This is another long one. I'm sorry! Hopefully it's not too much of a chore to get through. Some new characters are showing up- and for Gurok, a piece of his past makes a return. :)

They emerged into the Undercity amidst a dozen other travelers, all milling about the portal they had arrived by.

It was as dark a place as any cave and had all the aroma of an especially unkempt sewer. Gurok's nose wrinkled in disgust- the smells of the Undercity were an affront to his senses and stuck in his nostrils like a thick fog. A stark frown crossed his lips as he realized that he would be lost for the duration of their stay here, at least as far as scent went- between the odors of the city itself and its inhabitants, the orc could put a finger on nothing else. All that lingered in the air was the smell of death and waste.

They shuffled away from the bustling portals, looking the part of bedraggled adventurers on some far flung quest.

Arastel played it well, his eyes and posture sullen and hostile. He unsheathed his daggers every five minutes to refresh their poisons, it seemed, though not without good reason. Everywhere they went in the maze-like city, there were eyes upon them- some hungry and unsavory, like starving wolves, and others too genial to be trusted. Often, their unwanted observers would turn and find someone new to watch once they saw the rogue sliding green and amber oils along the daggers.

The elf had told him once before that fear was as much a rogue's weapon as any warlock, and Gurok could see it in action here. Arastel's daggers cut down enemies before they had even risen, all with a simple unsheathing and a little flick of the wrist to let the wet sheen of poison over dark metal catch the dim light emanating from the green sludge in the drains. The blades themselves were blackened, the better to strike without the gleam of bright metal giving the rogue away, and that also seemed to resonate with their unwanted watchers.

That was clever, Gurok had to concede, though he did not know whether it was honorable. There was no need for such considerations in open battle or guard duty, as he was used to, but for this slinking and furtive warfare, it was ideal. He was half tempted to have his own axe-blades darkened as well.

They picked their way toward the heart of the Undercity, where Forsaken in various states of decay peddled wares in raspy voices and where- they hoped- some means of travel toward Eversong could be purchased.

Gurok grimaced as they passed a stand that sold mutton, raw and glistening with a sickly purple sheen as it hung on racks. He felt sick to his stomach at the sight, and not just because of the clouds of flies that buzzed around the meat.

But they were only stories... stories the Kor'kron's veterans told recruits to tease and unsettle them, that's all. Kor'kron were even posted here now, within the dark stone walls of the Forsaken city, and they would never allow the undead to continue turning captives into sheep, if that had ever happened at all.

Still, the orc knew he would stomach no meat while in this place. Neither would he let Arastel eat it. The undead and the elves were close allies, having shared the defense of this land across the great sea, but even so...

He shuddered. It was too easy to go missing in the dark, winding tunnels here, or in the dusky woods just outside... and every rumor had some spark of truth within it, did it not?

They reached the center of the city, heart of commerce- adventurers bustled between the bank and various sellers, many of the living with cloth drawn up to cover their mouths and noses. Kor'kron in grey plate stood at every other support column, surveying the crowd that swarmed with Forsaken and watching for unrest.

The rogue flashed his dagger blades one last time before biding him to stay put while he went to the flightmaster to argue routes and- hopefully- hammer out prices.

Gurok grunted and took up a spot along the fringes of the hustle and bustle of the Undercity's heart, his back nearly touching the cold, damp stone behind him. To his left, perhaps seven feet away, was one of the Kor'kron stationed here, his knees locked and his pose rigid even if the slight glaze of his eyes betrayed boredom.

Gurok had to smile a little. There were always days like that, after the initial excitement of a new station began to wear off, during long lulls between threats. The Kor'kron guard was young, with unscarred skin and jet black hair. Younger than himself, which surprised Gurok until he remembered that he was no fresh warrior. He had seen a dozen more summers than this pup and had the scars to prove it... and the aches, and the weariness.

Andorel had discouraged him from seeking the Kor'kron out at all, but what did he know? He hadn't spent near half his life with these orcs, as Gurok had. And this guard needn't know he had been dismissed... and how much more might they gain from their aid?

Even now Arastel was having trouble with his negotiations, that much was clear. The war against the Gilnean worgs had taken its toll on the Forsaken, and though Sylvanas' valkyr could easily bolster the number of undead, replacement bats were harder to come by. The ones that hadn't been killed were still pressed into service, leaving the city's bat handler with few of the creatures to carry passengers until more were bred and trained, and Gurok had a feeling he would be loathe to send one as far as Silvermoon.

He made his decision then, turning to the young Kor'kron beside him and greeting him as he would have if he'd still been in good standing. "Hail, brother. Hope they've not kept you on duty too long."

"Hail," was the guard's startled, automatic reply. "You're... Kor'kron?" the young orc asked skeptically.

It's good that he's doubtful, Gurok told himself. A guard that believed everything would quickly be duped. "Was. I moved on recently," he said. Only a half-lie, if that. "In Grommash Hold, under Captain Nuar. I'm... a Bloodtusk." Safer than giving his first name, and more like to get a response.

The young guard straightened up at that, recognition faint in his eyes, and for a brief second Gurok worried. "Kin to Kor Bloodtusk?"

The warrior nodded, though he was a bit taken aback. Kor was his blood, though years and many miles had separated them. His mother's family had diminished their ties to her after she wed his father, and Gurok had done little to sew new bonds to the people that had turned from his family. "Distant kin, yes. Has he joined the Kor'kron?" he asked with interest. "These few months I have finally tried my hand at adventuring... it is more difficult to keep aware of the latest happenings than I had anticipated," he admitted.

The guard grinned at that, now abandoning his upright stance for something more relaxed. "I hear you. Stationed in this dump, we're lucky to hear anything at all. In Northrend, we always said that Northrend was the last to know, but now I think it's here," he guffawed. "Kor Bloodtusk is no son of the Kor'kron, but he is loyal to the Warchief and a great supporter. He works to align the rest of the Horde to our views."

Gurok grunted and nodded. It sounded well enough, but Kor was not what he was interested in. "I must be truthful. I saw Kor'kron brothers and I had hoped... I need a way to Silvermoon," he said carefully, nervous of lying to the orc, "but I had a had a close call with the last portal I took," he said, raising the plate of his shoulder armor to let the guard see the terrible scars across the flesh underneath, the deep trench where muscle and skin had been eaten away by fel dust.

"A portal did that?" the young orc asked gruffly, aghast. "Hope you skinned the mage."

Gurok grimaced for show and thanked the ancestors for the guard's youth. "That and more, though I'd rather not show you. I'm wary of this... orb of translocation," he said quietly. "Have you any wyverns to spare? I heard talk that the bat handlers have been shrewd. Even now my partner is still haggling with them."

"Shrewd," the young orc repeated, then spat. "Unwilling to cooperate, just like the rest of these infernal undead. We have dozens of adventurers holed up here, no bats even leaving for the Hinterlands or Arathi, and the handlers at the outposts are unwilling to lend their wyverns to the city... not that I can blame them," he growled, casting a dark look at the mildewing walls around them "And the zeppelins," he continued, his eyes growing hard, "don't count on those. Damned goblins. Had one go down on the way to Stranglethorn. But what else is to be expected? They try to cut corners with even the Warchief's own fleet and demolishers."

The warrior shook his head. "Trying times," he said in way of agreement, shifting uneasily as he tried to think of a way to turn the conversation back to the wyvern that he needed.

"You don't know the half of it, brother," the guard said suddenly, his angry stare taking Gurok by surprise. "These elves and undead... even the tauren. They spit in the Warchief's face, would rather climb into bed with the Alliance. And the trolls... at least they're craven," he spat. "Skulking rats."

Gurok stared dumbly, stunned for a long moment while the young Kor'kron guard continued. "Aye, we have wyverns. I'll have to send you to the captain about one, though."

The older orc nodded, but in truth he knew it was all for naught now. A captain would question him more thoroughly, would discover the manner in which he had been discharged- no mention had been made of any missing axes, certainly, but Nuar could not have left a glowing recommendation on his record. "The situation in the Kor'kron... in Orgrimmar," he said quietly, feeling uncomfortable as he imagined sharing a shift with an orc like this. "It's grown this dire?"

The guard nodded and sneered. "Even other orcs challenge us. Weaklings and cowards, Alliance-loving dogs. But their words mean little and less," he laughed, gripping his long-handled axe fiercely with both hands. "Steel and blood are what speak, and soon enough we will be roaring across Kalimdor, brother. Bring your partner and join us, there is always work for the mercenary sort to do, and better an ex-Kor'kron than some..."

Gurok saw the guard's eyes narrow murderously and turned to look over his shoulder, wondering at what could draw out so much ire in the other orc.

Arastel.

The elf strode toward him with displeasure written across his brow, and the anger there only strengthened and mingled with distaste as he caught the guard's glare. Save for one dark look, he ignored the young orc and spoke to Gurok as if they were alone. "He tells us to take the orb if we want to go to Silvermoon," he said bitterly. "Bats don't go beyond the Plaguelands."

"This is your partner?" the guard spat suddenly, the area of his face not protected by his helm wrinkled with distaste.

"He is," Gurok said at once, straightening up and squaring his shoulders as he shifted protectively in front of the elf. Anger mingled with disappointment, and even the thought of punching the uppity pup in the neck- his gorget wasn't properly fastened and given the right angle, one good blow could drive it into his windpipe or jugular- left him with a bad taste in his mouth. The Kor'kron were supposed to be brothers and sisters, trusted with each other's lives regardless of personal differences...

He sneered at the Kor'kron, suddenly feeling more disgusted than he could say. And he didn't miss the look he received in turn. "Unblooded whelp," he growled in reply, taking Arastel's arm as he stalked past the young orc. He was pleased to see the briefest glimmer of worry in the guard's eyes, the anxious tightening of his grip on his axe- Gurok knew the dim lighting here must make him look even more fearsome, shadows deepening the scars that lined his face and arms.

But it was gone in a moment, the unflinching cockiness possessed only by the youthful and inexperienced returning in force. The Kor'kron smiled derisively as they passed without quarrel, his yellowing teeth and tusks just visible behind his mouthguard. "Yeah, get to Silvermoon and stay there, elf-lover," he called after them. "Best start walking!"

"Andorel told you that the Kor'kron was changing," the elf muttered as they completed another circle of the sickly green canal.

"They... they can't all be like that," Gurok said, despairing. The Kor'kron was Thrall's legacy. It couldn't change, not like this, not so drastically in such a short matter of time...

"Not all, no," Arastel replied easily. "But enough. The aged blood has been purged. Less than half the Kor'kron are veterans of old, and even fewer seasoned soldiers remain in the greater bulk of the armies. The Warchief surrounds himself with young orcs returning from Northrend and the eager untried. They are hungry for blood and victory, and thoroughly in love with their warhero."

