Shadows Within

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fronai searched around, looking for the distinctive tabard of one of his guildmates. It took some time, but the sight of the black spade on ashen grey cloth brought a smile to the warrior's face. In no time, one of their mages was listening to the orc's wild tale with no lack of belief, for she had been present for the battle. Within short notice, a portal to Orgrimmar was erected for the waiting group.

"Come on, pinkskin," Fronai told the rogue with a beckoning gesture.
He stared at the shimmering mass of magic with apprehension painted plain on his face, casting cautious glances at the troll who stood beside Fronai. Rajas was clearly nettled at his colleague's suggestion of bringing the human anywhere near the capital while the man was still drawing breath.
"Are you being assure... of these?" the human asked, his hesitance doing little to assist his lackluster communication.
The warrior nodded with confidence. "Our guildmistress already knows about this episode," he explained, "and has expressed interest in your talents. If nothing else, we are still guarding you, so you should be allowed safe passage."

"Only if 'e be in shackles, ya mean," the mage spat.
The rogue's face screwed up for a flash of a second, but it was gone just as quick when he looked the orc square in the face. "If me are must... being hold back," he stammered without fear or worry, "then be doing as such."
Fonai shrugged at the young man's unfettered response and outstretched hands, and clapped the manacles that had been used in his initial capture back to his wrists, and lead the human into the undulating gateway, giving Rajas a "cover me" look which the surly mage honored without pause.

Dagor watched them, unfazed, as they left. If they really wanted to send him into the lion's den, so be it; the forsaken warrior had other, better things to do with his time.
If the kid lives, though, he thought, then maybe he's got something. Dumb luck, I'd wager... but maybe not.

The guards listened to Fronai's request respectfully. Bringing the prisoner back for "cultural acclimation" was, under ordinary circumstances, the single most addle-brained idea one could use to keep a captive safe. This case, however, was the proverbial needle in the haystack when combined with many and varied reports of the human's bravery and otherwise docile behavior preceding the skirmish.
The head of the guild Fallen Requiem had also placed such a request through many channels, so the information had trickled down through most of the official ranks in the city. When a lady of her standing, especially one who never asked for much, laid down a call for "just one selfish requisition," it tended to get noticed in a hurry.

Though there was no guild hall to speak of, one of the numerous buildings nestled in the Drag served as an impromptu meeting area whenever important discussions were called within the guild. Now, the ground floor was occupied by the three figures, sitting with varied amounts of agitation and anticipation for the guild's leader to show.
The door creaked open, and the human's face went partially slack as a female forsaken encased in a dark suit of plate armor strode into the room and nodded at her guild mates. Fronai and Rajas saluted, earning an exasperated sigh from their leader before she sat.
The chair groaned under her armor-clad weight, but held firm as it had countless times before, and Elarien removed her helmet, releasing the shock of swept back, faded green hair from its encasement, and set the piece on the table before her. She said something to the others, who nodded, and twisted a ring that sat on her left gauntlet a few times before turning her once charming face to the young man.

"Well, don't just sit there like you've been struck, boy," she said in a full, but easy, voice.
When the rogue's brain registered that she was speaking Common, he shook both his mind and body in an effort to regain his composure.
She laughed, the sound rolling out strong and alive, far more boisterous than any other sound the undead were supposed to make. "Oh, snap out of it, man," she chuckled, "that look is hardly becoming of you!"
The human shook again, and finally spoke, his own voice soft and reserved. "Sorry... I've had a lot to take in here, recently."

They talked for quite some time, in a language Fronai couldn't comprehend. He knew it was the tongue of the Alliance, and knew of the magical ring his guildmistress wore that let her speak any other language for a time, but he had never bothered to study their speech. It didn't seem practical, or very possible, for that matter.
When the pair finally stopped, Elarien looked to Rajas and Fronai and inclined her head to the side, asking them to follow her. They both rose, matching step into a more deserted part of the room.

