Tarren Mills is under attack!

Kasteus sat downstairs in the Inn, seated himself at an empty table and scrutinized the pages of his libram for study while he waited for Arcelare to come downstairs with that haughty, accomplished stride he always got after finishing up with someone. He looked at the symbols and drawings, with many notes written everywhere. The writing was Kasteus’ tight, controlled script written at each inch of available paper, notes on the Light, notes he’d scribbled as his trainer lectured him, and notes of various importance. His study was that of retribution at the moment.

The paladin couldn’t help but grin at the noises coming from upstairs, as always Arcelare was unmerciful in his tactics. It must have lasted a few minutes at the most, before he heard no more screaming, meaning the priest must have gave into the Kal’dorei. There was another minute of silence, and Kasteus expected to find the Night Elf strolling down the stairs to join the Draenei at any moment.

Not seconds after he’d finished thinking, rough grunting and steps were heard through the muffling wooden ceiling. Kasteus didn’t know what to think of it at first, didn’t know weather Arcelare decided to take the torture to a next step, or if either elf were in trouble… He clapped his book closed and hung it on a chain at his waist. He’d inspect either way.

* * *

Arcelare looked over his shoulder at the swinging window, and frowned. He was about to pull over his shirt, when he heard a ‘clack’ and the window just creaked open. How unusual, he thought. He knelt down and slowly took his long steel sword in hand, brushing his fingertips over the hilt while he approached the open window with caution. He gradually lifted his hand up towards the window’s latch, and then it happened. A shadow from the corner of his eye elongated and snapped out. It was as fast as a trapdoor spider, and nearly as effective. Arcelare moved his hand with the speed of a Kal’dorei and smashed his long sword through the glass of the matching window that would clasp onto the open window. The steel sliced through the glass, easily shattering the iron bars that held the glass and the wooden frame.

He reached his free hand out and grabbed onto something, and pulled it inside the room. By the looks, what he had in his hand was a head of red hair attached to a lanky man. He threw the man inside and let go, standing at a ready pose with his sword in one hand but his shield missing from the other. He narrowed his eyes as he realized he was dealing with a rogue.

Not a second was wasted, immediately after he’d released the rogue the other man made his flight into an easy handspring backwards and landed to crouch on the floor like a feline. He lunged forward at Arcelare, his gleaming dual blades glossed with poison, and slashed for his throat. Arcelare brought up his weapon to parry the rogue’s attacks, and kicked him away. But, true to his athletics, the rogue brought up his leg and blocked Arcelare’s kick with his own. Then the other man retreated away soundlessly.

Now it was Arcelare’s turn, he basically leapt forward, and swung his blade for the rogue’s leading leg which was quickly removed from the sword’s swing. The rogue swung his body to meet one of his daggers to Arcelare’s face while the other dagger swung with his body to try again, much like Arcelare’s whirl wind technique. He intercepted the first dagger with the hilt of his sword and met the other with open air as he ducked.

The smaller man was forced backwards by the force of the block, and stood, panting slightly. It didn’t take Arcelare more than a moment to recognize the rogue as another Sin’dorei, judging him by the fiery hair he knew to belong to their race, and the raging fel-green eyes. He would have smirked if he wasn’t preoccupied by parrying and blocking a flurry of attacks, and only reacted with his own blur of whizzing blade attacks. The Sin’dorei was excellent at dodging and even more formidable with his combat techniques. But Arcelare was also good at dodging and parrying, though not as quick and efficient as the rogue with a weapon.

It might have been ten seconds that’d gone by since Arcelare dragged the other man into the room, then the door burst open and the two combatants froze briefly to regard who it was. Of course, it was the Draenei paladin, huge mace in hand and glaring at everyone in the room.

* * *

Artris took the Kal’dorei’s stunned look as an opportunity. While the warrior was looking at the paladin, he leapt forward and had a perfect shot at the man’s naked stomach. Baring his daggers like fangs he swept his arm and aimed his sickle blade. He was quickly disrupted with a flash of light from the corner of his eye, the light felt like a kick as it hit him in the side. He screeched on the wood floor before he recovered in a blink, he rolled to his feet, but was dazed slightly giving the consequence that he couldn’t move very far before he felt a slash come across his defending forearm. It would have probably sheered his damn wrist off if he wasn’t wearing his leather gloves. Still, the attack sent him another few feet backwards.