"The Northrend veterans are too..." He thought of the trolls and orcs that he had seen lingering in Orgrimmar the months after the victory in the north, hollows under their eyes and bones showing sickly under sallow skin. Half of them looked like the undead they'd been charged with defending the rest of the world from.

"The disillusioned are few and far between," Arastel interrupted, already aware of what he meant. "You only noticed them because you hang around in bars so much. But most of the ones that made it back only tested their blades against vrykul and half-rotted undead," the elf said with a shrug. "Not risen comrades and dying Alliance."

The warrior swallowed thickly. "Why would this happen now? He is no Thrall, but-"

"But he is a warhero, and so far Garrosh is failing at war," Arastel whispered cautiously, sidling closer. He glanced at the orc sidelong. "This can't be news to you, Gurok. He put the trolls in a slum. You do remember Tablah, don't you?"

"Of course I remember him," the orc said sharply. He took a long breath. "But that was..."

"Just the beginning," Arastel finished for him, his smile equal parts grim and amused.

Gurok looked at him darkly. "Not the words I had intended."

"But true, and growing truer by the day," the elf said with a hint of disquiet. "But that is a problem for after Arcelia."

The orc grunted in response, feeling too conflicted to bother with words. The undead were one thing... who could trust them after the Wrathgate? But the rest of the Horde? Craven trolls, he thought bitterly. He'd seen trollish guards in Outland face two and three infernals alone, sheer fury allowing them to stand against the demons; he'd met blood elves, too, willing to risk unimaginable tortures by infiltrating Legion strongholds there.

"He was so wrong," Gurok sighed later when they'd found a dark but reasonably dry place to settle against the wall, secluded from other adventurers until they decided how to proceed. His brow furrowed as he tried to fathom being so misguided.

"You know that because you've got firsthand experience that says otherwise," Arastel said as he picked through a bag of nuts and dried fruit, taking all the cashews for himself. "All they've been hearing lately is how great orcs are. And I'm not arguing," he said with a little wink at the warrior, "but it does breed a certain... arrogance. And I'm sin'dorei- you know it's bad if we have to point out that someone's being stuck up."

"Stuck up," the orc repeated listlessly. He hoped that was all it was. A year serving alongside trolls and tauren would wise up the hot-blooded youths- nothing quite forged bonds like depending on someone for your life, suffering the same losses and hardships. "So, how are we getting to Silvermoon?" he asked gruffly, eager to leave this subject behind.

"I suppose by wolf," Arastel answered with a drawn out sigh. "A long trek. We can't take the Springroad past the Ghostlands, either. Too many eyes..."

"At least Eversong is fairly tame," Gurok supplied, hoping to cheer the elf somewhat. "Four or five days to cross the Plaguelands, maybe, and then another two to cross elvish lands unseen. That's not terrible."

"No," the rogue agreed, frowning as he moved on to eating all of the dried apple slices from the bag. "I'm just... ready for this all to be over."

"I know," the warrior said. He pushed his hand through the mess of short auburn tresses at the back of the elf's head, shifting the hair aside as he used his thumb and forefinger to massage gently at the back of his neck. "It will be, soon."

Arastel's eyes had slipped shut and the bag of food had fallen to his side, forgotten. He moaned softly and leaned into the touch. "Light, I hope so."

"Touching," a voice said coldly.

Gurok had only just laid his hands on his axes when the sharp crack of a whip and Arastel's strangled cry made him freeze.

"Ah, good. I'd feared you had turned into a raging brute, but it looks as though you've managed to keep some of your wits," the voice continued. It belonged to a cloaked figure, silhouetted by the eerie glow from the sludge-filled canal behind him, the hood of his heavy violet robes casting dark shadow over his face. At a glance, he was broader than any troll or undead, though short and slender for an orc. And his accent was familiar...

To Gurok's left, Arastel still struggled to breathe, his nimble fingers desperately working to loosen the coil of the whip around his throat. When the orc made the slightest movement toward him, the succubus on the other end merely flicked her wrist and the leather tightened, nearly bringing the rogue to his knees.

"What do you want?" the warrior asked urgently, unable to tear his eyes from the elf to address the warlock. Arastel's mouth seemed riveted open, a horrible, rattling noise escaping as he fought to inhale. "What? What?!"

"Why, Gurok, I'm hurt," the figure said condescendingly.

Gurok at last pulled his gaze from Arastel. He almost recognized that voice. It was high for an orc, dark and smooth like molasses. He couldn't place where he'd heard it at first, but then the memories came filtering in slowly. Sneaking away from their cohort to catch scorpions and draw in the wet sand of Durotar's beaches- the voice that told him stories late at night when they slept beside the hearth in Gurok's house, asked endless questions about his father and what he did in the Cleft of Shadows, that always sounded so reluctant when he had to ask Gurok for help hammering rocks or practicing his axe-swing. It was...

"Ortok?" he asked, almost too surprised for words.

The warlock chuckled softly as he pulled down his hood, revealing a smile framed by pearly white tusks.

And Gurok felt dread at the sight of it.

"How many years has it been?" Ortok asked as they descended another flight of spiraling stairs. "Ten? Is that about right? Time has a way of... losing its meaning here."

Gurok had long since given up on trying to keep count of the steps, on making a mental map of where they were being led. The dank tunnels were dark and twisted, collapsed in some places, too knotted to make sense of. Even if they could escape the chains and ropes that bound them, they would never find their way back up to the surface.

"Do try to keep up," the warlock said from behind them. "You'll find Minerva can be a bit... impatient."

The succubus gave the chain around Arastel's neck a sharp yank to emphasize her master's words, nearly causing the elf to tumble down the steep set of stairs.

They carried on, following the strutting succubus as quickly as the chains that bound their legs would allow. All the while Gurok could feel the other orc's gaze upon his back, as heavy as any set of plate. Even more than the strange echoes and the consuming darkness, it was Ortok's proximity that unnerved him. Though his breastplate remained, his pauldrons had been stripped away, exposing the pockmarks and scars that riddled his shoulder. Every so often he felt soft fingers pass over his damaged skin, cold and eager and entirely unwelcome; Gurok had to set his jaw and will himself not to flinch at the contact, not to give in to his rising panic.

He could hear Ortok's breath behind him. Felt it on his neck, against his ears. He smelled of fel smoke and mint, the latter unable to cover the acrid odor that accompanied demons and their summoning. There was his hand again, this time running down along his leather-covered side, in between the heavy plates of his armor.

Gurok shuddered, half from the touch he yearned to shy away from and half because it was apparent that the orc he had shared his childhood with was gone, irretrievable. If even a sliver of Ortok remained as he remembered him- mischievous but eager to please, enthusiastic to learn and to teach, quick to defend his lone friend- it was so deeply buried beneath the hungry, dark thing he had become that it might as well have been locked away under the sea.

The demon at last stopped at an arched entry into a small, bare area lit only by four small torches held in sconces. As Gurok was being chained to the far wall, he noticed that to either side of them were lightless tunnels. They seemed to extend forever, like some abyss, and he was almost certain there was something scratching its way toward them, the noise echoing faintly...

Was this an execution? Would demons crawl from the shadows to devour them as they sat here, helplessly bound? He struggled at the thick twist of rope that knotted his arms together behind his back, but it was fruitless.

Arastel was chained beside him, so close that their legs brushed together and the warrior could faintly feel his warmth. That was his sole comfort. The elf's throat was red and welting from the crack of the whip that had stung against his flesh, and the dirty chain that now ringed his neck surely couldn't have been helping, but Gurok had yet to hear the slightest noise of discomfort from the rogue.

That was good. Gurok had only had one encounter with a succubus, fortunately, but he had quickly learned that they thrived upon pain as much as they did upon pleasure. Give her nothing, and she may become bored. Or more creative, the orc thought with a shiver.

Ortok watched his demon secure the both of them, his countenance impassive but his eyes alight with a devious interest. He was gaunt- terribly gaunt, though he had grown taller since they had last seen each other all those years ago. His skin, once smooth and pale green, now appeared greyed from lack of light; his face, once so handsome that Gurok had been drawn to trace its well-formed planes with his clumsy fingers, now seemed hollow and severe.

His eyes were the same color- that deep, rich brown that made Gurok think of the soft, muddy banks of the Southfury- but now they were hard and cold, like earth frosted over.

"Ortok," he said softly. Initially, a part of him had hoped irrationally that it had all been for show, that he was some ally in the guise of an enemy. But the lengthy subterranean walk had vanished any thought of such aid... a dozen other cloaked figures had greeted him on their trek down beneath the Undercity, and even now they hovered outside the entry, shadows within shadows. There was some dire fate planned for them, the orc knew now.

"Gurok," the warlock replied curtly. An unkind smile twisted his lips. "I thought you had died on Draenor."

"I was recruited into the Kor'kron."

The other orc made a soft noise and glanced away, the corner of his mouth pulling back in a surprised half-grin. "I suppose that is the price of living in the Undercity. Little gossip interests the undead," the warlock sighed. He took a step closer, his heavy robes swishing silently about his feet, hands tucked into his sleeves. His eyes never left the warrior's face. "What an opportunity," he whispered.

"How long have you..." Gurok trailed off, uncertain of what to ask first. When did you go so wrong? seemed likely to guarantee them both a flaying from the temperamental orc.

"How long have I been in the Undercity?" Ortok replied. "Nearly three years now. It did not take long for me to realize that Orgrimmar's facilities are... lacking," he said with a cold smile. "Here, however, the possibilities are extraordinary. There are things brewing here, Gurok- wondrous things. However, I'm afraid I can't go into detail," he sighed. "I would hate to offend your… delicate sensibilities."

The warrior stiffened, a dozen blood-splattered memories of Draenor vying for his attention. Ortok was lucky for the bonds that kept him fastened to the floor, or else he'd have shoved the slender orc into the stone walls for his words. "Yes, how delicate I am for preferring to slay demons over keeping them as pets," he spat.

Ortok only laughed, and that unsettled Gurok more than anything else. "Pets? Even now you try to diminish their power, their value. Just as our trainers always tried to do to me..." he said with a faint sneer. "For all your strength, you are delicate, Gurok. I may have been weak in body, but I was always stronger than you in heart and mind. You could not even follow in your father's footsteps when the path had been so painstakingly laid out for you."

"He chose not to," Arastel piped up, his chin jutting out stubbornly.

Gurok twisted in his bonds, wishing that the elf could have remained silent. Ortok hadn't paid him even the slightest bit of attention, but now... The warlock smiled cruelly down at Arastel, too-white teeth glistening in the torch-light. His gaze lingered on the elf's throat, pale scars and reddened lash marks.