"It would seem we're looking at a potential ally here," the warrior told them both.
"How so, guildmistress?" the orc questioned.
She scratched behind her head with a half-covered talon before she replied, "Well, he says his main drive is hunting demons, and from what little I've heard, he seems good at that. The Alliance had been..." It took several seconds of searching before the forsaken's mind gave the proper words.
"... well, less than impressed, we'll say, with a particular misfortune he suffered in the line of duty," she finally told them.

Fronai rubbed his chin in thought. "So, he was exiled by them?"
"Not quite," she retorted. "More like they pushed him to a fringe, and he just walked out himself."
Her fellow warrior nodded, giving a passing glance at the silent troll, who shrugged with total apathy. Elarien was far from surprised at Rajas' reaction; the mage made no pretense of caring about the young human.
"So, is he to be trusted?" the orc asked.
His guildmistress nodded. "He keeps many things to himself, and what little he has told me I have agreed not to relay. He'll come around in time."

The forsaken finished speaking with her guildmates and returned to the table to retrieve her helm. "If you want to get buddy-buddy with the Horde, my suggestion would be to start in Ashenvale. The satyrs there give everyone trouble, and I'm sure no one would miss a few dozen or so."
He nodded. "You know that one from experience, I take it?"
Elarien smirked, and even the few missing patches of skin that dotted her face couldn't mar her once subtle beauty; in a way, she reminded him of an old friend. She said nothing, just curled her arm around the empty helmet, rested it on her hip, and looked over at the pair of Horde soldiers.
"Ashenvale," was all she told them.
"Understood." The orc hesitated for a moment before opening his mouth a second time. "We never got his name."
"I was not in expectation of being survived," the Human said with a flat tone as he rose. "Kalderin Rhode, my naming is."

They all left the half-ruined building and moved toward the entrance to Orgimmar. They were closing in on the gate when a new voice stopped them.
"'Ey, don' go tearin' off like that, mon!"
Rajas' eyes shot open as they turned around to face another troll, this one female, who was running to catch up with them, her blue skin flush with exertion.
"Shyla?" Fronai asked. "What're you doing here?"
"Elarien sent me to 'elp ya out. Said dat de boy 'ere migh' need it," she responded.
Before anyone could ask anything else, the mage began shouting in their native language, getting an equally angry response from the other.
The rogue looked at them in confusion for a moment. "This happens all the time," Fronai said with a sigh. "That's his sister."
The human nodded, and said nothing.

With a defeated growl, Rajas finally caved. "Fine, come wit' us if ya hafta," he muttered in Orcish, "but don't go gettin' in de way."
"Don' count on it, brudda," she told him before turning to the Human. "Ah tink ya migh' need 'dese potions, boy," she told him as she handed over five vials. He gave the trolless a suspicious look, but she shook her head told him, "If ya need to speak quickly an' well, den use one o' dese, mon. Oh, an' before ah fo'get, take dis, too."
She handed him a bundle, wrapped up in a large piece of dark cloth. Seeing the cloak, Kalderin stopped dead. "Why... were they still having these?" he asked in amazement.
"Choo were a star prisoner, mon," Shyla told him.
The rogue nodded, a light playing in his bright blue eyes. "A moment, please," he told them, and began to strap his armor back on.

Their first destination was Zoram'Gar Outpost. Kalderin looked back at his three traveling companions, trying not to get too far ahead of them.
Fronai, he thought, was actually rather skinny for an orc. The mail armor was an obvious indicator of his warrior training, but the rogue could barely help but think that Fronai might have been one of those kids that got pushed around a little too much.
Rajas was a bit of an enigma, but he certainly held fast to the quite accurate troll stereotype: Hate, hate, hate. That was the only thing he saw come out of the mage.
Shyla, on the other hand, seemed to have a far more open mindset; from what little of her that the human had seen and heard, she possessed a curiosity that rivaled most gnomes. Unlike a gnome, however, the trolless knew when not to follow something that piqued her interest.

It took them the better part of an hour to reach friendly territory, due to the constant need to dodge night elf patrols, and the occasional Alliance wanderer, but they finally did arrive.
The next two days were spent gathering information, and Kalderin used that time to brush up on his Orcish. By the time that they had gathered some solid intelligence, the human had progressed to the point of not having to stop every three or four words to think of how they fit together.
When word came that a group of Satyrs were seen mulling about the Blackfathom Deeps, the four of them prepared to leave. Rumors were spreading that the creatures near the Deeps were becoming stronger, and thinking over them them gave the rogue a shadow of dread as they approached the depalidated wreck that had become an impromptu boundary.