He recalculated his odds, and switched targets. The paladin was more dangerous than this warrior. He grunted with the quick movements on his injured arm, and reached into one of his pouches, and flung his arm in front of him, releasing the irritating powder into the air in front of the Kal’dorei. The warrior was hit in the face with the powder, and blinded, scratching and rubbing at his eyes with fractious growls.

Artris ducked through the warrior’s legs and skidded to jump at the paladin, like a viper. The paladin had his mace up and ready. Artris moved and aimed his daggers to the weak points of the paladin’s plate armor, under his arms, his neck, his knees, and between his belt and his chest guard at his abdomen. He ducked under the first initial attack and quickly swung his daggers upwards to catch the Draenei under one of his arms. It didn’t bleed though, he wore a chain mail vest to cover it, but Artris guessed it still had the effectiveness of being hit hard with a cudgel. Then he started his art. With precise aiming of a combat specialist he took his dagger hard across the Draenei’s protected hamstring, and took his combination rally to cut and dart at the paladin’s mail, exposing most of his body beneath, dipped behind him and garrotted him in the back. All within seconds.

Artris backed away behind the paladin, but amazingly, an arc of Light appeared out of seemingly nowhere, and thrashed at him. The solid-like Light attack hit him like a brick wall in the chest and sent him backwards to smack against the closed door, knocking the wind out of his lungs. He saw the huge mace descend on him suddenly, and brought his arms up defensively, keeping his daggers in an X across both his wrists, for surely he couldn’t stop the mace with his bare hands. The impact of the paladin’s weapon on his daggers was like a metal mallet on toothpicks. A horrible vibration went down his body, rattling his bones, and smashing his daggers out of his grasp. He swore to himself and saw the Draenei lift his mace for another hit, and took his chance to strike out his leg. His kick caught the paladin in the stomach, hard, interrupting his attack.

The rogue rolled away to safety and swept his foot out swiftly to knock the paladin off his feet. Personally, he was surprised he wasn’t dead yet, really. He could tell immediately when he was grabbed by the hair and flung inside that the warrior had the upper hand on his experience level. And the paladin too. If he made it out of this he’d buy so much flowers and gift for his trainer for teaching him how to dodge and parry, she wouldn’t have any place to put them all. Dumb luck was on his side today.

Or was it? Something stomped behind Artris as he crouched after kicking the Draenei’s hooves out beneath him, and that something was deathly close. He barely had a chance to turn around before he saw a huge metal wall coming at his face. It knocked him clear across the room. He skidded and rolled until his back slapped against the other wall. He coughed, and blood drooled down nose and lacerated temple. Out of breath, and dazed from the impact, he could barely hear someone coming at him until he felt an uncomfortable pushing coming from his shoulder and go through it. At first, through his haze, it was warm then icy and then painful. It took a moment for his eyes to focus, but he saw the Night Elf standing over him with a bloody sword and shield. So he’d gotten to his shield, huh? The look of disgust and irritation on the elf’s face made Artris want to chuckle.

The Kal’dorei raised his sword hand once more, and plunged it into Artris’ abdomen, making the rogue gag when he twisted it in his kidney.

“Wait!! Stop!”

Artris heard that voice through the annoying buzzing in his ears, and looked to where it had come from. Forgotten in the frenzy of battle, the priest was holding a blanket over his nakedness, a worried and horrified look on his gentle face. Artris’ eyes looked to the bloodstained shackles on the priest’s wrists and scowled.

Then his blurred gaze fell on the man who’d beaten him, the warrior. The Night Elf was also gazing at the priest, but his look was unpleasant. To his side he saw the priest shrink away from the unpleasant gaze. It made Artris furious to see him do that.

The rogue turned his enraged glare to look up at the Kal’dorei. He lurched as the long sword was ripped from his body, but made no sound.

* * *

Arcelare took back his sword, and backed away from the injured rogue, glaring angrily down at the bleeding Sin’dorei. What kind of idiot storms into a room that wasn’t cased, has a lethal Alliance in it and an unknown amount of people guarding? The rogue was an amateur and he’d beaten both him and Kasteus at the same time, or so. Arcelare had been blinded by that cheap trick for a few seconds, so that didn’t count.

He turned his attention to the priest on the bed. The exhausted looking man climbed off the bed with the sheets covering his body. He must have unwrapped the shackles from the post, thought Arcelare. He approached cautiously, and put his hands on Arcelare’s arm, that damn cute pleading look in the elf’s eye asked him not to do anything. But he slapped the Sin’dorei’s hands off of him and pointed his sword down at the rogue’s throat.

