was right. She had been survivor. She was running from her own flight, from the rest of the dragons, but what kind of life would she have had? Hiding out in the cellars of Karazhan? Pretending to be a goddess? Madness was only a breath away, ending her life was a mercy. With a final thrust my dagger hit home.  With a shutter I felt Nalice's life begin to slip away. With a shimmer she lost control over her human form, I leapt back not to be crushed by her draconic weight. "You cling to a shattered world..." she groaned "Your time comes....Soon enough..."

It took me a moment to locate a vial to gather some of the pooling blood.  It seemed that no sooner was it in my possession and corked than I felt Zazzo's presence once more."Nalice. Dead?" I gave a tired affirmative then felt the pull of a arcane teleport.

"You did it? She's dead? Unbelievable! You're some kind of miracle worker!" Zazzo seemed to leap around me as I collapsed on the ground before him. His superfluous praise making me a tad uncomfortable. I was just doing my job. "Here, give me that blood. I can perserve its energies in an arcane matrix for your trip back." Gingerly handing him the vial of blood, the mute testament to my accomplishment I watched with bemusement as he waved his hands around muttering over it.

Once he finishes he hands it back to me as if the vial contains something toxic. "Done! You'll want to get this back to Wrathion as soon as possible, along with those two daggers of yours." Wiping his hands together he continued. "I don't know what he plans to do with this stuff." Zazzo adds with a shrug.  "Between you and me, sometimes that little dragon kid creeps me out. Good Luck!" His duty to me completed Zazzo gave a relieved sigh then ported himself out of there.

By this time I had recovered enough to drag my own sorry carcass up and make my way back to Ravenholdt. Fahrad and Wrathion still circle their table, contemplating their next target, however at my entrance they both look up.

"Ah, you've returned! I no longer sense Nalice's presence. Is she dead? Or has she somehow eluded us both?" Wrathion watched me with glittering eyes as I pulled out the vial of blood and listens intently as I give them both a brief discribtion of what transpired in Karazhan's cellar. "Incredible! Few assassins would be clever enough to infiltrate Nalice's wards and use her own magic against her." Wrathion crowed his face wreathed in smiles.

"She allowed herself to be defeated." Fahrad interrupted bitterly. "The others will not be so weak."

"Perhaps." Wrathion conceded. "For that reason, we will need to gather more supplies....But first." Wrathion motions for me to hand him the vial of blood and my daggers, his face is a mask of equal parts reverence and revulsion.  Part of the blood he pours into a rune covered bowl that Fahrad hands him into which he drops the gems I collected one-by-one, muttering an incantation. The bowl fares with smoke and light. Then Wrathion reaches in removing the gems which he then places at equal intervals along the daggers.  Without warning he takes the remaining blood and pours it over the blades of the daggers, and the steel seems to writhe and twist as though a living thing. When the smoke clears, the shape of the daggers has changed and now they literally wink at me.

What have I gotten myself into.

To be continued....

Divided Loyalties Part 2

Unreasonable anxiety griped me once again, closing my throat with panic. Grimly I clamped it down, doggedly pushing on. Unconsciously my hand crept up towards my shoulder pouch. When I realized I jerked it back to my side. Time was running out and I needed help fast.

At the end of the small court yard in the central of Old Town sat a stack of crates and two large barrels. I gave the area a quick survey before slipping behind them. Deep in the shadows I could just make out a large grate. With a tug it came up on invisible hinges exposing well worn steps.  Balancing the grate on my shoulder I gave one last scan before descending into the fabled tunnels of Stormwind.  Officially they were created to allow workers to clean and maintain the city's canals and sewer systems. Unofficially they were the underground highway of smuggled goods, information and home to many of the few true native residents in this port city full of immigrants.


Light filtered down through the quartz bricks hidden along the canals, within the planter boxes, and bridges casting murky shadows along the generous walkway of the tunnels. My nostrils are filled with the damp and musty smell of algae and salt rather than sewage and rot.  I give my eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom before heading off once more. Mentally I counted passage and doorways before coming to a stop before a unassuming, yet battered portal. Positioning myself in a beam I tapped a rhythmic pattern on the door, then waited.

I hear rather than see a spy slot open, shortly followed by the sound of a voice cursing, then a bolt sliding away. A hand shoots out, warm fingers grip my icy wrist and I am momentarily thrown off balance as I find myself pulled into the shadowed room. The reenforced door closing with a clang almost on my heels.


"What are you doing here?" Kaitou questioned almost savagely, rapidly taking in my rather altered appearance. "You look like something your cat drag in. How did you find me?" As he peppered me with questions Kaitou pushed me towards a seat and began opening up lanterns about the room. I took the opportunity to inspect his haven. Compact, the room was dry, and scrupulously clean. Packed crates were stacked along the back wall forming stepping cubies leading to a sleeping loft. Each crate was neatly divided by item, cloth, flasks, bundles of leather precariously rolled were stuffed in the bottomed rows, while bags of what appeared to be gem stones and jewel crafting supplies filled those closer to face level. In the middle of the room was a table with two chairs. On the walls hung weapons of various types, daggers, axes, maces and swords, all in excellent repair. To the left was a large square trunk covered with folded stacks of clothing. Beyond that another door which appeared to lead to a small water closet.

Kaitou himself was as usual impeccably dressed. He seemed to have a flare for the dramatic. Oh not that he would stand out if he didn't want to, but rather that he was a firm believer in form AND function. Hence yes, a ruby ear ring to go with his red tipped uniform and each piece pressed, polished, and coordinating to perfection. His hair pulled back with a nonchalance that took time to create and others would never be able to do with quite as much panache. I couldn't help but grin. Kaitou just always made me smile. I on the other hand as he so eloquently stated looked like something my tabby cat had gifted me with.  An eye patch covered a new head wound from my most recent trip to Northrend, my skin was unnaturally pale and the usual injures acquired during prolonged campaigning were not healing as quickly as they had in the past. I didn't think it was just age anymore. That was why I was here to see Kaitou.

"As to how I found you blame Sharky. I pulled rank and favors so he ratted you out."  At Kaitou's thunderous expression I could feel my grin grow. Sharky, a young, up and coming officer had started out as a street rat just like Kaitou, in fact the two were very good friends from those days and it was due to Sharky that Kaitou had come to my attention in the first place. But Sharky had found his calling within the church becoming a priest and gaining new loyalties where Kaitou still walked the solo of code of the streets.  "Kai, Sharky thought you might be my only hope for an answer."

I could see the quickly suppressed surprise. "I need you to look at some gems for me." I pressed on seeing the disbelief.


"Why do you want me to check out gems when you are partnered to a perfectly good jewel smith?" Kaitou questioned motioning me to take a seat at the table disbelief evident in his tone.
 
"I had Therigwin look at them, and give me his opinion. However this is about more than your skill as a crafter Kai." I  observed the younger man through narrowed eyes yet again. I was trusting my instincts in this. I so needed an unbiased opinion, hopefully Kaitou would be able to give it to me.  Reaching into my shoulder pouch I removed a small leather purse, pulled the draw string and pored its contents out onto the table's surface.


"They look like Shadow Crystals." Kaitou commented pulling his Jeweler's Ruby Monocle out and affixing it to his eye before picking up one of the gems for closer inspection. I couldn't help but smile at the fact that even the tools of his trade coordinated with his outfit.

"Yes, they do, but watch this." Getting up I moved about the room once more shielding all the lights. The gems on the table now glittered like stars reflecting on the ocean's surface. I heard Kaitou's hissed breath. Together we relit the room in silence. "So what do you think?" I finally asked.

Kaitou spoke tentatively in response. "Gems and Metals are very different things. Metals are easily altered, mixing in other elements or metals to strengthen it. Gems in general are natural formations, it is how you cut and shape them that you make use of their best qualities. The only thing I have seen that reacted like that in the dark was Saronite, but that was green not purple and a metal." Shrugging he continued. "Why ask me and where did you find them?"