"Listen to me," Gurok said quickly, leaning over to try and catch the warlock's eye.

But the other orc continued to study the elf tied up before him, his lip curling. "So, I was too unsavory for you, but a lying, thieving rogue is acceptable?" Ortok turned and spat. "Your mother would at least have approved of me."

"Ortok," the warrior said sharply.

But the warlock focused on Arastel, crouching down and clutching his face between narrow green fingers, squeezing his chin so tightly that his skin blanched. "Have you realized it yet, Gurok? Has reason at last penetrated that thick skull of yours?" He spoke more quietly to the elf. "I tried to convince him. For years, I tried. But he resigned himself to be a mediocre guard, a warrior, rather than a powerful mage. Or an even more powerful warlock," he added wistfully.

"My life is not your concern."

Ortok pushed the elf away and rose to tower over Gurok. "You could have been something! Someone! What are you now?" He stooped to laugh in the other orc's face, his lips pulled up in a venomous sneer. "A Kor'kron castoff. An expendable pawn in someone else's game. What is it like, Gurok, to be a minor character in your own life's story?" He tutted and turned away, pacing back toward the door. "What I would have done to have had a father like yours," the warlock hissed. "One that could teach me, could have passed to me all of his gifts… one that wouldn't strike me for asking to learn spellcraft. You had all the fortune in the world and you wasted it to become some second-rate minion of the Warchief. And now you aren't even that. Just a moronic blade for hire caught in the web of the Sunsworns and Silvermoon's petty feuds," he sneered. "You had… so much potential," the orc lamented, slowly turning to face them again. "We did."

Something inside Gurok hurt at those words. He thought briefly of the orc he'd known in his youth, weak but full of wonder, as content to sit by and watch him spend hours carving into tree stumps with his axe as Gurok was to do it. "Ortok… the past is settled. Leave it there."

"Leave it?" He laughed coldly. "It is easy for you to say such things, isn't it?"

"I cared for you-"

"You cared for yourself more," the smaller orc said bitterly.

"Ortok, please," the warrior pleaded, feeling there was nothing left to do. "At least let Arastel go free. For any affection you once had for me, let him go. For any ill you bear me now, keep me, if you must."

"Free him?" the warlock scoffed. "No, Arcelia's orders are to hold you both."

"Arcelia," the elf breathed, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Yes," Ortok said with a wicked grin. "However, in light of my capture of you, Sunsworn, I suspect she will see fit to leave Gurok with me. There are… many things I would show you," he said to the other orc, a malicious gleam in his eyes.

"Ortok," the warrior said evenly, trying to keep the growing panic from his voice. He futilely tried pulling his wrists apart, squirming against the bindings. "You mustn't do this... you can... you can be different," he tried.

"I've always been different," the warlock replied dryly as he turned from them, hands clasped behind his back. "As soon as Arcelia gets back to me with her permission to keep you, Gurok, we can begin catching up properly. Minerva... watch them for a moment, would you?" he said lightly as he trod out of the alcove and into the shadows, the hovering forms of the other warlocks receding with him.

His departure was accompanied by the arrival of the long-legged succubus, her magenta skin bare and nearly gleaming in the flicker of the torch lights. In her hand was her whip, which she began to slowly uncoil with a dark smile.

"Oh... Light," Arastel murmured beside him, now redoubling his efforts at loosening the thick ropes around his wrists.

"Ah, ah, ah," she said, cracking the whip so close to the elf's head that he seemed momentarily dazed from the sharp noise. "That's against the rules. And you don't want to break my rules, do you?" she asked, fluttering her heavy lashes.

"Of course not," the rogue said hurriedly. He licked his lips and schooled his expression into something more mischievous. "But how are we to have any fun at all like this? We can barely move."

Minerva's smile exposed sharp canines. "Oh, it's not supposed to be fun for you. Master's orders," she said with mock regret. From a leather band strapped to one of her thighs, she produced a blade so fine and honed that Gurok suspected it could separate skin from flesh with the flick of a wrist... and that it probably had. And was it just him, or was the faint noise in the tunnels growing louder?

But then he couldn't hear it anymore, couldn't hear anything over the sounds of his heart in his ears and Arastel's frantic breaths as he tried rubbing the knot at his wrists against a jagged piece of the wall. The succubus was laughing at their dread, her skin growing flushed and deepening in color.

A sudden sound distracted all three of them- a soft whistle from within the dark void of the tunnel to Gurok's left, the three notes echoing hollowly.

The succubus' painted lips curved down in a sharp frown as she paced closer, her glowing eyes narrowed in suspicion. The flaying knife was still firm in hand as she peered down the tunnel, searching. "Much as I'd like to play, this isn't the time. Reveal yourself," she called into the dark, swishing her whip around on the stone floor.

Gurok was surprised to hear the whistle come again, closer now. From the darkness... a second succubus appeared. This one sported longer spirals of curled hair and stubbier horns, and her form was fleshy and curvier than Minerva's. The new succubus drew back her leathery wings and pushed her buxom chest out, flaunting barely covered breasts.

Minerva just scowled harder, her whipping arm raised threateningly. She hissed something in Demonic, causing the newly arrived succubus to snarl, snort and then strut away, offended.

"Not to your tastes, huh?" came a raspy voice from the dark. "Can't blame a guy for trying. How about this?"

"I said, show yourself!" the succubus commanded, her sultry tones forgotten. She cracked her whip and put a hand on her hip expectantly. "Or I'll have to come find you, and you won't like the punishment you'll get."

"Oh, you'd be surprised what I like." A half-rotten undead slinked out of the shadows, his half-bald head bowed. Gurok tried not to bare his teeth in a sneer at the putrid Forsaken's form- he had barely any nose left, almost no hair, and what little flesh remained to his face looked slimy.

Minerva's smile was honey and poison as she slowly approached the drably-garbed warlock, her hips swishing. "Ortok never likes witnesses," she murmured, looking almost gleeful at this new arrival that she could freely dispose of.

"Baras," the Forsaken said quickly, raising his hand and glancing back over his shoulder.

"I live to be commanded." The growling voice belonged to a demon the likes of which Gurok had only seen in the Outland before now- seven feet tall with purple skin and rippling muscle, covered only by chains and a few choice pieces of armor.

The succubus looked as taken aback by this uncommon minion as Gurok was. She paused in her sultry walk, mouth slightly parted. She pinched the leather of her whip between her clawed thumb and index finger and ran the length between them, eyes never leaving the wrathguard before her.

"A perfect match," the warlock said benevolently. He steepled his hands and gave his demon a little nod. "Baras, why don't you show her just how, uh, thoroughly you enjoy being commanded."

The towering demon growled in assent and stalked closer, his long tail coiling around the succubus' legs and toying with the length of her whip. His helm covered the upper portion of his face in shadow, but the desire in his long-fanged grin was clear.

Minerva giggled softly as she pulled on the thick chains wrapped around the wrathguard's waist, her wings fluttering excitedly.

"Down the tunnel a ways, if you don't mind," the undead added with a little sneer. "I'll, uh, keep an eye on these two," he added, though the succubus seemed long beyond caring about her charges now that Baras was practically fellating her whip.

The undead warlock tilted his head as he watched the two demons retreat into the darkness amidst faint noises of pleasure. "I might've let 'em stay if it was my succubus with her," he told them with a little shrug. "But Baras is enough to make anyone feel insecure. Even stallions such as myself," he said with a hacking cough.

"And who might you be?" Arastel asked in a careful whisper.

"Geoffry," the undead replied with a smile that exposed black-rimmed teeth and grey gums. "And no need for introductions... I heard most everything, Sunsworn."

The elf nodded and licked his lips nervously. "I assume since you're not with them-"

"That I'm against 'em? Well, you're not wrong," Geoffry replied, stroking his boney chin thoughtfully. "Lotta risk, crossing Ortok and his dimwits."

"You sent your demon to distract his succubus without even being decided on helping us?" Gurok asked, exasperated already.

"Don't question my methods," the warlock rasped, what was left of his eyebrows drawing together. He turned back to Arastel, his lidless eyes studying him intently. "I got a friend that's an elf. My only friend, really, even if he's a bit of an ass. Good thing I'm such a charitable fellow, or he'd have no friends at all either," the warlock rambled. "Don't much care about that Arcelia, but I do happen to despise your ex," he said, sparing Gurok a pointed glance. "Orcs. I've seen enough sodding orcs in my city, frankly. I think putting him in Arcelia's doghouse might be a good start to dealing with him. I hear she doesn't much like people that let her prey escape."

"Then... you'll free us?" Gurok questioned slowly, exchanging an uncertain glance with Arastel. The elf seemed nearly as perplexed with how to deal with their unexpected savior.

"Of course I will! We'll sort out my reward later, heh." He grinned again, and this time Gurok caught a whiff of some foul scent, like a carcass left in a swamp. "Should probably get out of here soon. I'm sure Baras is hog-tied by now, won't be able to back us up if the succubus gets bored and comes back..." In the brief silence that followed, there was a muffled crack of a whip followed by a guttural groan; Geoffry sighed and shook his head, muttering about his demon. "He really likes being tied up. Don't ask me how I know that."

The pair observed silently as the undead conjured a bright green flame in his palm and drew the flame out, gesturing and whispering under his breath until it took on the shape of a small blade. The fire was pale as he cut through their chains and shackles, deeper emerald as he cut the ropes binding their arms and wrists last.

The remnants of the Forsaken's lips turned down in a slight grimace as he caught sight of Arastel's welted neck, the thin cut left by the whip now seeping blood. "Gross," he muttered as he slid the grimy chain over the elf's head.

Without another word, the warlock took off down the tunnel he'd arrived by, leading them along in his uneven slouch. There was no light but for the green flame in his hand, and more than once Gurok and his rogue stumbled over the remains of massive rats, chunks of stone fallen from the ceiling, or human bones that were brittle with age.

Once again, Gurok couldn't keep track of all the twists and turns, the doubling back and the hidden flights of stairs. The catacombs and tunnels seemed labyrinthine, intended to confuse and entrap the unfamiliar.

"Quiet now," Geoffry whispered to them once they reached a corridor that had a slightly more inhabited feel to it than all the levels below.

They crept along the inner wall of the curved tunnel. The orc felt moss and mold and cold slime brush his shoulders and arm, the scents of water and death overpowering.

When the warlock came to a sudden stop, Gurok nearly trod right over him. He took a deep breath in indignation and instantly regretted it- the air itself seemed to have a taste, and it settled thickly on his tongue. The warlock nudged and shoved until the three of them were tucked together in a little alcove, uncomfortably close.