“Should we kill ‘em?” he asked Kasteus without taking his eye off the wheezing rogue.

“It doesn’t matter to me. But think of it, vhat if you do kill him and throw his corpse out the vindow? Von’t a guard find it? Vhat if a guard finds the corpse of a pursuer?” replied the Draenei, who had picked himself up off the ground. “And say if you didn’t kill him?”

Arcelare’s mind scrambled to think of all the different possibilities. And a lot there were. He looked over his shoulder at the paladin, “Um, another seller?” he grinned.

The paladin only shook his head at the response, done with arguing with Arcelare. “Maybe this rogue vill be a plaything for the priest, for now. I don’t care for him though. But look deep into dose teary, round eyes and tell the priest no.”

And Arcelare did, and was trapped in the priest’s pleading eyes that made him look like a child. He frowned, and looked down at the rogue with only sale prices dashing though his eyes. “Whatever. But I swear,” he pointed his sword at the rogue in threat, “if you dare touch a single hair on my priest, or one of us. I’ll end you.”

He looked at the rogue’s covered face and saw only hate, furious agonizing hate. Arcelare knew this one couldn’t be trusted. He’d have to be broken, soon. For now, he’d keep them all in this room until something was done with the rogue.

Kasteus stood on the other side of the room, and picked up the two daggers that were dropped and held them like they were disgusting. “And these toys?”

“Throw ‘em out.”

Kasteus put them in his bag, having different plans for such valuable daggers made out of such valuable material.

Arcelare reached down and grabbed the rogue by his injured wrist and hauled him up, the other making no such sound, and shoved him at the priest. His silvery gaze held the priest’s, and he said in the most threatening voice he could muster, “Don’t you dare heal him, either.”

* * *

“Why are you here?” Donelzane’s voice trembled, with excitement and fear. He was glad someone knew where he was now, but he feared for their life now that his captors had him also.

“I came to save you, of course. You ARE the abducted person from Tarren Mills, right?” replied Artris in a hushed voice. The priest nodded and had come towards him and knelt to his side. The rogue was seated painfully against the wall, struggling for breath as his insides bled from the warrior’s intense stabbing.

Artris looked at the priest and was shocked to see his shoulders shudder, and he dropped his head. “Hey, wait now! You can’t cry,” he scorned him. “Not in front of these monsters. Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?” he asked in true concern. He looked to see the Draenei and the Kal’dorei retreat to the other side of the room where there was a table. But that table was right by the window, and the door was blocked by the Draenei. There was no easy escape for Artris.

“No, I-I’m fine…,” muttered the priest. But he didn’t look fine. He was covered in bruises, he still wore those filthy shackles, and he had dark bags under his eyes. He’s been through a lot… “But. You aren’t fine,” continued the priest in a firm tone.

“Heh, I’ll live,” replied the rogue. “In fact, I didn’t expect to make it inside for more than five seconds. And here I am, sitting all bashed up and shit, while those idiots sit there and make sure of what? That I don’t escape? Do you know why I ain’t dead?”

“No… But, I might have a guess… It--It isn’t pleasant,” said Donelzane, putting his palms over the gashes and stabs on the rogue’s exposed skin. When he looked at the injuries that his wannabe rescuer had, he couldn’t help think that he’d gotten off easy. He’d seen the carnage an Alliance master could do, and this was nothing…

Donelzane let his hands start glowing, his fingertips started to warm up and soon his wrists felt warm then up to his arms. He didn’t have any healing spells that would help the rogue in the least, but he could at least stop the bleeding inside him… His wrist was quickly snatched and his healing spell was interrupted, Donelzane looked up at the rogue in surprise.

“Didn’t you hear him? He said no healing me,” hissed Artris. He let the priest’s wrist go, and put his own hand over his wound on his abdomen. Putting pressure on it so he didn’t bleed to death on the outside, he’d try to help himself so he didn’t bleed on the inside. He whispered curses as he sat up in pain, blood gushing from between his fingers. But he quickly activated his herbalist talent, and he felt his wounds being sewed together, and after a few seconds he wasn’t bleeding internally anymore. But he sure as hell wasn’t 100%.

“I can’t understand Common,” admitted the priest, a hint of shame in his voice. But Artris patted him gently. It was understandable. By the look of his face, he didn’t think the priest was old enough to have been involved in the enslavement of the Sin’dorei. Artris knew Common because he use to be in the front lines with the Alliance, fighting Horde.