I felt myself shiver at his words, Sharky had been correct with his encouragement in sending me to Kaitou. "Bear with me while I try to explain this ok? You know I'm a scribe right? Well, most scribes are nothing more than really good copiest. A lot of them are artists that can't even read. I on the other hand can read in a number of languages and have a photographic memory which means that once I have read something I never forget it. Alright, now in addition to this I have always been considered somewhat...sensitive? I guess that is the term, to certain types of mind games. Back even before we were working in Karazan there was a shadow priest by the name of Orodrith, a mentor of Sharky, he use to love to play games with me by looking through my eyes whenever I was out scouting. I got to being really hyper aware when people were doing things like that. Then we got to Northrend and encountered the Faceless ones and Yogg-Saron."

I took a deep breath, before continuing. "I noticed something while we were campaigning in Northrend, the more our metal wearers began using the Saronite in their armor and weapons the more reckless and aggressive their behavior became.  At the time we all just thought it was due to the prolonged campaign. I mean we had been in Outland, thought we were coming home only to have to ship out again to go to Northrend. Then I discovered something while transcribing something for the Death Knights and Paladins of the Ashen Verdict. They believed that Saronite was actually created from the pressurized blood of Yogg-Saron."

"Ok, what does this have to do with these gems?" Absently Kaitou was playing with the jewels, running them along his knuckles making them dance, or dropping them through his fingers, seemingly mesmerized by the twinkling darkness of their depths.

"I got each of these in Northrend off of high ranking servants of Deathwing." I saw Kaitou start at the information, his gaze jerking off the gems to my face once more. "They were in caches of no more than seven, usually three to five." Once more I took a deep breath before continuing. "Now I have a question for you. How do they make YOU feel?" I sat back and waited for the answer. I had been watching him as he had absently fondled the gems, but my words had stilled his hands.

"What do you mean?" Kaitou stared at me.

"As you hold them, touch them...What are you thinking, feeling. Do they affect you at all?" I watched him. Praying that he felt it too. That I wasn't going crazy. That it wasn't just to much campaigning and not enough sleep.

"Power." The word seemed dragged out from him. "Your right there is a sense of power about them. I didn't even notice until you asked, it is like a caress on the brain, the stroke of a lover. Sucking you in." His hands jerked away from the gems. "How many of them are there?"

"Three Hundred and Thirty Three." I signed. "That is how many I was contracted to get and the more I collected the more unstable I feel. When I spoke to my spouse about it, he didn't feel it, but then he is also a Blacksmith and worked with so much Saronite while we were in Northrend he wasn't sure what I was asking. He is also a Paladin and the Light is so strong in him that may have something to do with it to." I shrugged " I thought I was going crazy when I talked to Sharky, so he suggested I talk to you. He thought maybe you would be able to give me an unbiased opinion since your tour in Northrend was significantly shorter and he felt you and I were more...alike?" Again I couldn't help but show my own confusion.

"What are they doing to you?" Kaitou asked concern flavoring his words.

"They seem to augment whatever I am feeling." I replied. "If I am anxious it is magnified, confident, I become almost arrogantly so. The only thing that helps is that I'm aware but I feel I am over compensating. My question for you is this, my contract wants these gems supposedly for weapons for me: If I am reacting so negatively to them now, what I am I going to do in the future? Apparently I HAVE to have these weapons to complete my contract." Even I could hear the anxiety in my voice.

Kaitou considered the question, his eyes on the gems glittering across the table top. One arm now pined across his chest, his other hand thoughtfully stroking his bearded chin. "I mentioned that gems are generally natural formations, well Alchemists can also create them, though they use other gems to do it. What you may be dealing with here are Shadow Crystals that came directly from rich Saronite deposits and were then refined either with magic or alchemy. If your contract is who I suspect, one of the immortals they should be able to counter or at least know how to counter anything that is in these gems." Shrugging Kaitou gingerly tucked all the gems back into the leather purse, tying it closed before tossing it into my lap.  "My advice is to get those to your contact as quickly as possible." His expression grim.

"That is my next stop." I stuffed the purse back into my shoulder pouch. "I kept the rest of the gems in the bank to try and reduce the impact. Kai?" I stared at the younger man feeling the rising tension with the return of the gems to my person. "I need you to be my back up in this. You don't have the personal involvement that most of the others in this company have, that is why I came to you. If I become a problem, you need to take me out. Understood?"  The shock was evident. How many others contract their own assassination? It would almost be funny if I wasn't so terrified. I watched Kaitou take it in, then grim faced nod. Where ever this lead, I knew that those I loved would ultimately be safe, even if the danger ended up being me.

To be continued...

Divided Loyalties

Jobs for immortals are seldom favorites. Things just seem to get complicated. It was so simple at the on set and something I'd enjoy doing anyway, snatch a decoder ring from a pocket? Child's play! Leave it to dragons to underestimate their opponents or to fail to understand the allegiances of their hirelings.  Who knew my loyalties would so quickly come under question? Not by the individuals who originally hired me but by myself? 

The cipher I was given to decode was of a type I had never seen before as a scribe, but that wasn't really a problem. One thing I had discovered over the years was to build contacts and the Ethereal's would do just about anything for the right price. Thankfully a group had recently set up shop near the canals in Stormwind, saving me the cost of a trip to Outland.  I just needed to patiently await a translation, considering the condition of the sample wasn't the greatest. Not a surprise since dragons tend to roast first, ask questions later.

I admit I wasn't shocked to see Ravenholdt's name. The manor was once the home of a certain Lord Daval Prestor so ties with the Black Dragon flight were nothing new.  The question was who had brokered this deal, my uncle Jorach? He had grown rather reclusive.  Or was my cousin Fahrad finally stepping up and taking a more active role?  It had been a long time since I had made a trip back to my birth place, and this certainly was not the way I expected to do it. What I found interesting was the fact that the Red Dragon flight seemed completely oblivious to the ties the Blacks have to humans...were they blind? However if they weren't asking I wasn't going to volunteer information.

My traveling companion did not help matters. Why employ me to do a job and then dictate how I do it?  Even worse to stand there and insult your employee TO THEIR FACE! Thieves? Bandits?  I am a professional Thank you very much! Your Allies could have told you that Ravenholdt was more than a simple motley band hiding in Hillsbrad if you'd lowered yourselves to ask. The very fact that they spirited away your precious egg should have displayed that to you. But no, rather than ASK anyone you bumble around make grand announcements about torching places. We petty "short lifers" know more about your precious egg than you realize.

What self respecting rogue enters from the FRONT? Even the Tauren Chieftains know we do everything "from behind"! My irritation was making it difficult to concentrate. If it had been left to me I would have entered the Manor via the narrow ravine between the Hinterlands and Hillsbrad rather than attempt to go in via the well guarded front tunnel. However Mostrasz made it clear he was "guiding" this show...what did he know about how to do my job? Nothing it would soon transpire.

As soon as I entered my former bedroom dormer it was clear things were not going to go as Mostrasz planed. The smell of sulfur permeated the air. Now while Zan's engineering projects occasionally backfired and caused smoke, he worked in the basement for a reason. To keep his smells contained. The only way for the entire manor to reek like it did was if one of two things had occurred: the egg either had been destroyed or hatched. Dragon eggs are not like bird eggs, when they hatch they explode, jettisoning fire every where. That would mean for safety sake the egg would have to have been housed in Zan's steel and stone workshop.

Slipping down the stairs revealed a quiet and orderly interior. Members of the household were still very much on guard which lead me to the conclusion there must be something they felt they had to protect. It was nothing to time a silent drop to the cellar stairs, Mostrasz mutters buzzing in my head, there my suspicions were confirmed. The egg remnants were scatters across the floor, it had indeed hatched, but where was its former occupant?

That question was quickly answered by Prince Wrathion himself, with a style is uniquely his. Yes, he certainly is a Black Dragon, yet he reminds me a little of the Tolvar. I was shocked to discover rather than a welpling he was closer to the size of Prince Anduin. The kid payed attention while in that egg of his. He knows what is at stake both for the world and for him personally but refuses to be nothing more than a dagger in another's hand. HE will control his fate, if he is to be his father's heir then he will take up the reins NOW.  Rather a different approach than that of another Prince I know.