"Cover your damn eyes, elf," the undead hissed, just loud enough to be audible. "Or do some shadow thing. Glowing like a pair of fireflies over here."

Arastel grumbled briefly and then did whatever it was rogues did to conceal themselves, the shadows themselves seeming to weave tighter about him. The luminousness of his eyes diminished, and for a brief moment even Gurok had trouble differentiating him from the darkness around them.

Down the hall came the muffled sounds of footsteps, even and unhurried. The orc shrank against the wall as the warm glow of torchlight approached, briefly painting the grey stone walls white-orange. Seven undead walked in the light- four bearing torches, two bearing arms, and one holding nothing except for a large tome bound in red-tinged leather.

"What is that?" Gurok asked in a whisper, his eyes following the slow procession of undead as they turned and advanced down another hall.

"The names of the fallen," the warlock said with a grim sort of reverence. "They're being taken to the hall of records to be added to the book of the dead. Their existence won't be forgotten there," he rattled quietly, his voice trailing off. "Now come on."

He and Arastel followed Geoffry up and up, through more tunnels and winding stairs and abandoned sewers until at last the undead allowed them to stop.

The room was bleak, as much of the Undercity was. Moth-eaten tapestries still clung to the walls here, relics of a past that seemed ages ago now. More surprising to Gurok, the room had a window. Were they in a tower, part of the above-ground castle?

"We'll wait here," Geoffry announced as he settled in. "I imagine our friendly succubus is throwing a fit right about now, and Ortok will probably be informed of your disappearance within a few minutes. They'll search the city from bottom to top... but by then you should be gone. Heh! That'll be Crixis with your belongings," the warlock said as the cackling chortle of an imp began to echo up the stairs outside the door.

A knee-high demon scurried in through the entry, its vicious face screwed up with effort as it heaved one of Gurok's large axes behind. "Could only get one of them, Boss," the imp told the undead as it cast off the load on its back.

"One is more than I could have hoped for," the orc said gratefully as he stooped to pick up his weapon. He ran his fingers appreciatively along the blade, already comforted by its weight in his hand.

Arastel seemed similarly pleased to find his daggers and belt of poisons returned to him. Only one bag of their gifted rations from Valsann had made it back, however, and only one pouch of gold. Gurok briefly allowed himself to mourn the loss of his pauldrons. His shoulders felt uncomfortably exposed without them.

The pair watched in stunned silence as the warlock plucked up the bag containing their money and poured half of their gold into his own coinpurse. "You won't object, certainly," he said with confidence. "If not for me, you wouldn't have two coppers between you, heh."

"Help yourself," Arastel said dryly, snatching back the pouch of coins when the warlock had finished claiming his share. He tied it to his belt with a series of knots and then gave the warlock a dubious look. "So, how exactly do you propose we flee the city?"

Geoffry shrugged carelessly. "Silvermoon, right? Just so happens I know someone that could take you there," the undead said with a toothy smile- they were black at the edges, and yellowed everywhere else. "An orc, if that makes you more comfortable. I made her a potion not too long ago- changes her into a dragon. The things that those Tol'vir came up with, am I right? I could be persuaded to call on her to carry you both there, speedy and safe," he said airily, "if the right reward was offered."

"Persuaded?" Arastel asked skeptically. "We've come an awful long way to still need to persuade you for aid... What would you have of us?"

Gurok misliked it all. Things were happening quickly, too quickly for him to decide what the safest course of action was. He felt like a kodo during the spring round-up, prodded and herded along until only one path was left. Truer and truer the words 'trust no one' seemed by the minute. But did they have a choice now? Ortok was mad, he was no doubt furious, and he and his shadows would hunt them through the city and across the glade if given the chance.

"Got any sisters?" Geoffry asked the elf eagerly.

"No sisters nor any brothers," the rogue replied flatly. He crossed his arms and surveyed the warlock coolly, eyebrows raised as he awaited a new demand.

"A sin'dorei with no siblings?" the Forsaken asked curiously. "Seems like they've all got at least one, living or dead. Heh."

"My father died not long after I was born," Arastel said, his voice tight and stiff. "Little time for having other children."

"Shame," Geoffry muttered, his gaze falling to the floor. "Friend of mine's got sisters, all of 'em gorgeous, but the last time I paid them a visit one of 'em set me aflame. Not figuratively, mind you. And while I appreciate a little spark in my ladies, that was a bit too much. Heh. Had to get new robes. Well, 'new', in the sense that I took them off some dead guy. A real dead guy. I killed him. For his clothes."

The warlock grabbed a fistful of the fabric and stretched it out for them to better see.

"It is a... it's a lovely purple," the elf said diplomatically, pointedly ignoring the dark stains of blood and ichor that dotted it. "So, our time runs short. How else might you be persuaded?" he asked impatiently.

"Got any of those new fortune cards?"

"I'm afraid not. I doubt you'd want anything regarding 'fortune' coming from us, either," he said dully. Gurok was inclined to agree, his shoulders sagging glumly as he thought of how awry their trip had already gone.

The warlock swore, the sound harsh and guttural. "You two aren't making this easy. How can I help you when there's nothing in it for me?" he sighed.

"Out of the kindness of your putrid heart?" the elf ventured. "For friendship? For all that is sweet and just? For the gold you just pilfered from us," he offered dryly.

"Might be I could do it for the faint resemblance," the warlock muttered, cupping his rotting chin and squinting at Arastel. "The friend with the sisters, he's got hair about the same color as yours. That reddish brown. But you're prettier- he's old and has that sallow look that living warlocks get, you know. You've got those big eyes and that cute little nose and all those freckles. A real shame you've got no sisters..."

Gurok didn't like the warlock's leer, and he didn't anticipate good things happening if the undead decided he was willing to settle for Arastel.

"Hey now," the undead said, his jaw momentarily going slack. "No sisters, but you had to get those sweet looks from somewhere, right? Your mother can't be too old now, and she's single-"

"She still loves my father-"

"So she's already got a thing for dead men. Good," the warlock said matter-of-factly. "You don't have to give me her hand, heh. Just... say you survive all this sodding elf business. Let me come pay a visit, get to know her. I'm missing some parts, yeah, but I'm working on replacing them. Still got my tongue. That should be enough to please any-"

"Stop, stop, stop," Arastel insisted. "Stop whatever you were about to suggest, I don't need to hear it. My mother hates me as it is."

"Okay, okay, then tell her not to sleep with me. She'll do the opposite," he said with a lipless grin.

"I don't think... I'm quite certain that wouldn't work," the elf stammered out, his face reddening. "I can't... no, not with my mother-"

"Eh, then take a flying leap from the tower for all I care," the warlock muttered, waving the both of them off. "Try to do a good deed and look where it gets me," he lamented to his imp.

Gurok groaned and gave Arastel an apologetic look for what he was about to suggest. "There's no harm in trying, is there? For the sake of saving ourselves the fate of Ortok catching us again? We'll bring it up with her, and if she says no, she says no, right?" he asked, glancing to the Forsaken for confirmation.

Geoffry nodded vigorously to reassure the rogue. "I'm a perfect gentleman. And I can take a hint. I'll pop by for tea and if she's not that into me I'll head out without her even needing to set me aflame. You can chaperone, of course," he offered to the elf.

Arastel swallowed thickly, and by the working of his jaw the orc knew he must be grinding his teeth. "I resent this, just so you know," he told the Forsaken with a venomous glare. "Deeply. In spite of all your aid, I find myself wanting to hurl you from the parapets and watch you splatter across the ground," he said in stiff, affronted tones.

The warlock grinned as he shambled closer and laid a bony hand on the elf's shoulder. "See? We're already like step-father and son, you and I."

"Gurok," the rogue said in a strangled voice, his arms rigidly straight and his fists clenched. He shook in place, his rage constrained by the knowledge that their lives were in the strange warlock's hands.

"Well, now that that's sorted out, can we escape?" the orc asked as he gingerly lifted the undead's arm by the wrist and removed his fleshless hand from Arastel, slightly easing the elf's displeasure.

"Huh, right. Probably should. Go get Drezna," the warlock told his imp, who scurried off across the floor with a speed that made Gurok's flesh crawl.

"And you... how are you going to manage with Ortok on the warpath?" the warrior asked as they secured their meager possessions to their bodies and began the nervous wait. "Surely he'll suspect you."

"You concern is touching," Geoffry said with a dark chuckle. "So you would be, what... my step-son-in-law?" he asked with a squint.

"Stop that," Arastel interjected, stepping around the warrior. "You stop that right now," he demanded, jabbing a finger into the warlock's chest.

"Relax, sonny. I approve of your boyfriend, even if he is an orc," the warlock rasped, patting the rogue on the head absently and then returning his attention to Gurok. "Ortok is like a small child that's gotten hold of an axe. It's kinda cute for a little while so you let them have their fun, but at some point you need to be the responsible adult and backhand the little shit until they cry just from looking at an axe. I intend to remind him that he's no Gul'dan, no great master of demons or lord of the Undercity, just a sad little orc pup that preys on the weak and thinks that makes him strong. He's not the only one with... associates," he added in a low voice, and for the first time Gurok saw the cloaked Forsaken as something truly ominous, a warlock to be reckoned with. "He won't bother you again when I've finished here."

The rogue beside him pursed his lips, his expression uncertain. "You could have carried out whatever plans you had for Ortok without helping us," he stated.

"I could have," Geoffry agreed. He cocked his head at the elf and smiled again. "You really do remind me of him. Especially when you frown."

"Please don't harass my mother," Arastel responded flatly.

The warlock guffawed so hard that Gurok feared a half rotten organ might be spewed out onto the floor. "Yeah, substitute 'sisters' for 'mother' and you've got him to the letter. Oh, heh, that'll be Drezna at the window. Drezna! Down here, you big scaly beast."

An irate hiss issued from the mouth of the golden-skinned drake, whose beady amber eyes betrayed a great deal of consternation at being addressed as a 'scaly beast'. The orc-turned-dragon hovered as close to the stone tower as her great wingspan allowed. Her voice was dry and grating, like sand caught between two grindstones. "Geoffry, this is the last favor-"

"Get them to Silvermoon, don't let any rats see them," the Forsaken said hurriedly, his head whipping back around toward the stairs that lay beyond the room's entrance. "Quickly, I smell felhunters."

That was all the encouragement Gurok and Arastel needed. The orc tried not to doubt, because it was far too late for that. Their hopes- their lives, really- were pinned entirely upon a Forsaken warlock with an unnatural lust for elven women and a shapeshifted orc-dragon. So much for trusting no one, he thought bleakly as he followed Arastel's lead and stepped up onto the ledge of the tall window.