"Are you ready, human?" Fronai asked over his shoulder.
"My readiness matters not, warrior," Kalderin replied, searching the area, "but we shall be seeing shortly, who is ready and who is not."
He glanced over at the trolls, just to check if they were prepared; the mage was eyeing the shore, ready to blast anything, and Shyla had pulled out an axe, and was whispering a prayer to the spirits. Her eyes and face went slack as she concentrated for a moment. Satisfied, Kalderin loosened the two daggers in their sheathes and gripped one of his deadly throwing axes tight with the slow mounting of adrenaline.
The shaman shook her head, clearing the remnants of her far sight. "We be good, fo' de momen' a'least," she said in little ore than a whisper.
The slowly setting sun tried to play havoc with their eyes, bending and reflecting off of the nearby sea. Kalderin turned away from it, letting the wind flap through his ebon hair, and grimaced under his mask.


They moved quick, hurrying up the beach, which was altogether void of any and all life, and only made to slow down as they neared a marble structure that sat in front of the entrance to the Deeps. Kalderin stopped them here and glanced all around, searching for something.
"What is it?" the Warrior asked, but the Human made no response. After a moment, the Rogue pointed off to the west.
"Something is out there," he told them.
Shyla nodded, already chanting again at his prompt. "'Dere be abou'... six or sev'n o 'dem out dere," she said with a slow, out-of-focus voice. "De in a pack, too close to ge' one o' dem to chase us out."
Kalderin nodded with grim determination. "I can grasping their attention, no problems," he told the others, "just get readying to fight."
Without another word, the rogue spoke a single, clipped word in Common, and the Horde's soldiers felt a subtle pull of magics toward him. In an instant, his form faded into nothing.

Shyla and Rajas looked at each other, both of them a little dumbstruck.
"What did he just do?" Fronai asked them, easily as bewildered as the casters.
"'E used ahcane powah to 'ide 'imself, mon," the mage told him, a little shocked.
"Wait, arcane?" the orc asked, "How could he do that?"
Shyla shook her head darkly. "I don' know, Fronai... but Ah tink I be needin' to talk to de boy 'ere soon abou' dat."
Fronai glanced back and forth between the two of them, then tuned back to the west, trying to find the human amidst the fading rays of the twilight.

As Fronai began digging in his pack, Kalderin moved toward the group of twisted creatures that were once kal'dorei. Any average rogue would have been seen by them, but the human knew he was cloaked from their view... at least for the moment.
The prints of his boots vanished after each step, preventing all but the most watchful of eyes from tracking him as he snuck ever closer to his targets.
They stood in a circle, all facing outward, as if to protect something. The rogue evaluated the situation for a moment, trying to find a way to distract them long enough to put them down, and not give away the positions of his companions at the same time.

The warrior lowered his ornate spyglass and performed a few mental calculations that he soon began to scribble on a spare sheet of parchment. He twisted a few knobs on the brazen framework of his portable mortar launcher, and looked through his glass again, double-checking his calculations.
"I still don't see him anywhere," he muttered to Rajas and Shyla.
"Ah don' tink he wan's to be foun', Fronai," the shaman replied with a roll of her eyes.
"Well, I don't want to blow him up," the orc shot back, trying to keep his voice down.
This time, it was Rajas' turn to sigh. "Den put dat damn 'ting away, mon. Ah'm not sure if dat's even wort' de trouble."
Fronai grit his teeth together and glared back at them both. "Well, do you have any better ideas?" he hissed.