I admit I was rather pleased with Fahrad's dealing with Mostrasz...for a dragon he was arrogant and whiny...a strange combination.  But then there are are not a great many dragons I have actually liked truth be told. Respected yes, as powerful beings, but actually LIKED on a personal level? Not so much. Prince Wrathion may end up one of the few. The kid has something...Guts for sure. He certainly has won over Fahrad, though I am sure the idea of being able to do something besides hanging around the manor keeping up the business for my Uncle doesn't hurt.

The problem with Dragons, Black dragons especially is that they can be so blasted CHARMING....and this one is a KID. It is like some kind of hard luck story come to life, certainly the type to grab a rogue's attention. Jobs like this make my fingers itch. An employer who offers you a job that is a true CHALLENGE? One that respects your skills enough to not dictate HOW you should achieve the goal only that you do? Oh yum...Even better when he rewards you with things you can actually USE, rather than junk.  Sure he gave me a trigger happy baby sitter but hey, I can live with that.

Kaitou gave me a rather knowing look when I asked him if he had any updated maps of Gilneas.  The two of us were soon talking routes with him favoring a land assault and I preferring heading in via the water.  The information we had on Creed was sketchy at best. I could only hope Wrathion's man Zazzo had more updated reconnaissance.

Zazzo was about what I expected from a gnome mage. High strung, timid and not overly fond of rogues....however when he blithely informed me that I was the 12th assassin sent to take out Creed I was also sure that he has issues with counting, by this time I am sure the number is MUCH higher.

Gilneas was miserable. Overcast, rainy, with a pervading gloom. One would think I would love all the cover but this was a city of "dogs" and I don't mean the Worgen. Even before the curse the Gilnean's were know for their Mastiff hunters and I have seen how since the curse their sensitivity had become heightened.  Slipping into this highly patrolled ruin would not be easy. After doing a little bit of scouting I decide on the water route, swimming in along the docks, then slipping up the stairs, jumping down into the canal, before making my way across the inner courtyard to a tower close to Creed. There I stopped to dry off, eat and observe my target.

The court yard where Creed was presiding still bore evidence of Gilneas' internal struggles. Stocks, guillotines, hitching posts as well as decaying corpses litter the area. In my mind's eye I made a mental map of each obstacle, each obstruction, it could mean the difference between failure and success. My preference is always for as quick a kill as possible.

Fighting immortals one on one is always a challenge. Partially because death is a foreign concept to them. Even as their last breath passes from their lips they can not conceive it is truly happening.  For those of us to whom death is a constant companion, the dance for one more breath pushes us to focus, lest our short lives end even sooner.  The advantage Immortals have is they have the opportunity to learn a great deal more than I could ever hope to in my short life span. The only true advantage I have is that most often they are so arrogant in their immortality they give me openings I could never dare. So it proved with Creed, while he might have been a dragon, he still fell to two good old fashion blades.

I had to laugh to myself at Fahrad's comment on my success. What rogue ANNOUNCES their attack? I might be married to a Paladin but I don't fight like one. Of course I took Creed unawares...that is what we DO.  My guess is that Fahrad would have preferred to have been allowed to go after Creed himself, rather than staying locked down at the Manor protecting Wrathion. My poor cousin, your circumstances have little altered. Once more you must watch me ride away from a place that is no longer my home while you remain chained there by your own choices.

To be continued...

Passing on Brew Fest

This short story is dedicated to Hawkeye. Thank you for your patience and your questions. Sorry it took me so long to get this posted!

Wrinkling her nose in disgust Daraia quickly made her way to the Ironforge Auction House, deftly dodging drunken patrons hawking beer. "How could I have possibly have forgotten it was Brewfest?" she muttered. "Hopefully I can just get my business done and flee back to Dalaran."

"Daraia! Just the person I wanted to see, I knew you couldn't avoid me forever." A heavy gauntlet descended on her shoulder with a thud only to be removed with remarkable speed. "Blast it all, why do you have to keep weapons there?"  Turning Daraia couldn't keep an evil grin from her lips as she observed Amalt shaking his injured hand. Then she got a good whiff of him.

"Good Light Amalt, what happened to you?" Waving her hands before her nose Daraia backed away from her friend. Eyes widening in horror. "You REEK!"

"Oh that." Amalt replied dismissively. "I was helping the Thunderbrews deliver some stock and there was a bit of an accident."

"Say no more." Daraia interrupted with a laugh, "I have helped them in the past. Why they insist on THROWING the barrels at people is beyond me."

"Yeah, well my new cologne isn't what I wanted to discus. You were saying some pretty interesting things the other day during that incident with the Stickhead's addition to your Tea." Amalt chuckled at Daraia's thunderous expression. "No you can't get at him. Last I heard he was going on an extended visit with his menagerie to see his brother Firager in Darnassus. Something about not wanting to risk any of his precious babies to your wrath while he was away."

"I swear you are in the wrong profession Amalt." Daraia groused, glaring at the grinning paladin. "Besides, you should know I have little to no memory of anything I might have said, so if you have any questions you should be directing them at Therigwin."

"Yeah well, the Big Guy isn't being very forth coming. He starts sputtering every time I bring it up, then the next thing I know we are under attack. It didn't take me long to figure out it was a deliberate diversionary tactic." Shrugging Amalt continued. "So I figured if I asked YOU while in the middle of somewhere relatively safe, I had a better chance of getting a straight answer."

Daraia couldn't help but laugh at Amalt's reasoning. "Ok, so what has you eaten alive with curiosity?"

"You made the comment that the last time you got drunk you woke up married to Therigwin...." Amalt trailed off watching Daraia closely.

"Oh no, poor Therigwin. No wonder." Daraia leaned against a wall as she laughed. "Oh Amalt...you WOULD want to know all the gory details." Wiping tears from her eyes Daraia straighten and attempted to compose herself. "Honestly Amalt it really isn't that interesting. When Therigwin and I first met he was a healer. Heck just about EVERY paladin was a healer back then. To make a long story short, I had gotten injured and Therigwin gave me something for the pain. Well, you saw how I react when I consume alcohol. The problem was that while under the influence I happened to confess my true feelings for him after MONTHS of denial. Lets just say that one thing led to another and my comment wasn't ENTIRELY accurate. "

"Oh come on Dar, you got to give me more than THAT!" Amalt whined. "I have waited this long, and you have no IDEA what all Therigwin has thrown at me in his attempts to keep from answering my questions."

"Really Amalt, this was YEARS ago, why does it even matter?" Laughing at Amalt's woebegone expression Daraia relented. "Fine, when I was more coherent he informed me that I had agreed to marry him. He has always felt somewhat guilty about that. It wasn't on purpose, but he DID take advantage of the situation. You know how he is."

"That's it?" Amalt complained.

"Fraid so. Told you it wasn't worth all the fuss." Tuning Daraia headed out of the Auction house.

"Hey, where are you headed off to now?" Amalt questioned chasing after her.

"Fleeing back to the questionable peace of Dalaran. I had forgotten it was Brewfest this week. I can't STAND this holiday. I mean it's origins are noble enough but what it is at present leaves much to be desired." Shuttering she marched towards the flight master intent on escape.

"What do you mean? How can you not like Brewfest!"

"Amalt, Brewfest has become nothing more than an excuse for people to get so plastered they can't even see straight. The only reason they don't get into more trouble is because their mounts refuse to move if they start acting like to much of an idiot. Light help any fool who happens to own one of those Gnomish or Goblin crafted choppers that can't refuse to function when their owners are unable to see straight and start running into things causing endless heartache." Shaking her head Daraia paused to allow a set of rams race by, their riders calling out advertisements for Barleybrew and Brewfest. "I don't know if you have had much contact with Merla, the priest, but she is actually a Wildhammer, who married a Bronzebeard. She was the one who told me how this whole silly thing got started and believe it or not it had little to do with getting drunker than skunks on a cold winters night."