They were hundreds of feet up in the air. The warrior's stomach flopped uneasily as his balance wavered for a moment. Drezna hovered a good five feet away, slightly below them. Her scales glittered in the moonlight, though nothing gleamed quite so much as the shards of amber stone that jutted out from the drake's skin, short but pointed. Those worried the warrior.

"Are you ready to jump, Gurok?" the elf asked, finding the orc's hand and giving it a brief squeeze.

"No," Gurok admitted, his head swimming as he spared another glance down. He thought briefly of the canyon in Stonetalon and the overlord that had plummeted to his death. "But I'm going to anyway."

Arastel nodded. "You go first," he whispered against he wind, his hand on the warrior's back to stabilize him. "I'll be right behind you."

The orc leapt from the window before he could think to second guess himself. The seconds drew out painfully as he fell in a short arc, arms outstretched and legs swinging, the weightless feeling making his insides twist and flutter as if they, too, were free-falling.

Gurok's plummeting stomach was abruptly stopped when he hit the drake's back, hard. He gasped for air and scrabbled to gain purchase on Drezna's rocky back, using the amber spikes to lever himself up properly. A moment later he felt and heard Arastel's light thud behind him, then the sharp inhale as the light elf quickly began to slide down her sandpapery sides.

"No, no, no," Gurok muttered as he grabbed a fistful of fabric on the rogue's back and hoisted him up onto the drake's back, groaning from the strain on his bad shoulder. He got the elf situated behind him, relatively safe and secure on the saddleless mount- and the orc didn't have time to say another word before Arastel had wrapped his arms around his middle and squeezed so hard that air became a concern.

"Hold on now. And no... touching while you're on me, either," the drake growled as she flapped her wings harder, the sudden downward thrust sending them higher into the air. In a matter of seconds, the ruins of Lordaeron lay far below them, looking small enough to be held in hand.

In a different situation- one without a third of their party being transformed into a dragon and the other two-thirds sitting astride her- Gurok thought Drezna would have been just his type of company. She was brusque, yes, but not without a certain amiability.

She was a mage, they found, and worked heavily out of the Undercity. Gurok still couldn't imagine how she and Geoffry had met and established any sort of working relationship- they seemed miles apart in terms of personality, after all- but didn't want to pry. He could tell the mage valued her privacy and likely had lots of secrets, none of which needed to be shared with them.

"The Ghostlands," she announced to her passengers as they cleared a range of low mountains, the ground before them unfolding in the darkness.

Moonlight caught on the mists below, but wherever the fog was thin, Gurok could see lifeless earth turned black from the Scourge. Not the same black as fertile soil and silt... a shade colder and more lifeless, black like the night sky.

"To your left, you'll see the Springroad, passage to the glorious city of Silvermoon," Arastel whispered in his ear, using the too-cheery tone of the goblin zeppelin-masters as they pointed out sights during long journeys. "And to your right, the ruins of an entire people. Augh, I wish we still had that bag of peanuts," he groaned as an afterthought.

The warrior could feel the elf's stomach gurgle and growl against his back and laughed, although when he looked down and saw the ruined towers and abandoned homes in the wastes below them, it seemed wrong to.

He knew when they'd reached Eversong- the ground shimmered with grass and life, pale light catching on the dewed blades, trees with thick foliage dotting the landscape. There were buildings with red-tiled rooftops and tall, twisting spires, paved roads illuminated by lamplight.

The edges of Drezna's broad wings rippled and fluttered as she descended, now gliding just high enough to scrape the tops of the tallest trees. "I cannot fly you into the city itself, not with the wards up," she explained as tall, pale walls came into sight. Watchfires, both magical and mundane, dotted the tops of the city's defenses, silhouetting the patrolling guards as they passed in front of them.

"Outside the city is perfect," Arastel answered for the both of them. "Somewhere... dark, if you don't mind."

The drake rumbled beneath them in reply, her head ducking low as she sought a place to land.

She chose the bank of a narrow river east of the city, covered in dark, springy grass that reminded Gurok of Mulgore. The orc slid from her back first, grimacing as rocky scales scratched his front and let a long scrape up his breastplate. He then reached up to help Arastel down, bearing his weight so that the elf's smaller, leather-clad form wasn't too battered by the drake's rough skin.

The rogue gave his good shoulder a squeeze once his toes touched the ground. The quick touch left Gurok wanting more- a hug, a massage, a kiss, anything really- but time was short and Arastel was moving on before the orc could even finish the thought.

He followed slowly after the elf as he rounded Drezna's long body to reach her front, meeting her even amber-eyed gaze as she swiveled her draconic head to face them. "Thank you, my lady," Arastel said with a grin and a half-bow, clearly amused to be addressing an orc in a drake's body.

Drezna's stone-studded brow furrowed, but she let his impish smiling pass. "Will you be needing a distraction?" she asked as she stretched out her wings from the long flight.

"No," the rogue said as he checked his belt and pockets over, making certain necessary supplies were still there. "I can handle that much."

"Good," the drake replied. With a sudden, ringing pop and a poof of sand and smoke, the great drake before them vanished and was replaced by a slender orc in indigo robes that bared a good deal of chest. Though her eyes had been amber as a drake, they were now a sort of grayish-brown, paler than what Gurok was used to seeing on orcs. And her bare arms, while not as muscular as most females, still spoke of strength-

The warrior jumped as he felt Arastel pinch him hard on the side, his quick fingers having found a way up underneath his armor and leather. "What?" he asked in alarm, trying to shuffle away from the angry elf and his pincers.

"It's rude to stare," the rogue said in a hiss, leaning in an giving the orc a dark look. Then he turned back to the mage, tilting his head in apology. "I'm sorry. Thank you for everything, and if you see that... warlock," Arastel said with a grimace, as if merely thinking of Geoffry put a bad taste in his mouth, "let him know that we owe him... I owe him," he sighed.

"He needs no reminding," Drezna said with a half-shrug. "He doesn't forget debts.. .or promises." Her smile was knowing, her expression mildly amused as she shook out her limbs before taking a swig of a golden vial and turning back into her drake-like form.

"Yes, yes," the rogue replied. "Thank you again. You're infinitely better than a zeppelin. Say goodbye, Gurok," he added, giving the orc a hard nudge in the side.

"Goodbye," the warrior rumbled as he rubbed at the tender spot that the elf kept gunning for. "You have our thanks. Be careful on the return-"

"She's a dragon, she'll be fine," Arastel huffed, pulling the orc along impatiently.

"She's not an actual dragon," Gurok argued as they headed for the heavy shadows cast by the great outer wall. He turned to wave goodbye, but Drezna had already launched into the air, and turned south. "Just an orc."

"You would know, eyeing her up like that," the elf said, glancing over at him sidelong.

A long moment passed before the warrior chuckled lowly, feeling something akin to pride lighting inside him. "Is that why you're upset?"

"I'm not upset. What makes you think that I'm upset," the rogue growled, snapping a twig from a tree as he passed it and breaking it apart inch by inch.

"You're jealous," Gurok murmured, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Possessive." He felt a sudden surge of desire, a need for the elf's hands on him and their faces close. Arastel was acting as though they'd had the ritual joining that bound a pair together before their ancestors, as if a shaman had already pronounced them one. He was acting like a newly joined life-mate, fiercely and irrationally territorial over his claimed partner... and that pleased Gurok more than he could express. "And you're certain you've no orcish blood?"

Though he looked reluctant about it, the rogue smiled. His angry paces slowed until he was barely moving at all, just sort of teetering back and forth on the balls of his feet as he considered Gurok. "Am I that bad?"

The orc laughed and tugged him along by the elbow, still nursing that ache to have him close. "I was just looking. And not in a... not in any way that means anything," he assured the elf. The warrior slid his hand down Arastel's back, wrapping it around his hip and pulling him close to his side while they walked. "But I like seeing you like that," he admitted. "You looked like... you wanted to punch me and kiss me at the same time. Could do without the pinching, though."

The elf hummed softly at that and leaned in against him. "I once gouged out a paladin's eye with one of his ribs. Just remember that when we're in Red Row and a dozen whores are throwing themselves at you," he murmured sweetly, stretching up to press a kiss to the underside of the warrior's jaw before he flitted off ahead to scout out the gate.

Gurok grinned crookedly and followed.

Slipping past the guards at the front had been easy enough. With a hastily made slingshot, Arastel simply waited until the pre-dawn carts began to roll up to the city, piled high with produce and eggs and dairy for the early morning market.

A single well-placed shot to the rickety back wheel of a cabbage cart sent the green vegetables tumbling away and the guards posted at the entrance scrambled to help the frantic farmer collect the least damaged. In the chaos, the pair slipped inside, hugging the tall, beautifully painted walls until they could safely be taken for harmless adventurers that had arrived by more usual means.

"If Niandra's still in charge I'd say the guards are likely free of Arcelia's taint," the elf whispered as he pretended to be interested in a display of knitted hats with holes for long elven ears, "but she's had rats get in before... can't hurt us to be a little more cautious. Undercity was a little..."

"Yeah, let's not do that again," Gurok agreed, taking the elf's hand loosely in his own. Dawn seemed to be on the verge of arrival, and the realization that they'd made it through the night heartened the warrior.

Arastel's eyes crinkled with a smile as he squeezed the orc's palm. "Now follow me," he said.

The city was wide and clean and sprawling, unlike any of the other capitals of the Horde. If anything, it seemed more gleaming and well-tended than when he had last visited. Arastel led him through more massive gates, the darkened corridors lit with brilliant braziers, and paths lined with meticulously sculpted trees. Gurok was about to ask where they were headed when he noticed the walls and buildings take on a bold, unrelenting shade of red.

"I remember this place."

"It's a hard one to forget," Arastel agreed, squinting at the loud color that screamed from every corner.

They passed elves of every look and size along the way, but all wore at least some article of clothing in a dark, honey-yellow that shimmered in the red lamp-light. More than once Gurok felt soft hands squeeze his upper arms or slide against the bare sliver of skin that peeked through between the bottom of his breastplate and the top of his pants, eager for one last customer before day broke.

Arastel got a handful of invitations as well, but far fewer of the streetside prostitutes seemed willing to risk a playful touch. His mask and daggers seemed as off-putting here as they had been in the Undercity.

"I think... just in case, if we are somehow being tailed," the elf murmured against the mask drawn across his face, "it might be wiser not to head straight for the one Valsann said. Lay over for a few hours somewhere else then slip out."

"Okay," the orc agreed readily. "Then... where?"

Arastel glanced at him, his eyes teasing. "Your pick," he said nonchalantly, daring the warrior to choose.

"Oh no," Gurok snorted. "Not after earlier. You pick and I'll stare at a wall. I like my ribs and my eyes where they are, thanks," he said with a grunt.