“Where are they taking you?” Artris whispered. All he got was a shrug. So, the priest didn’t know. “Why did they take you?” Another shrug. “You’re naked… Did they…?” A pause, and a slow nod.

Artris bit back his swearing. He looked at the Night Elf who looked overall self-satisfied, looking at Artris with that infuriating Kal’dorei smirk of his. He glared in return, and looked away, back to the priest.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Donelzane Seredian,” replied the priest with that little quiver that seemed to be apart of his voice now.

“My name’s Artris Blint. I expect the cavalry to be here by tomorrow.”

“W-What? The-- you mean, people are coming? Why?”

“For you, duh. And, I guess me now,” Artris chuckled. “Dumb thing to do, huh? I heard you screaming for the past few minutes and began to worry, so I came in recklessly.” Artris grinned a grin of a cat.

Donelzane blushed hard as Artris explained himself, “I… I, uh, I wasn’t being… tortured… if that’s what you were thinking.” His blush turned more red at admitting to it. Artris was outside all along?! He’d heard him…? How embarrassing. He instinctively pulled the sheets around him closer, hiding his dirty skin from Artris.

“Yeah. I guessed that when I looked inside.”

“You looked inside?!” exclaimed Donelzane, his face on fire as he shouted at Artris. In the corner, the two Alliance shifted in their seats, and Artris saw the Kal’dorei had his hand on his weapon, ready to strike.

“I didn’t see anything!” he said in a hush. “Relax, man. It’s okay, I know a lot of guys who hoe the other row. Me, personally? Nah, y’see I have this thing for my trainer, she’s real hot I think you’d like--”

“No, no! Stop!” argued Donelzane, his face still blushing the color of Artris’ hair. “And I don’t… uh, hoe the other row… Whatever that is… But, either way! You have to leave! You should run!” whispered Donelzane frantically. “You don’t know what they do here! I don’t think anyone can save me in time either… Earlier we were in a rush to get here. I think we’re leaving in the morning.”

“We, you say? Hell no, if I escape you’re coming with me,” bickered Artris with Donelzane quietly, grabbing his shoulder, despite the pain Artris felt in his own. “I came in here to save you. And now that I’m inside with you, I could do it. I’m a rogue.”

Donelzane wanted to weep at those words. Artris, who he didn’t even know was willing to --has already-- risk his life just to save him? He’s never been this honoured before in his life, except when he was accepted into the tutelage of priesthood. But when he looked at the horrible state the rogue was in, he’d never forgive himself if Artris ended up like the Undead rogue back at Tarren Mills… “No, Artris, I can’t go with you. I’d never escape this place, I’m not strong enough… Not strong enough to even defend myself from that Night Elf. Please, I know you’re a rogue. I know what you can do. And you can escape from here, without me.”

Artris narrowed his eyes at the bold words just spoken to him. “Donny… Listen to me,” he pulled down his mask ,“One day, you’ll be stronger than me. I hope so. If I make it out of here alive I’ll find you on that day. And we’ll march up to the King of Stormwind and spit on his boots. These two here? They’re nothing!”

Donelzane’s heart was frantic to make Artris be quiet, to stop talking nonsense. His trainer had talked to him about the same things, rarely though. All his friends talked about it also. But not him, not yet. “Artris, please be quiet. That’s too dangerous to talk about here…”

Artris put his hand on Donelzane’s shoulder and patted his head like he were a child. “That’s fine, Donny. But you mark my words, eh? Say if I don’t make it out alive, okay? You’ll go to the King by yourself and show him how we Horde do it old school.”

Donelzane shook his head at Artris’ words, denying it. “If you’re going to leave now. Do it. But I’m not going with you.” He paused to look down at his hands. “Yet.”

Artris grinned at the remark. He had wrapped a few hack-meat bandages around his wounds, and they’ve nearly closed, though the cleave going diagonally from his right shoulder to his neck was still throbbing, that’s where the Kal’dorei had hit him when he was sneaking outside the window. He didn’t even know he had been hit there until he felt blood oozing down the front of his tabard. “Okay, kid. Don’t worry.”

Artris struggled to his feet, holding his stomach in one hand as he used the wall to pull himself up. He delicately put the black mask over his mouth and nose, leaving his scorching fel-eyes glaring. “Warrior,” he asked in Common.

The Night Elf had already drawn his weapon, but didn’t rise from his seat just yet. The warrior was fully clothed in his armor, Artris saw. Under the warrior’s helmet visor you couldn’t see his eyes or half his face, but there was enough delight in his voice as he replied, “Yeah?”

