Shadows Within

Kalderin knew the area better than the others, and was the only one able to lead the four of them around the northern edge of Astranaar, out of sight of the Alliance watchmen. The rogue didn't quite know how they had managed to make such good time, but he was silently thankful that they were closer to Crossroads. The human looked back, seeing the passing hints of exhaustion on the others' faces.

"We can make camping at the north edge of the lake," he told them, silently scanning the area.
"Thank 'de spirits," Shyla sighed, "mah feet feel like 'de gon' drop righ' off."
"Just hold it together a bit longer," Fronai coached her gently. "It's not too far a walk."

When they finally did reach the shore of Irish Lake, Fronai propped up an iron tent frame from his pack, and topped it with a large linen cover. For what little Kalderin knew about Engineering, he could tell it would hold up for the night.
"Who's on watch tonigh'?" the mage asked as he sat down and conjured bread and water for the group.
"I am," the human said, "I do not sleeping much, anywho."
Fronai nodded in agreement. "I remember," he commented, then took the food Rajas handed him with a nod. "Hungry, kid?"
Shyla saw him shake his head as her brother passed some bread and water to her. Ah wonder if he's allrigh', the shaman thought. He always seems li'kee don' wan' nobody to see 'im alone. The trolless began to think, forming a plan.

It had been several hours since they had crawled into the tent, and Fronai and Rajas had long since fallen asleep. Shyla, however, had not been fortunate enough to gain rest. She tossed and turned, trying to mentally exhaust herself, but ultimately failing.
With a reluctant sigh, she sat up and adjusted her leathers, making doubly sure she was covered, an old habit, then stepped out of the tent.
Fronai had set up near a cluster of trees, to keep out of sight; now, as Shyla glanced around, she marveled at the serene beauty, her eyes drinking in the scene. Her eyes lazily swept around, and found the rogue, sitting on the ground against a tree, his arms folded across his chest as usual.
As quietly as she could manage, the trolless walked over to him, scanning his sleeping form. Short in comparison to the races of the Horde, he did have, at least to the shaman, an almost exotic appeal. Her light, muffled footsteps tracked their way over to the young human. She stood, only a few feet away, watching him.

"You should be sleeping, Shyla. You will need it."
The shaman's eyes shot wide, and she shuffled a few steps away from Kalderin, who turned to her with a calm face. The boy usually had his hood and mask pulled over his face in hostile territory, but he seemed at enough ease to leave his face unveiled for the night.
"Ah can't," she admitted to him, and sat down on the grass. "No' tonigh'. What 'bout 'choo?"
He turned his eyes away from her, staring out at the lake. "I would rather be of waking."
The trolless cocked her head, her green, flowing hair sloping down towards the ground. "Whas' you pro'lem wit 'goin ta sleep?" she asked tentatively.
"I hold nightmares, Shyla. My dreams fill with the past of my days," he replied, still not looking at her.

The shaman noticed something, a detail she would have easily missed before; in the thick night, any kind of light would be very easy to see, especially for anyone who could see well in low light such as this. Now, the trolless saw a glint of a glow in the human's eyes, a flicker of a cold, sapphire blue that was gone as quick as she saw it.
"What'in de name o'?" she muttered, getting the rogue to turn towards her again, mild confusion painted on his face.
"What was dat 'choo jus did?" The question came out a little quicker than Shyla had meant to.
"What was what?" he replied, his face screwing up a bit more.
"Yo' eyes wah glowin', boy," she told him, pointing slightly.
"Oh," he said, his face shifting from confusion to mild disappointment, "that."

"Does dat' got sometin' ta do wit' the ah'cane magics you got?" The words now had a slight edge to them, becoming almost accusational.
"It is a very length story," he shot back quietly, "but yes, it does. Why are you to care?"
"Why didn'choo tell us?" she hissed.
"Sure," he growled at the trolless, "just tell a group of magic-hating that I was stained by the arcane? I fail to seeing the logic of this."
"Well, It'd be bettah' den lettin' dem' fin' out!" she told him in a loud whisper, having to force herself not to shout.