"Smart orc," the rogue answered, a grin in his voice. He tried to wriggle his fingers up between the gap in Gurok's armor again, but the orc slapped his hand and the intended pinch became more of a tickle.

"Hurry up or I will pick, and it'll be the one with the most topless elves-"

Arastel shot him a glare that could have quailed him, had the orc not seen the corners of his eyes just barely squinting with a genuine smile.

The rogue spun in place, surveying the nearest brothels until he made up his mind. That settled, he gestured to the warrior and began heading in the direction of one in a blaring shade of vermillion. The establishment he picked was large and had a well-tended flowerbox out front, the tall green stems dotted with dozens upon dozens of tiny red blossoms.

The inside was, unfortunately, painted just as blindingly bright. Gurok felt as though he was stuck in a permanent squint; even Arastel seemed to be second-guessing his choice. They approached the front desk and rang the little bell sitting beside a decorative statue of a dragonhawk. The warrior realized he didn't know the name of this brothel and speculated about whether or not it was dragonhawk related.

"We need a room," the rogue said flatly, already pulling out a dozen gold coins. "Just until noon."

"Of course," the buxom elf behind the counter replied. She was far older than most elves that Gurok had seen, though she seemed to have held up well through the years. Her eyes were large and playful, and against his better judgment, the orc already found himself liking her. "One with a big bed for our big friend," she said with a wink.

Gurok smiled crookedly, though it quick became a grimace when he felt Arastel pinch him hard on the side.

"And company?" the owner asked with a brief flutter of her heavy lashes.

"We have no need of any," Arastel said with a quick shake of his head.

"A shame. It seems like we get fewer of you now," she sighed to the warrior as she grabbed a set of keys and led them up a set of stairs. "And after I spent thousands of gold renovating this place... twelve rooms with orc and tauren proof beds, all for naught," she complained as they reached a heavy oaken door with an eight emblazoned across it in gold leaf.

"Thanks," they said in unison as she gave them a brief curtsey and headed back down to her desk.

It was a far cry from what Gurok was used to, but he liked it. A thick carpet covered the tiled floor and the walls were mercifully neutral in color. The only accents of red were in the drapery and the bedspread.

"I thought you said Silvermoon wasn't made with orcs in mind," Gurok grinned, pressing his weight down on the sturdy bed and mattress. He bounced a little, testing it- not even a creak.

"The brothels are a world apart," the elf insisted, flinging a plump pillow at the orc's head.

"So, what will we do for these few hours?" the warrior asked, his gruff voice teasing. "Stay on guard, vigilant for any pursuers?"

"That is what we should do," the elf said flatly, thoroughly dashing Gurok's hopes. Until he slipped off his mask and grinned. "But what we will do is see how much these beds can really withstand," he purred. "Just keep your axe close," he advised with a slight smirk as he hung his belt and daggers over the headboard.

Gurok could have stayed past noon. He could've slept until dinner, and then slept some more. It was the hardest thing in the world to roll himself off of that wonderful bed, warm from their heat, firm while still remaining heavenly soft, sheets as smooth as running water. It was luxury that he wasn't accustomed to- even the brothels he'd stayed at before had been on the cheaper side, with cotton bedspreads of dubious cleanliness- and it was agony to leave after such a short taste.

"Up, Gurok," the elf laughed as he pushed and prodded the warrior until he sat up and put his feet on the floor.

At least Arastel was in better spirits now, apparently content now that'd renewed his claim on the orc. Gurok's lips quirked to the side as he checked himself briefly in the mirror- little love bites dotted his neck, too high up to conceal. He had a sneaking suspicion it was intentional, though he didn't see what good such a statement did in a red district.

After a quick wash of his face in the basin in the corner of the room, Gurok slipped on his clothes- in need of a washing themselves- and gathered his things. They left the brothel, the orc waving goodbye to the elven hostess and Arastel rolling his eyes, and the warrior made a mental note that it was called The Long Serpent.

Andorel had scribbled directions onto the corner of the envelope that Arastel now pulled out of his vest, crumpled and a bit wilted from moisture and sweat. The elven priest's fine hand was still legible, though, and they followed his directions to an elegant establishment named The Crimson Swan, where they asked the young elf behind the counter for a brothelworker named Jeth.

"Oh," the blond behind the counter said as he penciled something into the ledger to avoid any overlapping of visitors, "he'll be glad to hear that. Upstairs, second to last door on the right. He may not be quite... presentable yet. It is a bit of an off hour," the elf said apologetically.

"We understand," Arastel replied with a nod. "Our timing isn't great," he said as he dumped a good two dozen coins out on the table to pay for the room.

The elf behind the counter scooped it up with a smile and nodded them onward. "Dinner comes complimentary to overnight guests. Check out is by eleven, although there's a small late fee if you'd rather take your time. We hope you enjoy yourselves here at the Swan," he said as he gestured toward the staircase that divided the entrance from a small dining area.

Gurok felt oddly aware of the axe strapped to his back as they trudged up the steps. Arastel and his daggers. He hoped they wouldn't frighten whatever poor elf Andorel was trying to shove them onto. And he wondered what they would do if this Jeth decided he wanted no part in their scheme.

Arastel rapped on the heavy, cherry-stained door and took a deep breath, the crimson envelope held firmly in his other hand.

The orc was listening for the sound of movement within, steps across the floor, but there was noise to prepare them for the sudden opening of the door.

Jeth was slender wisp of an elf with large eyes and delicate features. He appeared to have just rolled out of bed, a gold silken robe wrapped about him and his red-tinted hair sloppily tied back.

"I usually have a little break between two bells and sundown," he complained as he leaned against the doorframe. Gurok could see his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek as he considered them, a glint of eagerness appearing in his eyes. "But I'm more than willing to make an exception. Both of you, hm? And one an orc... I certainly won't be able to see anyone else tonight."

"Perhaps you should read this first," Arastel said quickly, producing the sealed envelope before the warrior at his side could turn any darker with embarrassment. "May we come in?"

"Oh, certainly," Jeth replied with a smile sweet as honey. "The bed isn't made yet. You can seat yourselves on the chaise, if you like, or one of the pillows, and I'll go read this," he said as he picked at the wax on the envelope, an intrigued but dubious smile crossing his lips. "Such an interesting start. The ones that come with games in mind are always fun," he muttered as he wandered into the bathroom adjoining his bedroom.

Gurok shared an uneasy look with his rogue, wondering what their reception would be like when the elf had finished the letter.

"Be ready to run," Arastel mouthed at him, his mask briefly pulled down. His lips straightened into a bloodless line as he pulled the cloth back up to his nose and settled in for the wait.

The orc hoped it wouldn't come to that. He was tired of running. And where could they go in this city? Arastel had no surplus of friends to call on, was doubtful even of his father's family. They were alone but for a letter and the hope in Valsann's ties.

Gurok tried studying the room to set his mind at ease. It was even more lushly furnished than the brothel room they'd had this morning, with an assortment of floor pillows and drapes that ran all the way to the floor. The bed looked large enough to comfortably hold four, and it probably had- and on either side were vases of sunflowers and peacebloom, the glass containers blending well with the myriad jars and vials neatly ordered on the bedside tables.

Then Jeth appeared at the bathroom door just as suddenly and quietly as before, his silk robe exchanged for a soft cotton shirt and plain brown pants lined with yellow satin. His full lips were curved down in displeasure as he glared at the two of them.

"Arastel Sunsworn." Jeth crossed the room in three long steps and flipped the rogue's hood back, his scowl deepening as he studied the elf before him.

"The pleasure is all mine," Arastel said weakly.

"It would have to be," the prostitute said with a sharp smile, "for there is certainly none on my part. And I'd had such high hopes when I saw you two," he sighed, hand over his heart as he briefly lamented the sex that could have been.

"You read the letter?" Gurok asked.

Jeth's gaze flitted to him before returning to the other elf, eyes raking over him, taking him in anew. "Yes, I read it. Would that I had burned it instead," he muttered. "What was he thinking, sending me Arastel Sunsworn? Some thought you dead. Or hoped, rather."

"Do you count yourself among that number?" the rogue asked, his voice even and faintly curious. Gurok felt him shift as he must've reached to thumb a concealed knife.

"Who cares what a whore thinks," Jeth replied nonchalantly as he tossed the letter onto a bedside table. "But since you asked... I harbor little love for your ilk. Slitting throats to the tune of the nobles' song is more soulless than anything I've ever done, to be sure. Our brothels are paying her twice what they did two years ago, and woe to any whore that thinks to sell themselves without giving Arcelia her dues."

"I am not her creature anymore," Arastel said softly, relaxing just a bit, "and I mean to remove her."

The prostitute's smile was cold. "Out of the kindness of your black heart, for all the spit-upon whores forced to hand over our gold to her, I'm certain."

"I never said that," the dyed-brunet huffed. "My reasons are my own, but good will come of it for others. Yourself included."

"And danger," the redheaded elf replied. "Risk." He bit his lip, his large eyes turning doleful for a moment. "Andoreah grew tired of turning the gold from every third customer over to Arcelia's brutes. She paid her share to the Crimson Swan and then struck out on the streets to recoup her losses... They staked her to the ground, naked, and whipped her bloody. Then they left her to the tender mercy of Murder Row. So what do you think they would do to the one caught harboring you? And forget Arcelia, what about the people you've wronged? The blood you shed that begs to be repaid? One measly whore makes for a poor shield."

"We will not let any harm come to you, and you will be well rewarded," Arastel said. "Surely Valsann told you-"

Jeth waved the words off. "Yes, I know what he promised. But promises... I have had a thousand promises whispered to me," the elf said quietly. "Your words mean little and less."

Gurok cleared his throat. He didn't know if he had the words in him to sway an elf, but there was something in the slim prostitute's demeanor that seemed... angry. Not at them, at least not entirely. Bitter anger, old anger, the sort that that is seeded by fear but grows to replace it. "You are not wrong to be wary. But if we succeed, if you help... what happened to your friend need not happen to anyone else." The redheaded elf stiffened, and for one short-lived moment, his fury was plain on his face. Then it was hidden again, concealed under layers of apathy and coolness, contrived and careful loftiness. "For now, we are just two visitors to your brothel. I'm a nameless sellsword, and he's just a rogue." he smiled crookedly. "Would you have taken him for Arastel?"

Jeth quirked his lips sourly, looking annoyed. "You do look different. That hair is a travesty. Did Val do it? He's always been terrible at dye jobs. Gave my hair orange stripes, once. The customers started calling me 'Tabby'. We'll need to fix that proper," he said, pushing his fingers through Arastel's hair, "if we're to keep you undiscovered. Especially when her cronies come to collect," he added with a slight sneer.