“Tell me, what’s your name?” Artris continued, standing nonchalantly with his hip to one side and his hands in his pockets. A quick gust of cool wind came through the window behind the Night Elf, and he saw in the dim-lit room that the Kal’dorei was smiling like a madman, obviously amused. “Arcelare.”

Artris tested it on his tongue, “Arcelare?” His Thalassian accent made it sound different than how the warrior had pronounced it, but that didn’t matter much. He made eye contact once more with ‘Arcelare’, and eyed the Draenei with precaution, knowing full well the beating the paladin could give. “Name’s Artris. It was nice meeting you two, and thanks for being the fool and not killing me.” He winked at Arcelare--

--and vanished.

* * *

“Relax, dere’s only two exits out of dis room,” said Kasteus as the rogue fell into the shadows of the room, completely invisible. Arcelare had pounced to his feet the second it happened, and made sure no one got past his guard on the window. Kasteus was by the door. And the priest on the ground looked just as confused at the sudden disappearance.

A loud noise shattered the oil-lamp on the table by the window and Arcelare spun his head to see the glass was shattered and oily liquid spilt everywhere. Then he cursed himself, and turned around sharply to regard the window. A piece of the broken window shutter creaked silently back and forth as if disturbed.

He’d escaped…?

Everyone in the room stood frozen, no one dared breath, listening. Listening for the barest footstep. And they heard it. It was a frantic footstep, right between Kasteus and Arcelare, so the Kal’dorei swung his sword out in an sweep, the black sword gleaming through the air, but hit nothing. The elf who called himself ‘Artris’ had broken his stealth technique and came up below Arcelare and struck his daggers upwards to cut into the Night Elf’s wrist guards, the force dislodging his weapon. So he used the lamp distraction to sneak his hands into Kasteus‘ bags for his nearly-broken daggers... Arcelare made a kick in front of him, and just barely missed the Sin’dorei.

Half a second after he’d counterattacked, he felt an unfamiliar sting in his back. Then another one. And another. And another for the finishing touch. It was all a blur really, all Arcelare saw was a black blur whizzing around him as the rogue went on his little killing spree. Next he knew he was bleeding from his back, his stomach, his legs and elbow joints. Clever rogue has damn well incapacitated him…

Arcelare nearly lost his balance with the muscles behind his legs lacerated, but he kicked his sword into his hand and made a huge swing behind him and caught nothing but air. All he saw was the Sin’dorei back-flip before he disappeared out the window.

How infuriating.

Arcelare didn’t even have time to offset his attacks. His sword fell from his fingers since his tendons couldn’t hold it very well, and he slipped to his knees, fully beat. He breathed once, twice. He snapped his head up and nearly shouted, “Well! Thanks for helping me, Kasteus.”

The Draenei looked momentarily stunned. “Dat elf is like lightening.” Then Kasteus soon realized that Arcelare was on his knees and bleeding all over the place. He scowled at the mess, but decided to help the wild Kal’dorei anyways.

* * *

Donelzane slouched back against the wall when he saw Artris run away. He was so glad the rogue made it out alive while also showing… ‘Arcelare’ he called the Kal’dorei? Showing that warrior some hurt. It made Donelzane excited to know his captors weren’t invincible. But, he was also terribly sad. He was alone again. He took a moment to think about all that had happened in the last five minutes, and clenched his hands tight against his sides. He would make it out of here alive. Maybe Artris would come get him. He’d have a bunch of people with him, he said.

He didn’t watch the big Draenei pick up his defeated friend, nor did he listen to the cursing or bickering, he didn’t even smell the blood in the room anymore. His eyes were transfixed on the bloodstain Artris had left behind. It was fairly large, actually. Smeared and dripping down the wall to another smear on the floor, the crimson following the grain of the wooden floor to make it look like it had been drawn there with a paintbrush.

His fingertips gently smeared the blood some more, and then he wiped the red off his fingers on the wood. He hoped Artris would survive, because there’s a big puddle where he’d once sat. Abruptly, his hair was grabbed and he was hauled up. He cried in pain and shock, his ironed hands grabbed at the offending arm. And then someone slapped him with the back of their hand. Whoever it was who had their fingers in his hair let it go, and Donelzane was struck to the ground from the blow.