Kalderin crept closer, now standing only ten yards away from the satyrs. He slipped one dagger from its sheath quietly, holding it blade down as always, pulling its brother out from another sheath strapped to his upper right arm.
He closed the distance to a meager five yards, but halted, waiting for one of the beasts to turn its back to him. After what felt like several minutes, he spun the daggers both once in his palms, trying to outlast his own impatience.
The rogue saw an opening and took a firm step, but stopped when he heard a dull noise to the south. The satyrs heard it, too, and three of them turned to see what the noise was. Kalderin looked up as well-

-and silently swore as the mortar shell landed two yards away from the assembled group of creatures. Half of the pack were reeling from the force of the blast, and the rogue wasted no time, taking a handful of shuffling steps to place himself in prime position to strike.
Both daggers jammed into the demon's lungs without hesitation, casing off the supernatural forces keeping the human concealed, and earning a strangled cry from the satyr as its lungs began to fill with blood. Without so much as a contemplative twitch, the daggers came out, then slammed down into both of the creature's shoulders, striking a cluster of nerves with sinister force.
The three satyrs that had not been stunned by Fronai's bombardment wheeled around to see the human, lunging at him a ferocious speed. A quick glance over his shoulder was all Kalderin was able to get before being knocked over by one of the demons.
They both rolled several feet on the sands, but the rogue's training proved quicker than fel instinct as he pushed himself from the grapple to a wobbly stand.
A gloved hand opened one of the belt pouches and grabbed a fistfull of the contents, then hurled them out with a flick of the wrist. The flash powder flared into life for the brief moment the young man needed to dissapear once more.

Ignoring his previously wounded, and now dying, prey, Kalderin hurried over to the stumbling satyr, letting his many years of merciless killing prepare him for the next few seconds. His blood began to chill physically as he studied the creature, letting his body regain its energy as he searched for the best places to lay his blades.
Just as the other two stunned satyrs were recovering, he strode forward, his murderous intent spilling away like smoke from a fire.
One dagger raked down across its eyes, catching it off guard and assuring it wouldn't struggle. As the veil of stealth waned again, he flipped both daggers in his hands, blades down, and rammed them square into the demon's soft belly.
There was a moment's stunned pause on all fronts when the human dug his heels into the sand and wrenched his hands in opposite directions, tearing the thing's gut wide open; blood, organs and viscera spilled out in slow-motion until the rogue pulled the daggers away, letting the pathetic corpse slump to the ground.

Kalderin wasn't fool enough to press his luck any further, not without someone else to watch his back. Besides, he had done all he could at the moment, which was exactly the plan to begin with.
With dark, tainted fluids still dripping from his weapons and body, he turned to the south and broke into a dead run, grinning under his mask at the furious shouts that dogged his every step.

Rajas stood in plain view before the shipwreck, glaring down the beach at the human as he charged along, trailing blood the whole way. The boy made a change in direction, shifting his focus from the structure to the ship, and sheathed his daggers while pulling a cluster of axes from his belt.
He slowed within a few yards of the troll, but rather than stop, he hopped from the ground, turning to hurl one of the axes at the foes behind him. The rogue's aim was erratic, caroming at least a foot to the wrong side, but when he rolled back to his feet, the missiles began to find themselves closer to their marks.
An explosion ripped the air suddenly, hurling a satyr from its hooves as the land mine Fronai set was triggered. The remaining three continued to run, but now bolts of cold magic from Rajas slowed their advance. The rogue supplemented his own scant marksmanship, but the demons were closing fast.

"Lok'tar Ogar!!"

Kalderin forgot to hurl another axe in surprise as Fronai literally appeared out of the empty air beside him, surging with fury and strength as he charged at the group of satyrs, barreling headlong into their loose formation. A soft sound alerted the rogue to Shyla's presence as she laid a totem into the ground, giving Kalderin the illusion that the wind itself had been imbued into his very hands.
Without thinking, the rogue drew his daggers and joined the orc in combat, lashing out at exposed flesh where he could.

The trolless gave the briefest of pause before chanting a call to the spirits, and loosed a bolt of lightning that jumped from demon to demon in the same instant her brother had called down a blizzard onto their heads.
The human saw the chilled creatures grouping together, and placed a kick square into the chest of his current annoyance, driving it back into the unwitting pack. Fronai let a loud, primal bellow rip from his chest as the axe he wielded traced a flaming arc into the side of one satyr's chest, cutting a deep and bleeding wound into it.