"Really?"

"If you haven't noticed the Dwarves don't have a lot of open water due to the colder temperatures outside. They found if they added other ingredients to melted snow it not only purified it but added flavor giving them more liquid. Well, give them enough cold winters and they came up with various beers. Of course each clan ended up setting up their own Breweries and declaring them the best. Being  Dwarves they decided they had  to figure out who was indeed the "best". High King Anvilmar established an annual contest each fall where each clan would present their best offerings. Of course after the  War of the Three Hammers the contests were forgotten. Then the Barleybrews decided to revive them as a marketing tool to the other races. Since the Thunderbrews pretty much had the corner on the market to the Bronzebeards they needed a way to tap into the non dwarf races. What better way than a beer festival?"

"Huh, so you mean this is nothing more than a huge sales pitch?" Amalt asked, scratching his head.

"Well isn't it obvious?" Daraia asked, turning to her friend as she reached the flight master. "I mean they have tents set up at all the major capital cities, both Alliance AND Horde. They practically SHOVE the stuff down people's throats. Beer in and of itself isn't bad, it is what you DO with it. And this is just one huge over indulgence fest. I'll pass thank you very much." Swinging her leg up she mounted her gryphon. "I'll see you in Northrend! Hopefully my business with the Darkmoon Faire won't bring me back south before then." With one last wave she flew off.

I Can't Drive

"Where have YOU been?!?!" Daraia bellowed as soon as I logged on. I knew she would be a little irate since the last time I had visited was when we did AQ 40 for our "Fun Raid" night meaning her bags were still full of dead bug parts and she was wearing level 60 gear.

"I had some family things I had to deal with." I reply absently while attempting to recall what all my key bindings were and how to maneuver using my trackball.

"Well that is no, OUCH! Hey! You ran me into a WALL!"

"Sorry, out of practice, give me a bit, I am sure it is just like riding a bike."

"A what?"

"A bike. Kinda like a Mekgineer's Chopper but with no engine."

"How do you ride THAT?"

"You pedal it."

"How do you attach the flying goblin?"

"Not Peddle, pedal with an A. It means you move it around using manual power."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Some people find it relaxing and it saves money. Now hold still while I find your gear and clean out your bags." She scowled at me, waiting impatiently, suddenly finding herself no longer sporting Bloodfang but her current 264 gear. Sighing mournfully she re sheathed her weapons. "What's wrong?"

"I just looked so much better in the old stuff...I know I know, I am much better off in this but still....a girl can have a little bit of vanity now and again. Are you going to go run me into walls some more?"

"I have to do a refresher some time."

"Can't I just take a taxi?...Right, your to cheap....sigh...I am going to sporting some lovely bruises by the end of the day."

"What can I say? You can't drive?"

Blame Paladins

The topic for this weeks Blog Azeroth was "How do you think NPC's view/treat your Class?" The following comes out of some role play that came out of that along with some other situations.  Many Thanks to Anea of Obeying the Muse for the original idea.
 
"I was only trying to help." Syyiand whined, even in humanoid form he sounded like a pile of leaves rustling in the wind as he shuffled along in Therigwin's long strided wake. "How was I suppose to know?"

"Sy, your a healer! Surely at some point one of your trainers mentioned that alcohol is a depressant." Therigwin retorted in exasperation.

"Well, yeah, but the last time I saw you and Amalt get inebriated you attacked the Violet Hold in nothing but your Winterveil suits....I thought maybe it was different for humans than elves." The druid explained anxiously.

Therigwin rubbed the back of his neck and flushed, never breaking stride. The truth was he had been so plastered after last years Winterveil party he hasn't been able to see straight and most of his memories of that that night were VERY fuzzy. It didn't help that people kept referring to things he and his friends had supposedly done while in their drunken state either.

Rounding the corner the two came to a abrupt stop at the sight before them. Daraia sat at a large round table in the corner, weapons of various types laid out before her, a mug cradled in her lap. Her feet were up on the table, hair coming lose from its usual confining bun. A disapproving frown marred her face as she examined the axe in her hands through glazed eyes.

"Light, Sy just how much did you GIVE her?"  Moving cautiously, Therigwin approached the table. "Hello Sweetheart, I understand you haven't been having a very good day."  The sound of thundering footsteps had him turning back towards Syyiand to discover the arrival of the rest of the officers. Kikiloo and Schaikera quickly pushed past Syyiand to come flank him.

"When we saw you and Sy going by so quickly we followed." Kiki remarked as way of explanation.

"So do you know what day it is today?" Daraia slurred suddenly. "My birthing day. *hic* While cleaning my axe this morning I noticed something." Lurching forward she tossed the axe in her hand at the far wall embedding the blade. She had obviously been using it as a target for quite a while as weapons and holes doted the surface. Hands now free she proceeded to push the loose locks of hair out of her face revealing silver streaks at her temples. "SEE!"

"OH!" A chorus seemed to have risen from the women beside Therigwin.

Bewildered Therigwin turned from one woman to another, before remarking, "But Honey, I went completely gray after the incident at the Wrathgate and I am younger than you, why..." Suddenly his knees buckled beneath him as pain shot from his head down. A pair of fists had connected with his skull. Kikiloo being a priest and wearing cloth hadn't done much damage but Schaikera was a Holy Paladin and plate-mail HURT.

"NOT helping." The ladies chorused again.

By the time his eyes had stopped watering Syyiand and Amalt had assisting him into a chair.

"When we saw them attack we figured we had better come even the odds" Amalt explained eying the three women with some intrepidation. "What exactly is going on?" He questioned quietly out of the side of his mouth.

"I'm going soft and getting sloppy." Daraia declared, tipping her chair back once more to place her booted feet on the table top. She then proceeding to swing the now empty mug in the air. "They all say never trust a rogue but it is really Paladins that are the deceitful ones."  Pausing briefly she turned to pat Schaikera on the shoulder in sympathy. "Sorry Kera, but it is true. When I first started out I could never go into a shop or even walk down a street without someone watching me, expecting the worst." Brows furrowed she considered that truth for a moment. "Its funny, I've never minded being referred to as spy or even an assassin, but to this day I can't stand to be called a thief...." Shrugging she continued. "Anyway, every thing was about planning, picking the fights, setting up the kills, PATIENCE. But now look at me, I have more titles, mounts, pets and money than I know what to do with. I'm a bloody AMBASSADOR with more races than I once knew existed. Even people I have never MET seem to know who I am. Battles are fought now by just wading in and start swinging, the finesse is gone. It....it seems WRONG. I LIKED obscurity. I LOVED the shadows...and now everything is bathed in light....and it is all the Paladins fault."

"How is this because of Paladins?" Amalt asked offended. Then wagging his finger he continued. "And lets be honest here Daraia you ARE a thief. How many people do you know that complain because the Lich King didn't have pockets you could pick? You'd riffle though everyone's pockets if you could, you have sticky fingers. Goblin's check their purses whenever you saunter by." Slamming down onto a bench Amalt crossed his arms and glowered.

"Think back to when we first started out Amalt. Our jobs were almost always on behalf of Paladins." Daraia shot back, feet slamming to the floor. "You goody two shoes are ALWAYS up to your visors in everything going on and usually some how the ones footing the bill to get someone else to fix whatever problems happen to come along." Arms waving she continued."It is all an insidious plot to get us to become respectable and how SI:7 hasn't caught on to it yet I don't know." Jumping up from her chair Daraia began circling the table, each revolution picking up a weapon to send it spinning off towards her previous target wall. " It use to be there were tons of rogues, we were everywhere! Now we're an endangered species. Instead what do you trip over every time you turn around? Paladins! And when one of you goes to the bad? How well do you all handle that? Hmmm? Got to sweep THAT under the rug as quickly as possible. Zelek, Rivendale, Arthas...." Daraia continued to pace and lecture, her voice slowly growing in strength despite an occasional hiccup or slur. "Then look what you lot all did to poor Darian and the Death knights..."