"You're going to help us?" Gurok asked, half out of surprise and half looking for confirmation.

The prostitute gave him a quick glance and a fleeting smile. "I can never say no to Val. Let me send to the kitchens for some food for you," Jeth sighed. "And I hope you brought me gold. I certainly can't entertain anyone tonight, not unless they like having an audience. Well, actually..." he muttered, apparently giving that thought some consideration.

"Fifty gold," Arastel said before they could be wrangled into some voyeuristic endeavor. "Fifty for each night we impose upon your hospitality."

"Fifty?" Jeth smiled, albeit reluctantly. "That's not terrible. Give me a moment, I'll be back."

Gurok was relieved, but Arastel was still suspicious. He checked the room over quickly, lifting the glass jars and vials that stored liquids of various colors and consistencies, sloshing them around or tentatively sniffing after uncorking them. He rifled through drawers and peeked under the bed, and then the rogue herded Gurok near the drape-covered window and waited the other elf's return with hands resting on his daggers, prepared for some betrayal.

And the warrior couldn't fault him. For all they knew, Jeth had run to some minion of Arcelia's. Surely there would be some handsome reward for such an act...

But the redheaded elf returned with a tray of food as he'd promised, and aside form arching a shapely brow at Arastel's stance he made no comment on their lack of trust. "You're lucky. The cook found a pair of swordfish for cheap earlier. Normally it's mutton or whatever poultry Splithoof manages to catch," he said as he set up a tea table and laid out their meals on top of it.

The brothel's kitchens had produced two large, shallow bowls steaming with food- the sight alone was enough to make Gurok's mouth water, and the smell was something foreign and enticing. Oversized meatballs of minced fish and spices swam in a pale sauce of cream and tomatoes, accompanied by a pale brown grain that reminded the orc of barley. With the meal, Jeth produced a bottle of white wine and a pitcher of water.

The warrior said his thanks and set down upon a tall pillow, eager to eat, until a gesture from Arastel stopped him.

Jeth saw it too, and his smile immediately took on a more pleased note. "Examine it as you will, Sunsworn," he offered cordially. "You'll find it's all... palatable."

The rogue's gaze slipped from the whore to the food, turning each bowl as he studied the contents. He sniffed carefully, pinched up pieces of grain between his fingers, then finally tasted a tiny bit of each item. At last he seemed convinced, and he gave Gurok a nod.

The orc's eagerness was somewhat tempered by the display, but he was still voracious and wolfed down his own portion and a third of Arastel's. The rogue seemed far more interested in staring at Jeth than eating; had Gurok not been certain that reminding him of the rudeness of staring would result in the elf taking back his bowl, he'd have pinched him on the side.

"I trust you have a plan for all of this," Jeth asked from the bed that he lay draped across. His tone was dubious.

Arastel straightened up. "I have a... an idea of what needs to happen," he said with a soft cough.

Jeth shut his eyes and began to rub small circles on his temples. "You've no idea what you're doing and Valsann sends you to me," the prostitute sighed. "This is why I have a policy of not becoming indebted to anyone now," he grumbled as rolled his eyes and grabbed up a small bag from a drawer under the bed. The elf stared at them disinterestedly as he began eating sunflower seeds one at a time.

The rogue sat, sullen and silent as Gurok scraped up the last of his food and Jeth crunched on the small seeds. "So... where will we be sleeping?" the orc asked after a solid minute of uncomfortable silence had passed.

"Here, of course," the prostitute grinned, patting the bed beside him. "For appearances. You're my guests, aren't you? And for fifty gold a night you can feel free to involve me anytime you'd like," he added. "But I like being tipped."

Gurok smiled uncertainly and thumped his heels against the floor a few times, anxious to do something other than stew in this awkward atmosphere. "Can we have a look around? A tour?"

"Everyone's sleeping now, usually," the redhead replied with a half-shrug. "Or getting ready. I can tell you, though. Next room over is Sugar," Jeth said with a brief frown. "She's pleasant enough, but don't go telling her who you are- she'll bear our friend here no love," he said, looking pointedly to Arastel, who glowered as he curled in on himself. "And for conversational purposes, Arastel is my childhood friend Leyden, and this is your partner... Rorc? Is that orcish enough?" he asked.

"It will serve," Gurok agreed.

"Good. Sugar'll look after you anytime I'm not around, which shouldn't be terribly often. And if she's otherwise occupied, there's Splithoof down the stairs. He's Sugar's man, so watch your mouth around him. He doesn't take kindly to anyone besmirching his lady or her profession. Lorla is across the hall, and Ibal is the one down on the end. Don't bother with him, he's insufferable."

"Splithoof... a tauren?" Gurok asked, heartened at the possibility. Some company that wasn't elvish had taken on an appealing air after the sudden immersion of Silvermoon.

Jeth nodded as he picked a bit of sunflower seed from his teeth. "I'm sure he'd be glad to talk to a couple of new folks," the elf said. "Just remember. Rorc. Leyden. Keep your pasts to yourselves and you can't get caught in any sticky lies. Make small talk, keep it light. Please don't get me killed by being idiots," he finished with a pleading shake of his head.

Tolso Splithoof was a tauren of great height and wide berth, with horns that stretched nearly a yard across. His thick, shaggy fur was a near black shade of brown, and his mane and beard were woven with bells and brilliantly dyed strands of spun wool.

Over two mugs of ale, the boisterous tauren regaled them with how he had left the adventuring life behind after a chance stop at the Crimson Swan, where his night with Sweets changed his life.

"Toss out the dregs and the drunks," the tauren mumbled as he cracked a nut between his teeth and then fished out the meat. "Beat the ones that get too rough with them. And make the beardless boys pay up. Rarely do I actually need my axe," he said, nodding toward the weapons rack that held the massive weapon, in addition to a set of polearms and a rifle made with large tauren fingers in mind. "I get warm meals, good beer, a soft bed, and the loving of my Sugar whenever the customers wander home. A better life than any I had out there," he said, spitting into the hearth.

Arastel smiled. "She's beautiful, and seems very kind." They had run into her on the way downstairs- a tall, willowy elf that smelled of green grass and meadowflowers. Gurok could see why the tauren might have been drawn to her.

Splithoof grinned. "She is, all that and more. If only she weren't in such high demand," he sighed. "Most times she's too tired, so we just talk and sleep. Still, that is a comfort in itself. You're friends of Jeth?" the hunter asked after he slammed a hard-shelled nut on the table, smashing it open.

Arastel nodded. "I am, though it's been a long time. Rorc is just here with me, though," he added, glancing over at the warrior.

The tauren nodded, though his attention seemed more focused on the bits of nut he was picking from the shards of shell. "Well, if you've ever got a mind to go hunting, Rorc, I could always use help for bigger game. No boar in these woods, but lynx meat sells well. Not too tough if it's cooked right," he said with a little smile, glancing up briefly at the two of them.

Gurok nodded. "I'd like that. I need to get a new bow first," he groaned. "Lost my old one off the back of a wyvern," the orc lied smoothly. It had actually been lost at some point in the tumult of Ashenvale, left lying in Hatoof's camp, he supposed.

Splithoof grimaced in sympathy. "I've got an old bow you could use. Could keep it, actually," he amended. "Nothing special. Probably on the verge of breaking, but you could give it a try. I've always been better with a gun," he explained with a shrug.

"Thanks," the warrior said with a small smile. "I can pay you for it-"

"Don't worry about it," the tauren laughed. "Damned things not worth the trouble. Just go find it in the old weapons chest behind the counter. See if you can get it back in good repair."

"I'm ready, Tolso- oh! Hey, you two," Sugar said from where she was leaning over the banister. She gave them a polite little wave of acknowledgement and then turned her attention back to the tauren. "Come get some sugar whenever you're up to it," she added in a sultry voice, winking before she slinked back up to her room.

Splithoof hastily swept the broken shells on the tabletop into a trash bin and gave them a hasty bow. "Duty calls," he grinned as he left them sitting there.

Their first night at The Crimson Swan was awkward. And not just because Jeth was there, fel eyes aglow as he tried to sleep during hours he'd normally have been up and working.

Arastel had taken it upon himself to lie in the middle, a barrier to protect his orc from any unsolicited touches or spontaneous cuddling. But he didn't actually sleep. Gurok managed a couple of hours of rest before a nightmare- all he could remember was the end, which had featured the rogue sliding inexorably toward a precipice while Gurok's legs were set like stone- suddenly jolted him awake. Before Arastel could shut his eyes to play at slumber, the orc had seen him.

Gurok was at a loss. There was no way to convince the elf that it was safe, that they could rest- it probably wasn't, after all. But would they ever be safe while Arcelia lived and pursued them? So he just murmured, "I'll keep watch," and wrapped his arm around the rogue, pulling him over until the elf's back was flush against his front.

His breathing never deepened and slowed with sleep, though.

Dawn came and found Jeth refreshed, as vibrant as the flowers beside his bed- blossoms that never seemed to dry or wilt, surprisingly. Gurok was tired. Arastel looked abysmal, the dark rings under his eyes once again displaying prominently.

They spent the morning lazily, and the warrior was happy for the indulgence, though he wished Arastel would have used it to try and rest rather than to sharpen his daggers for the hundredth time. Out in the hall Gurok could hear the opening and closing of a door, thumps and laughter as some patrons dragged themselves out.

After the fourth such noise, Jeth cracked his own door open and peeked out. "Sugar again," he sighed as he closed and locked it. "I was the most popular one here before she came along... but you just can't compete with that," he tutted. "She's twice the whore for the same coin."

Gurok wasn't positive what that meant and didn't feel like thinking on it. He turned instead to Arastel, who was going over his poisons methodically, paying neither of the room's other two occupants any mind.

The orc let a deep breath out through his nose, wanting to pull the elf into his lap and hold him close but knowing that that would solve nothing at all. That Jeth would see was an additional deterrent.

"Rorc," Jeth said from the door, and it took a second uttering of his new name to get the warrior's attention. "Why don't you go downstairs and see who's up, maybe get us some breakfast. He and I need to have a talk," he murmured, his gaze shifting to Arastel.

Gurok was hesitant to leave the rogue alone with the elf they barely knew, but a quick nod from Arastel gave him a little assurance. "I'll be just downstairs," he said as he turned to leave.

The wizened old elf in the kitchen had already created a towering stack of thin pancakes and bowls filled with diced fruit, and while it seemed like an insubstantial breakfast to Gurok, he had to admit it tasted good. He cleaned his plate in the company of a petite elf named Lorla, who had momentarily made the orc choke on a bite of melon when she descended the staircase in nothing but a sheer nightgown that just grazed her thighs.