The elf tried to pull the blankets over him, to protect him from the sudden fury of someone that he could only guess to be the warrior. But the cotton sheet was ripped from his fingers and flung away, leaving him to try and cover his dignity with his arms and legs. Even that was denied to him when his hands were pulled up by the chain and his shins kicked from beneath him, leaving him to kneel with his arms held straight over his head.

He sobbed, refusing to open his eyes for fear of weeping. He refused to look into the furious eyes of the warrior. He refused to show the Kal’dorei his fear. After what Artris’ influence had on him, he’d try to remain a rock until help came… He was indeed a lowly coward…

Angry words in Common were spoken to him harshly, but he didn’t reply with any sound. The Night Elf paused, as if waiting for a response. When none came he repeated in a louder voice. Still no response. Another strike across Donelzane’s face, blood dripped from furrows the warrior’s metal gauntlet made in his cheek. Still he didn’t say anything, though sorrow was tightening his throat once more.

Moments later he heard the jingling of buckles and only knew what was coming. He tried not opening his eyes to see it, or he might start to snivel again. It wasn’t a few seconds later did something hot and fleshy push against his lips. The Kal’dorei spoke in a low warning tone, ushering the priest forward by the fingers tangled in his blonde hair. But Donelzane wouldn’t. So the warrior forced his dick into his small mouth.

Donelzane chocked on it at first, remembering the Draenei forcing himself inside his mouth also, he could only be so fortunate and thankful that the Night Elf wasn’t as… big as the Draenei. It was still awful. So horrible. The same bitter taste, the way the foreskin wrinkled on his teeth, and how his tongue felt like it was shoved back and forth with each painful thrust. Salt seemed to seep into his mouth as it continued, and it started feeling slimy. The fingers on his scalp itching and scratching until Donelzane expected to have no skin on his head after. The chains of his restraints pulled even harder, and he couldn’t help but whimper.

Thrusting in was painful, pulling out was sickening. The Night Elf did this over and over for minutes and minutes. All the while Donelzane couldn’t help but agree to it all, he was forced to. He was choking on the girth in his mouth so much he thought he might suffocate.

Then a precise drive through his lips put the entirety of the Night Elf’s length down his throat, and he strangled with the immensity of it. He yelped slightly at the painful stretching in the back of his mouth, and looked up at the Kal’dorei. His gaze was met with uncaring, but livid, silvery eyes that shone such distrust and abhorrence it made Donelzane shut his eyes tight and hold back whatever was making his eyes hot.

Then it seemed like forever. Maybe an eternity later a quick throbbing tug snapped his head back and he shrieked at the pain beating on his skull. In the far, far distance he heard a melodic sigh as something hot and sticky and slimy exploded from his hairline down to his neck, he nearly got sick when it shot into his mouth. The hand in his hair suddenly disappeared, and his chain was released, so he fell. His side smacked into the cool floor and his head felt like it might have burst on the impact. But, unfortunately, it didn’t.

Despite his better efforts Donelzane began to shiver, silent tears trickled down his sullied cheeks onto his hands. And slowly as he began to realize just how shameful he felt, that being forced like that could damn well break a person’s spirit. And deep within he felt himself cracking and splintering, on the brink of shattering.

He didn’t even feel the continuous hitting he felt tingle his side and middle. He couldn’t hear the shouting voices from a far. He couldn’t even notice that he was all alone again. So he curled up and shuddered at the filth on his body.

* * *

Arcelare was pried away from the whinging elf by his arms. He was completely lost in his rage, kicking and stomping on the tiny man until Kasteus pulled him away. He shouted and booted at the Draenei, even though he remotely felt pain sting at his injuries. He yelled absurdities and insults down at the stoic Blood Elf, blaming him for his wounds.

His wrath was quickly interrupted with a devastating uppercut to his solar plexus, once, twice. The air was forced out of his lungs and he stumbled in the Draenei’s grasp. “Stop it!” he heard shouted in his face. Then it was like being hit with a sledgehammer, a fist meeting his jaw. Arcelare was pushed back by the hit, barely having time to think, before he crashed through the door and into the hallway of the Inn. His back met the wall and he slumped forward, nearly getting the paladin’s infamous one-hit KO.

But before he could revive himself and go at it again, he felt his long hair being towed and he had no choice but to go with it. Arcelare clawed at the metallic hand holding his precious hair hostage, but it was like trying to dislodge a vice. They didn’t go very far, maybe a few doors down, and Arcelare was flung inside. He nearly tripped on the rug in the room and almost fell on the table. But he caught his balance and whizzed his head around to regard the Draenei, “Why did you do that?!”