"This is why Daraia doesn't drink Sy" Therigwin muttered, tenderly testing the lump on his head from Schaikera. "She is blunt enough when she is sober, but give her even a little bit of alcohol and it is as if all the filters shut off." Syyiand just nodded his head, by this time a tad dizzy from watching Daraia's laps around the table.

"Rogues today are so CLUELESS." Daraia continued, launching into another subject. "I had one today who couldn't tell the difference between Killing spree and Pick Pocket. Granted it was a gnome but still. She tried to tell me that she just got so frustrated because she couldn't reach the Val'kyr that she became enraged and lost her temper...What does she think she is a Warrior in LEATHER?!?!? Most of the young ones have no idea how to pick a lock, they just don't see the need. It makes me feel ancient."  Sighing Daraia came to an abrupt halt, leaning against the wall forlornly. "We use to proudly declare how we all did it from behind..."

After this pronouncement Amalt started sputtering with laughter, Kikiloo, covered her mouth to muffle her giggles and Schaikera's ears turned red. Syyiand just looked confused.

Gingerly Therigwin eased out of his chair to carefully approach Daraia. "Love, you have had a little to much to drink. Maybe it would be a good idea to go get some rest."

"I don't drink, I don't use mana so what is the point? I just wanted some Thistle Tea." Daraia moaned, rubbing her temples she looked up with bleary eyes. "It has been so long since I have had any you know? I knew it wouldn't be the pick me it up it use to be I just thought one cup of it would be nice. But something was off...maybe my Swiftthistle was to old?"

"It's my fault Dar, you seemed down so I thought if I added a little Caraway Burnwine it would help you to feel better." Syyiand interrupted, wringing his hands. "Honest, I was only trying to help!"

"The world trembles when you say that phrase Sy, for surely disaster follows your best intentions." Daraia intoned, weaving unsteadily as she push away from the wall. "Last time I felt like this I woke up married to Therigwin...." Pitching forward, she passed out, Therigwin catching her before she hit the floor.

"Oh come on!" Amalt protested, "It was just getting interesting!"

Therigwin glared at his fellow paladin, while tenderly gathered his wife up.  "Come on Love, lets get you to bed and hopefully when you wake up you won't remember any of this." A soft snore was her only response.

Shared Topic: Time Lost

The shared Topic for this week for Blog Azeroth was to role play a scene with your favorite mount.  Anything from how you acquired it to when it dies.  Well this is basically the story of how I acquired my favorite mount. It was the catalyst to my mount collecting, well for those OTHER than Black mounts anyway. Many thanks to Strumwulf for the original idea. 

There was little warning before the attack. Just a swirl of snow and a sudden shadow. Diving to the right, Daraia dropped the herb in her hand, arming herself by the simply flick of her wrist, releasing her daggers from their concealed sheaths. Turning her dive into a roll, she came up in a crouch, faced her attacker.  It was a drake, but of a type she had never seen before. Physically it resembled the northern species the Dragonflights had told her were called "Protodrakes" and were actually the predecessors to the dragonflights she was more familiar with. However this particular specimen was a golden color. Similar to that displayed by members of the Bronze dragonflight.

With a curse Daraia tried to figure out how she was going to get out of this one. The last time she had gone against a dragon alone had been in Outland and it had been difficult. Even young ones could be deadly if not handled correctly and this was one was an unknown. She could only hope that it had the same weak points as others she had encountered in the past.

With a roar the drake dove at her, jaws snapping. Tucking its wings in towards its body as it flew down like a hawk after a fish. From her crouch Daraia jumped up at the last moment and caught one foot on the beast's front leg then a on a wing, climbing up onto the drake's back. Plunging  her daggers into the drake's sides as she went. To her shock, they managing to bite deeply, granting her further leverage. Unlike other dragons she had encountered this particular drake's scales were soft and vulnerable. From her new position on its back she was able to easily plunge both of her daggers into the drake's neck, severing arteries. With a lurch the golden drake tumbled to the ground, tossing Daraia against the cliff and into the snow. Thrashing its legs in desperation, the beast's movements slowed, then ceased. The heat of its body melting the snow, causing a cloud of steam to rise.

Panting Daraia wiped blood from her face. The tumble had briefly knocked the wind out of her. The sound of wing beats brought her back to alert. Slipping into rock face's shadows she spotting a rapidly approaching form, another dragon. With the light behind it was hard for her to determine color but it appeared to be another protodrake and it was headed straight for her.

"Brilliant Dar, not even a month in Northrend and your going to get yourself killed herb farming because your to bloody CHEAP to buy flasks off the auction house..." Frantically she searched for a more secure location, as the new dragon landed causing snow to cascade down on her head from the cliffs above. By the time she had dug her self out the dragon was gone....but a figure was now pacing around the corpse of the golden drake.

"Penumbrius?"
"Ah good, you remember me. That saves a great deal of time." Clad in dark armor  he appeared to be a high elf, and Daraia had recently encountered him at Argent Vanguard in Icecrown, but appearances were obviously deceiving. Penumbrius' focus was totally on the golden drake. He paid little attention to Daraia as she scrambled out of the snowbank, shaking snow and ice from her armor. "Hmm, this is very interesting. It seems we have another that has gotten through. I may yet be able to save him."

Daraia quietly watched and waited while Penumbrius worked on the drake. From time to time she could hear him speak, but the words meant nothing to her. His hands would occasionally glow and she could SEE the horrifying wounds on the drake closing but still it lay still. Obviously Penumbrius didn't need her so she summoned her Netherdrake Onyxien and prepared to leave.

 "This isn't over yet."  Startled Daraia turned back from where she had been preparing to mount. Onyxien seemed perfectly content observing Penumbrius and the golden drake through narrowed eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"You can't leave yet.  I can't do everything alone. Depending on what happens here with him I may need further assistance. Your involved now." Daraia scratched her had. It never failed, every time she worked with a dragon she was confused. "You are knowledgeable enough with dragon kind to know that many of us  were created from the original Protodrakes by the Titans. Well this particular fellow and others like him have fallen through small rifts created by a device called the 'Engine of the Makers'. It was here that they created or altered the various races not native to Azeroth. " Penumbrius finally looked up from the drake towards Daraia. "To give you an idea as to how large this Engine is the openings you see all over Storm Peaks are only the exhaust pipes."

"Oh..." Daraia felt like a complete idiot. How do you respond to something like this anyway? At this point all she wanted to do was get back to her herb farming, turn them into the company healer than disappear into the Hero's Welcome in Dalaran for hours.

"I have been trying to locate those like him to aid the Argent Crusade since they can not return to their own time. I call them "Time Lost Protodrakes", for that is what they are, lost souls in time. The Argent Crusade offer them a home and a purpose so that they will not feel alone or even worse fall victim to the Lich King. We are social creatures to a certain extent though we don't care to admit it. In addition to this I am trying to close those rifts as I find them."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to kill him but he attacked...."

Penumbrius laughed. "Oh Daraia. You didn't kill him. That is the problem with those who go through the rift of time. While you certainly DID wound him greatly he is not dead. This one is young, for all that he has inadvertently traveled many years into his future. His name is Tairais and he has stated that he is not interested in assisting the Argent Crusade. What I have to offer him sounds to boring for his liking.  He would like to do more." The drake silent until now gave a moan, then yawned, slowly lifting his head and giving a shake.

Apprehensive Daraia clenched her daggers tightly but noticed that Penumbrius was watching Tairais with a slight smile on his face. The golden drake blinked then turned towards Daraia, lurching to his feet unsteadily. Then spreading his wings and giving out a roar. Onyxien regarding the golden drake calmly before returning the roar sending more snow falling down on Daraia's head.

"Um...Penumbriums?"

"It seems that your Netherdrake doesn't care for the cold of Northrend and Tairais is quite happy here. Further more from what Onyxien has shared you have a great many adventures and travel many different places. This appeals to Tairais, so he has decided that rather than aiding the Argent Crusade he is going to go with you."