There was one complication, however; the satyr that had been sent reeling by the land mine had missed the majority of the fighting, and had the sense to skirt the raging hail of ice, so to better kill the less armored figures.
But the siblings were hardly fooled. A quick glance was all they needed before releasing another simultaneous pair of spells that set the corrupted beast ablaze, and Shyla summoned a spirit of stone into her axe as she ran to meet the burning near-corpse.

Kalderin yanked the dagger out in a single, smooth pull, not watching as the blood spurted from between the demon's ribs; he was more focused on the foolish one who ducked out of the way of the warrior's swing. The orc's battle axe never slowed as he brought the steel cleaver around, arced above his head, and brought it back down in an overpowering blow.
The power of the totem nearby took hold of the human, quickening his daggers even further and spiking his adrenaline. Deciding it was time to end the fight, he let the rush of speed propel his weapons to the pinnacle of deadly swiftness.

His blades became naught more than a brace of cold grey blurs, striking everything that dared come near. Shyla's spirit-crafted lightning echoed the sentiments, causing more chaos that Fronai chose to ignore, instead opting to imitate the forces of nature she so easily called. The axe slammed to the ground, letting loose a peal of thunder to disorient their foes.
Two corpses fell limp in a handful of breaths, which soon became two and a half when the rogue knocked one more satyr to its knees and wrapped a leather cord that connected to his bracer around its neck. Shyla dropped her "feeble spellcaster" facade, and thew herself into the remaining fray in earnest, swinging her hatchet with murder in her red eyes.

The number fell to three with a heavy burst of arcane magic, then dropped to an abrupt count of two with a gout of brackish blood. The survivors were not stupid; they turned to flee without a second thought, but to no avail.
The trolless hurled a shock of pure cold at the back of one, slowing its advance for the warrior to intercept. The other was tackled by the human, who proceeded to flip the thing onto its back and ram the daggers into its face with an air of somewhat disturbing glee.

His fulfilling work finished, the rogue pushed himself to a stand and walked back to the others, heaving and panting like a man who had run a full mile, and doubled over to catch his breath.
"Everyone allright?" the warrior asked, looking over his group.
"I... will live," the human puffed between gasps.
Rajas merely nodded, pulling out a few bottles of conjured water and passing them around.
"Ah be fine, Fronai," Shyla told him. "'ow 'bout cho'self?"
The orc gave a sly grin, putting his axe away. "Golden."
"How did... you vanish like... that?" the rogue asked with an uneven gait, trying not to pronounce the words through his heavy breathing.
Fronai held up a small, watch-like contraption. "Gnomish cloaking device," he said proudly. "A little gift from a good friend."

Kalderin sighed, shaking his head while he pulled down his hood. "Cheater."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Woot! Finally done! And it only took... erm... a while...

Damn job.

Allright, time for reveiws!

Mistah Eleganza: Yeah, I thought about 13th Warrior when I looked over it. I like the whole idea of immersion, it gives me something interesting to work with, not to mention an excuse for occasional errors in grammar. ^_^ And oh yes, there will be Trolls.

AzureBonds: Well, I hope this little brawl won't dissapoint! The rib trick was actually a random idea I had while writing; I wondered what a resourceful person would do if they didn't have a weapon, and then POW!

M.R.B.: Wish granted! I'm glad I have piqued your intrest.

Kamisori: Promising, eh? Good to know... I hope my job lets me continue. =P

Employee13: Exclamation points of joy! I appreciate your input.

Ymir: Hey, just saying that you would like more is more than enought for me.

Anon: I'm happy it amused you. Dagor is a very matter-of-fact man... corpse... thing... He speaks his mind whenever he feels like.

Tim: Scaffolding? Makes me feel like I'm making something important. ^_^

Nova Alexandria: Well, I'm not perfect, I'll be the first to admit. Not quite sure how that last paragraph should have been split to flow smoothly, but I'll take a look at it. But it's nice to know I've got people going!

And of course, thank all of you who like the fic, weather you tell me or not. And if you like this one, go read my other two... one's actually got smut in it! *gasp*