“Vhat? Save de elf or hit you in dat pretty face?”

“… Both!!”

“Because it pains me to see my prize get his face turned to mush and his body all cut up. Sorry for being a sympathizer,” shrugged Kasteus. The Draenei approached Arcelare, with no movement for hostility anymore, and grabbed his glove. “Now. If you aren’t going to do it yourself, you’re going to bleed to death.”

Arcelare looked from his bloodied body to Kasteus’ hand. “Go ahead.”

Kasteus’ hand lit up with the holy Light in an instant, and his hand warmed. Immediately Arcelare felt soothed with the healing spell, it’s magic wandering over his whole body towards his gashes that were exposed from the rogue’s constant bashing. The warrior sighed and leaned back on the wall he’d found, and relaxed into the trance of his Draenei’s enchantments.

* * *

It smelt like hot leather and spiced parchment in the whole building. They’d been here for hours, both the Ambassador and the tiny mage. They sat like condemned criminals or something, sitting on winged-back chairs in front of Thrall’s mighty throne. The only light came from the torches lined all along the wall, there was only one wall since the room was circular. Guards, and guards and guards. Everywhere. They were in every room of every part of this ‘castle’. But this regal stronghold wasn’t just filled with armor and swords. Advisors, courtier, servants, and of course guardians, were everywhere. The tacticians were hovering over maps and paper reports doing whatever they were hired for. Courtiers were browsing the monopoly that made up the government of the building.

But all Thrall’s attention was focused on the two who demanded his consideration.

“You’re saying, Ambassador, that… you want me to coagulate a force into Alliance territory because you and this elf say you saw a kidnapping?” asked Thrall in a slow droll, his voice sounded amused at the complete audacity. He sat with his arms crossed and his legs stretched out. Although he did wear a serious face, as if regarding the question.

“Yes, sir,” replied Teratore as if the question didn’t sound outrageous at all.

“Your Highness ,” interrupted the mage, addressing himself as Neph Jadwin, “I know it sounds outlandish to ask this of you, but I beg you to see mercy. Answer this with justice and retribution!” Neph gripped his white staff painfully in his hand, his robes flailing as he motioned his hands in desperation. “Please, allow me to take a few warriors and--”

“Enough! Master Jadwin, you’ve spoken enough. But if you would sit down and take into account the consequences of your accusations. You will risk the lives of seasoned warriors for one simple Blood Elf? I don’t know about you but there isn’t any principle in trying to be a hero and rescue this elf while he’s in Alliance territory. There’s a truce between the Alliance and Horde, if you are so willing to march into their soil with nothing but a sword you condemn the death of innocents and yourself.”

Neph wanted to interpose in Thrall’s speech, he wanted to say how badly the Alliance have held this ‘truce’. He wanted to point out how the Horde haven’t done any better. If anything the two factions poked and probed each other ever since the rise of the new Lich King, Arthas. But he wisely held his tongue. He only bent his head to look at the ground and take a step back. “Forgive my rudeness.”

Teratore looked up the flights of stairs to glance at Warchief Thrall, “Sir, with all respect, I don’t think the Alliance raiders took consideration this armistice while assaulting Tarren Mills. Although I don’t aim to change your mind, I’ll say I came hoping for retribution.”

Thrall looked to turn sour, but didn’t reply, only sat there. “You’re dismissed now, I have more important things to do.”

As the stubborn Neph and calm Teratore turned to leave.

Once the two had retreated from the huge mansion, Neph turned to Teratore with a frown, “You aren’t going to believe that guy are you? You’re going to come with me, right?”

Teratore didn’t look down at Neph as the elf spoke to him, only continued walking. “I have no ambitions to attempt to rescue a stranger I don’t even know. I can’t remember the last time I saved someone I’ve never seen before.”

Neph’s hopeful eyes turned cheerless as he redirected his gaze to his staff at his side. “I should have known you’d say that--”

“But if it means that much to rescue one of your clansmen I wouldn’t be more privileged.”

Neph nearly tripped on his enchanted staff at the turn of circumstances. “What? You mean… You mean you’re coming with me?”

“I have a few friends also.”

Neph made that elfish grin, “Hmph. I wonder how our dear Artris Blint is. I bet that bugger got himself killed already, don’t you think? He always was so reckless…” But Neph’s voice didn’t hold mirth, he sounded concerned if anything. After all, the only thing Neph considered that was common between his two friends was that Teratore, Artris and himself were in the same guild. Neph was a nervous wreck in frenzied battle, Artris was a hot-headed blur of death, and Teratore was simply a quickly aimed shot to a foe’s heart, the hunter barely had to use his pet if only for a distraction, such is the way of a master marksman. He’d spoken with his comrades frequently at each weekly guild meeting. And soon they had made friends and went out regularly.