"WHAT?!?!" Daraia squeaked.

"You should know by now never to argue with a dragon." With a laugh Penumbriums launched into the air changing form as he went. Onyxien gleefully followed leaving Daraia face to face with Tairais, her one time foe.

"Great, just great. and NONE of you thought that I might need a saddle?!?! Dragons!"

Vanished Rogue

The insistent banging just would not let up. I have to admit I was rather surprised that our local Jehovah's Witnesses were being this persistent so I washed my hands and headed to the front door. It wasn't someone in a suit on the other side however.

"Where in Azeroth have you been!?!?!" Daraia burst through like a storm cloud, arms flailing as she turned on me. "It has been a WEEK, a WEEK!" Her glove clad finger grinding into my chest, she continued. "You left me in Dalaran to fend off herds of star ponies, their obnoxious owners and temper tantrum throwing robots for a WEEK!" Stopping abruptly Daraia stepped back, surveying her now dust covered glove, then looking me up and down in bemusement. "What is that."

"Sweatpants and a denim shirt?" I replied, pushing my filthy baseball cap further back over my tangled hair.

"Sweatpants? Why would you choose to wear pants you KNOW will make you sweat?" Before I can answer she waves dismissively and continues on. "That isn't what I meant anyway. The white and gray stuff all over you...you look like you fell into something."

Looking down I realize what she is talking about. "Oh, that is just cement, plaster and paint. I have been kinda busy this week with my kitchen and bathrooms."

Daraia pulls back swiftly, putting her hands behind her back. "Since when did we join the Defias? I'm a Scribe not a Mason thank you very much! I have no intention of power leveling another trade. It was painful enough the last time!"

Briefly the idea of informing her about Archeology passes through my mind only to be dismissed. She is ticked off enough with me as it is.  "Listen I am just trying to get this taken care of while I can, before my kids are out of school for the summer and underfoot. I should be back to the regularly scheduled program by Children's Week."

"I don't think you realize what you are subjecting me to here... you left me in Dalaran!" Daraia interjects. "I have to listen to TRADE chat all the time and deal with drunken Elves and Draenei who think they belong on top of mailboxes." Arms crossing she continues to glare at me. "Couldn't you at least log on and put me somewhere else? I haven't darkened the door of a dungeon all WEEK!"

By this point I am beginning to realize just how tired I am. That is the problem when you stop doing physical labor you hardly notice your fatigue until your muscles start screaming at you. "Ok Dar, I will do my best to get on more regularly this week but it is going to still be a little bit before I can get back to our routine. Can you accept that?"

Reluctantly she nods. "I'm going to hold you to that. You fail to show up and I will be back here again. I am sure your neighbors would LOVE to know why someone dressed like me is showing up at your door." Pausing briefly she narrows her eyes in contemplation before continuing. "I refuse to go back to Dalaran though, you can find me at the Argent Tournament. At least there I sit back and mock Paletress." With that final threat she touched her tabard clad chest and vanished.

An Unexpected Conversation

Azryu posed the question that has been like a bug in my brain. "What if your character sudden became independent of you and gained a voice? What would happen? How would the conversation go?" It was introduced as a shared Topic. So from time to time during my hectic schedule these past few days I have been going over it in my mind, trying to wrap my head around the concept of separating myself from Daraia, to think of her as "independent". It was an interesting journey for both of us.

It started out like any other day, I just logged on to do the usual chores, I certainly wasn't anticipating having this conversation, and the setting could have been better. Deathspeaker's Rise in Icecrown she decides to let me know she is more than my alter ego, she has a mind of her own, feelings and it is time that I take them into consideration.

"I can't do that move yet and continuing to tell me to won't make it happen."
"WoW, they changed the emote!"
"What is an Emote? But more importantly WOULD YOU STOP STARRING AT THE BACK OF MY HEAD!?!?"
"Who...Daraia?"
"Do you have any idea how annoying it is to always feel eyes following you around EVERYWHERE and it's even worse those rare times when your INSIDE my head."
"Um, Sorry?"
"Are you going to help me get out of here so we can talk or just let me die?"
"Oh, yeah, right."

My numb fingers suddenly remember how to function as a voice I have heard for over four years is suddenly saying things I never imagined. With the usual efficiency cultists soon lay scattered like rag dolls at Daraia's feet, their corpses sparkling in the morning light. I swiftly guide her to each one, gathering her most recent reward before directing her to mount one of her Protodrakes and fly straight up. Slowly the angle of my camera changes and I am looking no longer over her shoulder but into eyes that suddenly seem to gleam with awareness.

"Well that is something I didn't expect, we actually kinda look alike." Daraia leans forward on her drake and stares at me, her chin jutting forward in an almost defiant pose.

"How did this happen? I mean...."

"Hush, I may not be able to direct all of my actions but for as long as this lasts I am going to be the one asking the questions. You owe me." Arms crossing, her balance is perfect on her lurching steed as she intently studies me.

Taken aback I can only nod but as the moments tick by she seems confused as to what to ask now that she is actually face to face with me. Her mouth opening and shutting several times, the process of actually verbalizing her thoughts seems to much. I decide I had better get the conversation going.

"I have to admit I have never actual thought of you having a mind of your own Dar. Is it alright if I call you that?" I am surprised to discover that I too am struggling to vocalize but find myself reassured by her quick nod. "I can only apologize. I guess I just considered you my alter ego and nothing more. It must be very uncomfortable having someone guiding your actions all the time, having no control over your own movements."

"Why?" Her voice is almost plaintive, pained, tension etched on her face. "Why are you doing this? Why can't I make my own decisions, direct my own actions? Who ARE you?"

My own thoughts are a jumble as I answer, "I guess you could say that I am your creator, though I don't like using that term. I crafted you in my image as you noticed, but it is not a perfect image, it is a fantasy, a dream if you will. Your entire world is an escape for me, from the world in which I reside. The adventures you have, the things you accomplish, by guiding you through them I find enjoyment."

Her head cocks as she considers this. Then eyes narrowed, her voice takes on a vicious bite as she snaps "Do you mean to tell me that YOU are the one responsible for the fact that the only jokes I know are about farting in the bath tub and losing control of my voice?"

My head falls to the desk as I groan. "No, I can't take responsibility for that stupidity. Believe me Dar, if I could change that I would...Actually I have tired in that I have gotten you those orbs so you can at least  pretend to be an Orc or a Blood Elf from time to time. Even THEIR jokes are better I readily admit, their dances too. Unfortunately there are limits to what I can do, the things I can craft in you. Before today the words I could hear you speak were limited to just a few key phrases. It was only in my mind that you ever said more, that your story, your personality, had more depth."

"My sleeveless armor? The fact I spend a good portion of the time running around Northrend, IN THE SNOW with my elbows hanging out and FREEZING? I am NOT a Forsaken, it's COLD HERE! Or weapons that are SO huge they are almost LARGER than I am!"  She pulls out an Axe and waves it around causing her mount to duck its head and veer. "LOOK at this thing! It looks like I should be using two hands and I have to carry it on my BACK but I can wield it like it weighs nothing more than a feather. Are our craftsman just that GOOD? My daggers look more like short swords,  my swords don't even LOOK like swords..."

"Yes I know, but I select your gear based upon what will give you the most benefits, allow you to dispatch things quickly because you do the greatest amount of damage in the shortest period of time, seldom on what LOOKS the best. While personally I like the appearance of the gear you are presently wearing, I suppose I should warn you that the next pieces you will be getting....are not quite so attractive."

Wariness laces her voice as she responds, "What do you mean? How bad can it be? I looked like a stinking RAG BAG when I was running around Draenor wearing the stuff I had gotten out of Zul'Aman."

"Umm.....well....your going into Icecrown Citadel right?"