Kalderin glared at her for a moment, then turned away from the shaman's eyes. "I do not wanting you, or they, to find out. That is why I left the Alliance," he said darkly, "because they founded out. Their trust is no longer within me."
The trolless scoffed. "An' why ah you so s'prised 'bout dat?"
"Because I did nothing wrong," he spat, and the shaman felt a bubble of arcane energy radiate from him.
The human got up and walked over to the lake. Quietly, he took a deep breath and submerged his hands into the water. Shyla felt the corrupting energies wane from the air around him, and she almost thought she felt a spirit rush past her.
Kalderin exhaled and sat back down. "Warlocks try to use me," he said calmly, holding up a finger, "mages think I have stolen their art, hunters think I am a fiend, druids and priests believe me to be a demon, and paladins..." he shook his head ruefully. "I do not think I can tell all of their reasons. Also, the kal'dorei believe me to be some sort of corruptor."
Shyla was dumbstruck. "But... wh-... whad'joo doo to 'dem?" she stammered.
"I? I did nothing," he answered with a sigh, looking sadly off toward Astranaar.

Kalderin sat for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. The trolless' yawn snapped his attention back to reality. "Tired yet?" he asked her with a light smirk.
She smiled and nodded, and stood up, stretching a bit. "Das' wat' is lookin' like, ya," she admitted.
"Then get some sleep," he told her, "I promise I will be here when you three wake."
"You'd bettah be," she retorted over her shoulder, walking back to the tent.
The rogue watched her leave, making sure she got back to the tent before turning away. He made a silent prayer to whatever higher power that might be listening that he wouldn't dream, then closed his eyes, sinking into the barest state of half-sleep.

Fronai awoke to a soft tapping of metal upon metal. Groggily, the orc sat up and poked his head out the flap. "Hrm... Whozzat,outch'ere?"
The rogue snickered and put his dagger away. "I have no idea what you just said, but good morning to you, as well," he said.
"Time to gear up already?" the warrior asked, now a bit more awake.
"Yes, unfortunately," came the reply. "I have been seeing a few scouts in this area."
"Damnit," Fronai muttered. "Let me get the others."

Breaking the tent down and suiting up only took a few minutes, especially since Fronai had help getting his mail on. Past that, it became the semi-familiar trek south that they had already run once the other direction. Kalderin noticed that the night elf patrols had become more active and alert.
Silverwing Outpost was certainly difficult to pass. Hunters were stationed everywhere; the rogue alone counted a dozen, at least.
"Shit," the human muttered in Common. "This isn't gonna be easy."
A tap on the shoulder, and he turned his head. Shyla was giving him a very perplexed look.
"Sorry, I was thinking out loud," he told her, turning back to the outpost. We need a distraction.

They didn't have to wait long. A few sharp calls issued from the outpost, and Kalderin knew what had happened; Satyrs from the Night Run were rushing Silverwing Outpost.
Rajas was the first to speak. "Now's ah chance, mon," the mage said, nodding toward the battle.
"But, wha' 'bout dem?" his sister asked.
"They will be fine," Kalderin told her. "This is hardly the first time they have need to defense themselves."
The shaman bit her lip, but nodded.
"Okay," Fronai said. "Let's get this done."

Shyla and Kalderin ran ahead, the shaman transforming into a ghost wolf and the rogue sprinting like a messenger. The area around Siverwing Grove was oddly quiet for the situation, but it was nothing more than a swiftly passing thought as they crossed the border into the Mor'Shan base camp.
Passing the guards and ramparts, the human suddenly stopped dead.
"Oh no," he muttered to himself as the trolls turned around.
"Wha?" Rajas asked irately.
Kalderin turned around and stared off into Ashenvale, like a cow would do if it was stuck in front of the Deeprun Tram. "Eredar."
"Wait, WHAT?!" Fronai spat. "Demons? How do you know?" the warrior asked, amazed.
"I just know, Fronai," the rogue responded.

"So, wha'twee gon' ta do?" Shyla asked. From the sound of things, the human was trying to decide if he should help.
"I do not know," he told her almost dejectedly. "I was hoping to let them," he thumbed off towards Silverwing Outpost, "take care of this... but now, I am not sure if they can handle it."
"Splintertree," Fronai said.
Rajas arced an eyebrow at the orc. "Choo really 'tink de gon' help?" he asked sceptically.
"I still have a bit of clout there, Rajas," the warrior said with a smirk. "If you're gonna go, then go, kid. I'll get help."