“If anyone knows that quick-witted elf, they’ll know he cheated himself out of danger yet again,” replied Teratore.

Neph merely chuckled.

* * *

And of course, Artris wasn’t at all dead. He might as well be half dead though. He’d already made it to safety to no one’s knowledge. After his hasty attack on that arrogant Kal’dorei, he’d bounced out of the same window he’d literally broken into, and was out of earshot in a second. He got a fair distance between himself and the hollow little Alliance town, and had sat nervously against a hidden tree, paranoid that someone was following him. It was impossible though, those two clumsy, brutish, hulky sword-bearers couldn’t climb a tree if their damn life depended on it. He’d only known the agility and swiftness of a rogue or a druid to be able to swing and leap through thickets fast enough. Often times he would see a frenzied hunter be able to do it.

He winced as he put his back to the tree trunk and knelt down to regard his injuries. His bandaging had done a good job on the open wounds, but they were still open, and on fire. He slowly wound a better made bandage made of runecloth around his injured arm, thinking about Donelzane. He had no doubt that after he’d escaped nothing good would befall the timid priest. And the blame was to Artris, as usual.

He clipped the bandage in place with a metal pin and inspected his daggers. They were simply grotesque. One finely crafted blade was shattered, half the dagger was left back at the Inn leaving the dagger looking like… well it just made Artris sick. His other dagger was in slightly better condition though. It wore a long crack from the tip that shattered diagonally across the metal to the hilt, but still in one piece. That Draenei sure has a wicked swing. Imagine if that was his head!

He stuck his broken daggers in his pouch and would refer them to a repairman later. For now, he would continue his plotting… He had to reach someone, tell them where the two Alliance were going, and possibly rally with whatever manpower his favourite mage had gathered. He’d wait until dawn for them. It shouldn’t take too long if they flew from the Undercity…

* * *

He’d lain on the cool wooden floor for… it seemed like hours. Maybe he did lay there for hours. Maybe he’d fallen asleep even, if he was fortunate enough. Or if he was real lucky maybe he was dead. But he couldn’t be dead, because he felt pain all over his body. It throbbed at his arms and legs and his head, aching and pinching his flesh.

He flickered his eyes open and saw nothing immediately, but his eyes slowly focused and he realized he was staring at the wooden grains of the floor he was laying on. He shivered and pulled closer to himself, and sat up. He was felt instant panic swell up as he realized he didn’t recognize the room he was in-- Then he remembered. It came back painfully. He didn’t care to try remembering the details because he knew he’s get sick if he did. He found himself in the same room where… well, it all happened. It looked like a warmer, friendlier version of the Tarren Mills Inn room he was staying at. But it was indeed the Alliance Inn. He looked around and saw the sheet he’d worn was tossed on the floor by the bed, the window above the table cracked and barricaded, and then he saw the door was splintered. And then his eyes roamed beside him at a great black puddle. It was dried blood.

His eyes turned sullen at the black smudge. Then he realized he was sitting in his own little puddle, this one not as smeared as the one Artris left. He touched his face and realized that he had bled from his nose and lip, crusted blood fell off his cheek and he hissed at the wound there. His shoulder ached and his arm felt like it were crushed. The pain went down the side of his body all the way to his shins. But most awkward of all his tonsils hurt and stung, stretched too far by the Night Elf. That’s right, he’d been beaten by the warrior. He had lacerations and cuts along his body where the warrior’s boot met his frail skin.

What a beating that had been. Or so he would have thought, he didn’t remember any of it. He felt his arms shudder and his shoulders flinch, his eyes became hot and he felt a lump in his throat. He wobbled to his feet and limped to the bed. He leaned down with a pained grimace and took the dirty sheet in his hand and slowly wrapped it around his body. Then he sat down patiently on the bed and wept silently.

-0-0-0-

That is the debut of Chapter 3, ladies and gents. Excited?

Not my most revered chapter. I’m still not very frank with storytelling >.o;; Sry, working on it lol Ty for making it to the end!

This will conclude the exciting action part of ‘Tarren Mills is Under Attack!’ Ty ty *bows* Sit tight and wait for Ch 4 where I hope something interesting happens.