"Yeah? What about it?" Sitting straighter she continues as if delivering a Tirion worthy speech, slamming fists down on her saddle for emphasis. "We need to finish what we started, take care of Arthas, the Scourge and rescue Bolvar. I owe him, as a comrade in arms that I LEFT at the Wrath Gate, abandoning in his greatest time of need. He deserves better for all that he has done for our people than to be subjected to torture at the hands of the Lich King!"

I can't help but squirm in my chair as I hear her talk, knowing as I do what awaits her. Hopefully I can keep her focused on CLOTHES and not have her start asking me about Bolvar or Arthas, I don't want her to realize that I already have an idea what is going to happen there.

"Well, just that the gear you find tends to reflect the tastes of the individuals whose home you are invading is all. You are getting it off of their corpses generally or from patterns found there. So what you see Yili wearing is what you will be sporting soon."

Daraia's nose wrinkles in distaste. A moment later her brow farrows and she asks, "How does that work anyway? That a creature can be carrying something four times its body weight, it can't possibly wear and that even when I kill it a few moments later it comes right back?"

"That is another thing I have no control over. I agree with you though, it never has made much sense to me either. It is just the way your world works. Shows you're a bright woman to question it, since it is the only world you know."

Daraia smiles at the compliment but then gets pensive again. "Am I the only one like this? Being controlled all the time?"

"No Dar, in fact EVERY other thing you interact with is controlled by someone else like me. Just some more directly than others. Tirion and Jaina, for example are controlled by the same individuals who limit my abilities to change things, those responsible for your poor jokes and dance moves. Therigwin is controlled by my Husband."

"Yeah, about Therigwin..." To my shock I realize that a blush is slowly burning its way up Daraia's face as she fiddles with the harness on her Protodrake. "What exactly is he to me anyway? I mean, it seems not that long ago we were ALWAYS together and now a days I hardly ever see him..." Her voice trails off but I can't help but notice the underlying sadness.

"In our minds he is your spouse. His loyalty is to you. While he has under gone a great many changes since you two were first created, you have as well. His are just more obvious." I watch her fidget for a few moments before asking the obvious question. "What are you worried about Daraia?"

"So much has changed.... I use to spend most of my time in Alterac Valley and Arathi Basin, now I seldom see those places. I once used Daggers ALL the time, now I am switching weapons and how I use them at a moments notice. I even use AXES of all things, like some sort of lumberjack. Even poisons have changed. I'm not complaining mind you, some of the changes have been great!" Sighing she continues, "I guess I just need to know that some things will stay the same since I am finding I have no control over ANYTHING in my life." She raises her head searching out my eyes, seeking reassurance.

I can't hold back my smile. "Daraia you are my first and most beloved creation in this world. Yes, more change IS coming. Some of it quite dramatic. Don't fear. I have no plans to leave you nor does Therigwin. The transitions may not be smooth but we will get through them together and I will continue to do the best I can to care for you to the best of my limited ability." A matching smile spreads across Daraia's face.

Suddenly my screen goes blank and my heart sinks. The computer has crashed and I know the magical moments I have just shared with my Avatar are over, most likely never to be experienced again. I will treasure this unexpected time for the insight it has given me.

Azryu, thank you for casting your spell in our direction.

Happy Winter Veil and Merry Christmas!!

Merla kicked the snow from her boots as she entered the noisy common area. Many of the company sat rather glumly around the tables nursing hot drinks and mindlessly consuming the cooling food. A quick perusal of the room located the majority of the officers seated near the fireplace at the center and with a minimal amount of shoving she was able to make her way there.

"Wha' is wit all ye?" Merla barked as she neared the group. Glaring at Therigwin and Daraia tucked comfortably against one another. "This be WINTER VEIL!! Time of good cheer and party and ye all look worse than me man Durin's ole armor!"

"If you haven't noticed Merla we don't really have much to be cheerful about." Enok replied, his feet propped up to the fire. "Arthas is holed up in that Citadel of his and Light only knows how long it is going to be before the Gnomes are going to be able to blast thier way through the doors so we can get at him." Running his fingers though his graying hair he continued. "Rather than working together the Horde and Alliance are STILL at each others throats." Pausing he rubbed his chin then thoughtfully continued, "Though returning Saurfang's body to his father does seem to have helped a little bit."

"With the exception of Justin and his clan the majority of us are far from our families as well." Schaikera added quietly, her face pensive as she considered the absence of her own children. "I know the younger ones have tried to bring a little seasonal cheer but...."

"I REFUSE to wear candles and colored balls just to make them happy." Syyand sputtered, waving wildly. "I'd look RIDICULOUS! I'm a healer not a decoration!" Arms crossed he slammed back into his chair.

"Well they managed to find an ever green SOME where" Schaikera soothed, patting the pouting druid on the shoulder. "They really have been quite creative all things considered."

All eyes turned to the small tree now glowing in the common room corner and the young people gathered around it under the watchful eye of their father. Leafius with the help of the gnome mage Miep had somehow managed to create small colored mage lights that flickered all over the tree in brilliant array. Ribbons created by the girls from gathered scraps had been tied on almost every branch giving it a rather festive air.

"Well, 't ain't right I tell ya!" Merla countered. "Winter Veil is ment t' be a time of laughter and joy! Not all this pussy foot'n ye been doing!"

"What do you suggest Priest?" Daraia's soft voice carried over the group. "How do you plan to heal this may lay?"

Eyes narrowed the dwarf surveyed the group before coming again to rest on the rogue. "I'm g'na tell ye a story. T'is been handed down from generation to generation in me family. The Story of thee Winter Veil Tree!" Seeing that she had their full attention Merla took a seat, cleared her throat and began.

"Greatfather Winter was preparing for his annual journey around Azeroth when he discovered that four of his gnomes had inexplicably gotten ill and the "gnomes in training" were not able to produce the same number of toys for his deliveries as his regular gnomes. As a result Greatfather Winter began to feel concerned that he would not be able to meet the needs of all the children of Azeroth that year.

Going into his home, he decided to share his concerns with his wife as this usually helped him. Upon his arrival he discovered that his mother-in-law had decided to come to visit for the holidays unannounced. This stressed him out even more as he no longer could discuss anything with his wife for fear that all of Azeroth would soon hear of it.

Going out to the barn to escape all the chatter in the house it was revealed that someone had left the gate open and all the reindeer had gotten out. Now they were no where to be found.

When he lifted up his Gift Sack to take it out of the work shop the seam split and all the toys were scattered across the floor damaging the wrappings.

Frustrated beyond endurance Greatfather Winter headed into his office for a mug of his favorite Winter Ale or perhaps a shot of the Lord of the Frost's Private Label which he kept for special occasions. When he went to the cupboard it was then he discovered why his gnomes had gotten ill. For as all Dwarves know no Gnome can handle good Dwaven Liquor and not a drop remained. In his dumbfounded state he accidentally dropped his favorite Stine onto the floor where it shattered into a hundred little pieces.

Devastated he went to the closet to retrieve his Silvermoon enchanted broom and clean up the mess. It was then he found the mice had eaten off all the straw leaving nothing more than a dancing handle.
Just then the doorbell rang with a loud "Ting-a-ling-a-ling!"
Irritated Greatfather Winter yanked the door open to discover a tiny little angel with a HUGE ever green tree.

Cheerfully the Angel greeted Greatfather Winter "Happy Winter Veil Greatfather Winter! Isn't it a LOVELY day? I have a BEAUTIFUL tree for you. Where do you want me to stick it?

Thus began the tradition of the Winter Veil Tree and its Angel a top it."

Pleased with her work Merla left the now gasping group in a much more cheerful state of mind.

(Many thanks to Dale who first shared the joke that inspired this story.)

The Time has come

The gray mists of morning light slowly made their way across the tournament grounds. Biting wind shook the tent walls and caused the various pendants and banners to give off sharp snaps as they whipped in its embrace. Cream colored Hippogryphs and their riders circled in the air above keeping watch in the hostile environment.