The human thought for a moment, trying to balance the merit of having extra soldiers against the fact that they were Horde soldiers, and just as likely to cause a fight as prevent it., Finally, though, the rogue gave a slow, guarded nod.
"Understood," he told him, getting a relieved sigh out of the warrior.
"Good. Rajas, you want to go with him or me?"
The mage glanced between the two of them, deciding. "I'll go wit'choo," he finally said, but then turned to glare at the rogue. "An' choo," he growled, "bedda no let notin' 'appen ta mah sistah."
Kalderin had kept the troll's angry gaze the whole time, with the same calm facade as always. "I will doing what I can, Rajas," he replied evenly. "The ire of a Darkspear is not something I wish to have."

They traveled north, with Fronai and Rajas splitting off shortly after passing Fallen Sky lake. While he ran, Kalderin pulled up the cowl of his cloak, tying it down tight to keep it from blowing off, then pulled the mask over his nose. The enchantments helped to draw a haze over the human's face, blotting out everything but his eyes.
"Be careful with your magics, Shyla," he called out. "We do not wish to harm the night elves without cause."
A bark from the ghost wolf told him she understood. The rogue tilted his weight forward a bit more, getting more momentum and speed.
The shaman shifted forms again. "'Choo ready, mon?" she asked over her shoulder, the battle drawing closer.

Night elves and satyrs were clashing everywhere. One of the kal'dorei, a hunter, glanced over at the pair.
"Capitan!" the man yelled, "incoming!"
"About as ready as I can be," the rogue replied, rushing past his companion.
The hunter hadn't turned around, so he didn't see the satyr creeping up behind him. He threw himself to the ground as the human hurled a throwing axe past him.

"Son of a-" His curse was quickly cut off by the sound of a body hitting the floor, loud. The "assailant," garbed in close-fitting and dark leathers, had just saved him.
"Get the big one!" the stranger shouted as he passed by, drawing a pair of daggers.
The other one, a light blue trolless, stopped briefly, and to the night elf's amazement, offered him a hand up.
He reached out, grateful, and gave a nod to her in thanks. Also wrapped in leather, this one must have been a shaman; her weapon was a dead giveaway. She smiled at him, and tapped him on the shoulder with a handful of green energy.

"Shyla!" the Stranger called out.
The trolless turned, and the rogue told her something in Orcish. The hunter's hair stood on end. He's with the Horde!?
The shaman nodded and looked back to the night elf. She gave him a thumbs-up with a questioning look, then pointed at him.
"What, me?" he asked on reflex, before remembering that she didn't know Common. He nodded vigorously, and the shaman gave him another relieved grin before getting to work.

"Alut!" the hunter yelled, giving a sharp whistle. The boar almost knocked one of Kalderin's feet out from under him as it rushed back to his master.
The human stopped for a brief moment, focusing on the mass of demonic energy. Where are you, you lousy little...
Sudenly, a wave washed over him, powerful enough to force him to fight the urge to vomit.
Demonologists, up on the hill overlooking the fight.

Shyla saw the rogue drop to a knee, and ran over to him. "Ey!" she shouted, shaking him, "get up, mon! Whassamata wit'choo?"
"They're summoning an Eredar," he croaked, "just like I thought. Up there."
She followed his hand, and saw them; three human Warlocks, standing in a half-circle. "Oh, das' jus' great," the shaman said flatly.
Kalderin stood up, but something was wrong. She felt it. "Murder," he growled slowly, his voice dropping an entire octave, becoming gravely and dark. Shyla looked at the ground, at his shadow-

-and instead of the cloaked figure, she saw the silhouette of a half-naked young man, with shackles affixed to his wrists and ankles, lengths of chain over four feet long trailing off of each one, and moving on their own accord.
"Kalderin?" she asked, her voice quiet and fearful.
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Huzzah!

Nova Alexandria: Well, I'm getting into the habit of writing that way, so it should be easier to read now.

M.R.B.: See above. ^_^

And I'm glad to hear that my fight scenes are so enjoyable! It's weird, because I have to think about what the spells and abilities would do in terms other than HP damage, but, at the same time, it makes it more interesting.