Clues

"Let's move out!"

The small outfit of officers moved out followed by the lower ranking soldiers that were hauling the groups gear.  In the center, Larosa sat tall on her Saber, Dori, as a small horse danced to her left and a paladin charger stood patiently to her right.  The soft squeal of excitement from her left made the Night Elf's ears twitch before she put her helm on.

"Be prepared, Sarge.  The Highlands isn't a vacation spot,"  She growled softly to softly admonish the young page.

"Of course, Major."

That last note I sent was not my best work, but lately it's been difficult to concentrate on my goal.  It was more complicated then just taunting that idiot Harrigan.  I adjusted my borrowed armor and ran a hand through my purposefully dirty and now white colored hair, before shoving the helmet back onto my head.  I had been in a rush when I wrote it, I had lingered to long in Stormwind as I waited to see if she would visit me.   The hustle of relief soldiers that stood with me in front of the portal made it easy to be just another face in the crowd.  I would pick up the rest of the costume when I make it to Shattrah; an old friend would be willing to let me borrow what I need.


"Have you given up then on being anything beyond what they dictate to you?"

Tanaris
“I see Golems. Lots an' lots o’ Golems.”

Evadine voiced what the other Dragoons felt as they looked on the crumbled remnants of the Valley of the Watchers. Outside the tomb, sandstone golems moved in a regular marching pattern, heedless of the motley group that stood far enough away to keep them quietly on their endless patrol.

A single man stood on the edge of the sea, watching the sun as the golden disk sank into the horizon.  As the last ray of light seemed to extinguish it’s self in the endless sea, the man turned and began walking back to the small camp hidden in one of the many small secluded coves.

“Time to go,” He said as he approached the small group, pushing his hat up to look at his people, “Sun has set and we need to get our packages to the Cave.”

Three sets of eyes turned to the packages, both tied up with rope and seemingly sleeping  on the sand inside a small cave, guarded by their companion. With a nod

“They should be docile enough to toss onto the back of mules and throw a blanket over,” One dark skinned man said as he headed towards the line of pack animals.

As dawn broke above the waters of Stormwind Harbor, a young page entered his officer's room and discovered the blue haired elf sleeping in her desk chair.  Her tabard tossed over the back of the chair she sat in, the PT clothes she slept in, the same ones the page had seen her in the night before.  He quietly stepped in and glanced at the desk, thinking that maybe a message or two laid within his reach for delievery.  Her head laying amongst scattered papers, the remains of a lemon, and the various pens and inks that littered the surface.  An ink stained hand was tangled in her hair, an unconcious effort to keep it out of her face.

The page debated on cleaning up the desk, but knew better then to touch the papers without the Elf's permission.  Instead he reached out and gently shook the Liuetenant's shoulder with no effect.  He knew better then to try again or to shake the Kaldorei harder, he didn't want to end up tossed across the room on reflex, or out into the Hall.  Instead he gently backed out and quietly shut the door, not seeing a single softly glowing eye open as the door latched closed.

((Running a bit behind due to the Great Midwest Meddler Road Trip...))

This was not good.

Lormar didn't have time to regard the dead whore sprawled across the bed. He was too busy spinning around to parry the knife coming from the assassin still lurking behind the door.

Larosa carefully eyed the door in front of her. In her hand was the key to open it, but instead of rushing through it like anyone, she took her time trying to find that tell tale sign of the arcane.  Once satisfied the door wouldn’t explode she inserted the key and turned the knob, letting the door creak open slowly.  She stood on the threshold, taking in the neat stacks of paper, the neatly made bed, and the general tidiness of the room.

Pittch took the first step in, sniffing everything, trying to sort out the smells he was sensing.  Larosa followed heading for a desk looking at the writing, trying to make sense of the jumbled letters and complex diagrams.  An hour later, the two had gone through the room,  and were trying to put everything back into it place, when Pittch began whining at a small spot on the wood floor. 

Amelorah rode to the ruins of Dragonhome. She had a safe journey here. Getting off of her fel horse, she summoned Drusva, her succubus, to her side. In a soft voice, Ame said, "Drusva, I want you to watch my back until we reach the tower."

Drusva nodded and followed her mistress. They walked through the frozen ruins to the tower with graceful steps. As they reached Xanadinda's tower, Drusva stopped and hissed. Her voice was soft but edgy. "Mistress! I'm coming with you! The tower! It's not empty!"

Ame didn't resist, but wondered if Drusva was overreacting because of the powerful magic once used here.

As Ame entered the tower, she began to feel cold. It seemed darker here than it had been when she was with Xanadinda.

It seemed almost like night, but why? Was it because Xana wasn't here? Or was because something dark was here, in the tower?

At’tesh before the gates of Silvermoon, the large raptor concealing himself from the guards. He needed to find a healer, but elves were a jumpy lot, they wouldn’t react well to a large, blood covered raptor with several arrows in its flank and no rider walking through the gates and into the streets.