A lone figure emerged from the stables and made its way quickly across the hard packed snow. Watchfully eyes made note of its progress from the coliseum ramparts, weapons at ready but the figure made no threatening moves, just pulled its well worn cloak tighter as it faced off against the swirling snow. Stopping briefly before the Argent Crusade tent the figure seemed to strain to hear the muffled voices emanating from within. The guards on both sides of the door monitored closely, prepared to rebuff entrance. While the cloak had obviously seen better days the leather boots firmly planted in the snow and leggings tucked into them were of recent design amongst the Alliance forces giving the guards pause. Apparently satisfied the figure raised one gloved hand in greeting, nodded then moved off towards a smaller tent not far off disappearing into its entrance like a shadow.

Once inside Daraia pulled back her hood but the dim interior was little warmer than the wind swept landscape she had just left. Placing her helm on a nearby armor rack she picked up a coal filled bucked and began filling the brazer. Soon the glowing coals sprung to flame filling the area with light and warmth. Once that task was completed she turned to survey the paper strewn table. Grimacing slightly Daraia took a seat and began sorting, creating neat piles out of the chaos.

The sound of the tent flap being raised caused her to lift her head from her task. Large blue eyes greeted her as Therigwin’s squire entered baring a large tray.

“OH! Commander Daraia! Thank you!” A grin split his face as he glanced around the now cosy and much neater tent. “I was just going to try to do all of that.” Hurrying over he placed the tray down on a cleared section of the table.

  “Are they almost done then?” Daraia ask, eyes once again scanning the various parchments before delegating them to a pile.

“Yes Ma’am. Sir Therigwin sent me here to relight the blazer and bring breakfast. He said he would be following shortly.”

“Good. Well, since those tasks are completed and I know you have been up since before dawn why don’t you go join the other squires? Wrap YOURSELF around some breakfast and get some sleep. My husband is going to need to take care of some other duties today. That should keep him busy for most of the morning so he shouldn’t need you again until this afternoon.”

“Yes Ma’am. I will put the drinks near the fire to warm then do just that.”

Nodding absently Daraia continued to sort, the table now almost cleared of its earlier clutter.

The sounds of someone in plate armor approaching the tent soon reached both the squire and Daraia’s ears. Scampering quickly the squire managed to have the tent flap opened just as Therigwin arrived.

“Good Lad!” Therigwin boomed, dropping a gauntleted hand down to ruffle the boy’s hair. Eyes alighting on his wife seated at his desk Therigwin sent the boy off with another quick pat. “You really need to replace that cloak Love.” Therigwin continued, “You have had it since well before our campaign on Ulduar.”

Snorting Daraia got up and came to help him remove his own cloak, helm and weapons. “I would if we ever got any in the supplies we request. But so far I have only seen one and someone else was in even more need of it than me.” Therigwin grimaced as he considered that piece of information. “But enough about my cloak, Tirion pulled you all in for a meeting this morning and I saw Darion arrive as well so am I right in assuming we will finally be moving against Ice Crown Citadel soon?”

“It certainly is looking that way. My orders are to let Tirion know who all we have available to participate in the assault after looking at their performance in the trials.” Together the two removed the covers on the breakfast tray and settled down to eat. “So my little organizer, where do we stand? How are we looking as we prepare for the next phase in Tirion’s plan.?”

Sighing, Daraia let her head fall back, hands firmly clutching her steaming mug before replying. “While I understand WHY Tirion came up with this silly Darkmoon faire like event in Northrend, it has had both a positive and negative impact on us directly.

First Fizzlebang’s miscalculation took out the majority of our warlocks and many of the mages. Noddlee and Llano have been off dealing with Violet Citadel business ever since so other than a few brief incidents when she gets a chance to pop in and report we haven’t seen either of them in months. Have to say I miss them both greatly.

Second, with Holysmoke still out with injuries from that same incident and Enok deciding to retire we have a lot of young blood now working to fill those positions. We still are not certain what demands Darion may make of his Deathknights. For Alador and Reibisch especially this is even more personal than for the rest of us.

Over all that is what we are looking at, many of our veterans are down with injuries or have been out right killed these past months. We have some really talented new blood coming in of varying degrees of expertise. The biggest issue is getting them all to learn to work together and trust one another. Add to that the difficulties we have in getting the RIGHT supplies way up here and it is slowing us down a bit. Hopefully that will be corrected shortly but everyone is working hard to do the best they can with what they have....” glancing down she flicked her own cloak at him “even if it MAY be more well worn than we would prefer.”

Waving her hand towards the desk she continued. “The top few papers on your right are Schaikera and Syyand’s report giving their assessment of the various injured troopers and when they think they will be able to report for duty. The forms in the center stack give you a complete run down on where everyone is gear wise according to Banker. The final stack is a collection of reports from all the section leaders giving their assessments of each of the troopers under their jurisdictions. So if you take all that information together you should be able to come up with your list for Tirion.”

Nodding Therigwin looked over the neatly stacked pages. “That is all we can ask for at this point. They are good people everyone of them. It is an honor to lead them but I’m concerned that they may not bind together in time.”

“All we can do is try my love. You lead them as best you can and the up coming battles themselves will do more to refine them into a team.”

“What about you? Do you have any new commissions coming in from SI:7? I know you stepped down but that doesn’t mean they don’t still ask you to do side jobs for them.” Therigwin questioned as he surveyed the various reports.

“You know how I have never been comfortable with the conclusion of the investigation following Wrathgate and the Battle for the Undercity in regards to Bolvar. Mathais has finally given me approval to look into the matter more closely. But I need to keep it quiet as he doesn’t want word to get back to the King that we may have accidently abandoned a man on the field, at least until I have more solid information.

But that is not all. While conducting my preliminary scouting of the Ice Crown Citadel for the Ashen Verdict I stumbled across something that...well I am not quite sure how to take it.” Reaching into her shoulder pouch Daraia pulled out a small scrap of parchment and handed it across to Therigwin. Taking the stained and torn piece he could decipher but a single line: Please Help Me.

“I don’t understand.”

“I found that hidden in a piece of armor during my investigation regarding routes into Ice Crown Citadel. Remember I am a Grandmaster Inscriptionist. One of the things you learn with that is to take note of an individuals hand writing. It tells you a lot about the person. Well I was leader of this company for three years. During that time I saw a lot of correspondence that needed to be forwarded on to specific troops. That handwriting matches packages I have seen that came from Enok’s wife. In addition to that the armor piece I found matches a set I know Enok had custom crafted for her as a Winter Veil gift shortly before her death.

Unfortunately with Noddlee and Llano away I wasn’t sure who to have look at it to see if they could date it. I ended up taking it to Miep. He has shown a lot of promise and despite being a gnome seems to know when I need him to take things seriously. I didn’t tell him anything about it other than I wanted to know if he could give me a general idea as to when it was written.

“What did he have to say?”

“This is where it gets interesting. Miep was more than happy to help and assured me that he could easily do as I requested. He also of his own violation asked if I had discovered anything else WITH the note. Rather reluctantly I admitted I had and allowed him to see the wrist guard as well. According to Miep the letter seems to be no more than a few days old, a week at most and he was SOME HOW able to determine that whoever had last worn the armor piece was still alive. Not in the best of shape mind you but alive.”

Therigwin just stared at Daraia. “Are you trying to tell me that you not only think that Bolvar is alive but Enok’s late wife as well?”

Leaning forward Daraia continued. “I don’t really know WHAT to think. This came completely out of the blue. But I do think that Enok needs to know about it. Miep still has the wrist guard attempting to get as much information as he can from it.”

“I need to send Justin to Stormwind during our next supply run.” Therigwin tapped his desk absently as he thought about what Daraia had just shared with him. “While it would be preferable to send an old comrade that isn’t an option at the moment. Even though Justin may not know Enok personally I think he is strong enough personality wise to make sure Enok will at least hear what he has to say.”

“So you think I should send him our findings?”

“Yes, why don’t you get every last bit of information you can with Miep then find Justin and debrief him. After that we need to focus our efforts on preparing for the assault.”

“So this is it then. The time for us to move against Ice Crown is finally upon us.” Together the two stepped out of the tent and into the morning light.