Aside from her lacking attire, she was good company. They ate together in silence, and when he cleared his plate and finished his honeyed milk, she wordlessly offered him her half-eaten portion.

As he thanked her and began to slice into her stack of crepes, the questions began.

"How did you get that scar on your cheek?"

"Dwarf," he said around a mouthful of berries. "Aren't you cold?"

"I don't get cold easily," she replied with a light grin. "Are you going to be like Splithoof and protect us?" she asked, batting her blonde lashes.

"Do you need protecting?" he asked back, already feeling the old tinge of concern that had driven him to be a guard in the first place.

"Not really, no. Mostly for show," Lorla answered as she leaned forward to pluck a red grape from the bowl. Gurok couldn't object, seeing as the fruit had been hers to begin with. "I keep a knife behind my headboard- a slim one from back when I used to cut coinpurses. Sugar has a pistol. Aran has this wire for garroting-"

"Have you used them?" the orc asked, taken aback.

"Once, when someone tried choking me. Then again when a troll put his tusk through my shoulder," she said, peeling back her nightgown to show him the scar- discolored skin on her back where it went in and a smaller mark on her front where it had emerged.

Gurok was almost mesmerized by it. The slender elf was among the last he'd have expected to have such a scar, such a story. "Twice you've nearly been killed," Gurok said, astounded. "You don't worry?"

"Sometimes," she admitted. "But the would-be killers are few and far between, and they bleed the same as anyone when you slit their throat," Lorla added with a slight smile.

Gurok mulled their conversation over as he proceeded upstairs with plates of breakfast for Jeth and Arastel. Lorla had told him that the Crimson Swan was one of the brothels that tended catered more to adventurers; also, that it had sister establishments in Dalaran and Shattrath. He was surprised to realize had stayed at the one in Shattrath once, though a drunken brawl between Horde and Alliance in the parlor had cut the night short for everyone in the building as scandalized peacekeepers arrived to escort shamefaced soldiers of both factions back to their respective commanders.

It was the Swan's penchant for entertaining rowdy adventurers that made its workers more... worldly. It was a necessary precaution, Lorla had said, an insurance against physically powerful trolls, orcs, and elves that still saw the sin'dorei as weak and ripe to be dominated.

And that was why the orc shouldn't have been so stunned to open the door and find Jeth mixing poisons with Arastel, the prostitute's hands as steady as any old alchemist's.

The redhead simply winked and went back to swirling a vile of viscous green fluid before holding it up for the rogue's approval. "Just having a little bonding moment," he assured the orc. "Nothing out of the ordinary, I promise."

Arastel turned and flashed him a smile before beckoning him closer- it seemed he was nearly as hungry as Gurok after skipping most of his meal last night in his sullen mood. And whether Jeth had chosen the right words to mollify the elf or the simple act of brewing death had brought them closer together, Arastel now seemed much more content with his company.

"That was why you checked the food," the warrior realized as he set down the plates and accompanying bowls, his gaze finding Arastel's and holding it.

The dyed-brunet nodded as he popped fruit into his mouth in between bites from the plate of crackers that was already sitting on the tea table.

Gurok's gaze drifted to the assorted vials and bottles lining the shelf, clustered on the bedside tables. He'd dismissed them so easily as just more of the blood elves' tonics and beauty potions. "Are they all...?"

"No, most of it is what you would expect," the redhead assured him. "Oils, perfumes, extracts. Mostly oils," he said with a sly smile. "I know which ones are which, though. And apparently your rogue does as well," he said approvingly. "Not a common skill, even among those who work with poisons. I have always taken care to hide my weapons well. I was impressed that he singled them out so quickly."

Arastel was smiling as he shoveled in his food, not even bothering to use a fork now.

"Don't get syrup on the sheets," Jeth said in a beleaguered voice. "Ugh, it's all over you... take a bath, please," he huffed, pointing to the bathroom. "I need to talk with our warrior now anyway."

"About what?" the rogue asked as he rose and brushed off bits of food, a hint of his old mistrust returning.

"About you," the prostitute said plainly. "Now go wash up, and for Light's sake don't touch anything. I deal with enough sticky fluids without you contributing," he snapped as he ushered the other elf into the bathroom and pulled the door shut. "Now come on, let's go outside," Jeth said to the orc.

Gurok was momentarily confused as the elf went to his window and threw aside the heavy drapes, but then he saw that the window was in fact a set of tall, glass-paned doors that led to a very small balcony overlooking the red-lined street.

There was barely enough room for the two of them to sit, and though the chairs had obviously been made with large occupants in mind, the orc still found the arms digging into his sides.

Jeth was comfortable, though, his bowl of fruit and the plate of crackers both balanced atop his crossed legs as he looked out on Red Row, the street barely occupied due to the early hour. "When I first started, I didn't work at the Swan," he said as evenly as though they were discussing the weather. "I didn't have enough gold to rent a room in a brothel, so I sold myself in the street. One night an elf slammed my face into the wall when he finished with me. Stole my gold, laughed as he took the dirk I'd had sheathed in my boot to defend myself. Then he kicked me square in the mouth for good measure."

Gurok swallowed down the crackers he'd been chewing, feeling them thick in his throat.

"I lost three teeth that night," the elf continued as he brushed crumbs off of his pants- embersilk spun and dyed into the shimmering shade of dark yellow that marked his profession. He glanced up and smiled. "My pride was considerably more shattered. Mercifully, I was taken in shortly after. Valsann sponsored me, in a way, and saw that I was given porcelain replacements. I asked that one of the molars be made to my own liking. Hollow."

"For poison," the orc murmured, quickly growing disinterested in the thought of food. Elves would be the slow, starving death of him.

Jeth nodded slowly, his expression wavering between sly and sad. "Val worked out of the Trembling Tulip, which saw both sin'dorei and Alliance customers back then. Humans are not entirely unlike the orcs and trolls we see now- many have a fondness for the look of our kind and also mistakenly think us weak, adept at nothing but warming pillows. Even then, they had a poison-master, and it was there I learned how to make a man bleed from the inside."

Distantly, Gurok heard a noise, a metallic but musical sound that rang nine or ten times. Bells, he realized. He was used to the bellowing horns in Orgrimmar used to mark the hours.

Jeth had paused, waiting for the ringing to cease before he continued. "Once I had a little more experience under my belt, I sought my revenge. I stood in the same dark alley for three nights, waiting. Eventually I saw him- the very elf that had left me in ruins. I smiled at him with my new teeth and invited him to have me. When he did, I bit his tongue half off and fed him poison of my own making. It took him half an hour to die... the agony must have been exquisite."

"You speak of it as calmly as any mercenary I've known," Gurok said with unconcealed wonder, earning a faint smirk from the redheaded elf. Were they all like this, with something dark under the veneer of sophistication and splendor? He thought of Arastel's comparison of sin'dorei and snakes, sinuous and beautifully scaled but full of venom. Or poison, he thought as he considered the elf he was sharing the balcony with.

"My only regret is that I didn't have the gold to afford firebloom at the time, as it makes for an unquenchable thirst and burning fever," Jeth said with a small shrug, his eyes playful. He sobered a moment later, sighing as he cocked his head at the orc. "I say this all to you... as some reminder of our nature. Among the rest of the Horde, we are often regarded as soft. Delicate, even- tame and prim. But vengeance is in our very blood, from the guardians that call for a reckoning of the wrongs done to us as a people to even simple whores mistreated on the streets. It is as true of your elf as it is of Arcelia... and those whose kin he has slain."

"He did not do your kin any wrongs, I hope?" Gurok asked, eyeing the poisoner warily.

Jeth smiled, but this time it lacked any warmth at all. "I have no kin. None that would claim me, at least." He sipped slowly from a glass filled with what looked like white wine. "Sugar's brother was killed in a scheme of Arcelia's. Tricked into believing he would be allowed to join their ranks if he delivered the keys to his employer's estate. By Arastel as like as anyone else," he added quietly.

"Would she reveal us to Arcelia if she knew we were here?" he asked carefully.

The elf gave him a shrewd look. "No. She would turn you over to Splithoof while she gathered everyone she knew that had ever been wronged by Arastel or Arcelia. I would not care to imagine what would become of your elf then. You are not familiar with our fair city," Jeth said sympathetically, his expression softening. "You see the divide between him and her as clear as night and day. You have forgiven him. But for the people who saw him, who heard of his treachery and the murders... he is but one of the heads of the beast Arcelia has born."

"Yet you don't think that," Gurok stated, resting his hands on his knees for lack of anything better to do with them. "You treat him- us- decently. Kindly. We'd be lost here if not for you," he rumbled, avoiding Jeth's gaze.

"I only took the two of you on out of consideration for Val," the slender elf dismissively said as he nibbled on a cracker. "But... I do try to look and listen. It's true that he doesn't seem like the monster he once was."

"He was never," the warrior began to protest, but his words ran dry when Jeth gave him a sad smile. "He is not that elf," he said instead, and his throat felt dry and tight as he thought of Arastel's old crimes. "He's no one's warhound. He's not some heartless killer. It's just her, and then he can stop. He doesn't even want to... to do it for a living. He'd rather take up leatherwork," he said quietly. But though those words made his heart ache and reaffirmed his admiration for the rogue, Jeth seemed unmoved.

"How sweet," the prostitute said without any indication that he cared at all. "But he'll need to be heartless, if only for a little while," the prostitute said with a jaunty tilt of his head, "because it won't end with her. Even if we succeed in removing Arcelia, they will scramble to replace her. Her dolts. I doubt any would last, not like she's lasted, but why risk it?" he said with the tone of a decision already made. "This isn't slaying a dragon. This is smothering an infestation. Destroying a hive."

"And you expect Arastel to do it all?" Gurok asked incredulously. The breadth of it alarmed him. He hadn't anticipated... How many did serve his lover's enemy? He had no idea, honestly. Dozens or hundreds? How many would be loyal enough to seek them out for retribution? Bloody vengeance, which Jeth had just spoken to him of, so ingrained in their culture... He took a long breath, eyes slipping shut as he tried to imagine slaying a half-a-hundred for the sake of assuring their safety. Then a hundred. Then more. Would he draw a line? No, not when it comes to protecting Arastel, he acknowledged.

"Him," the elf said loftily, unconcerned for any turmoil his suggestion had caused, "and you. You will have help," he promised as he fished through his bowl for grapes. "There are others in similar situations with Arcelia. Betrayed. Alone. Hiding. I just need to find them... but first I want you both to know your part. I'm but a simple whore- I don't want to be left holding the weight of this city once she's gone, praying no one equal to her seizes control of whatever structure she leaves behind," he said sternly.

"What is it that you do want?" the warrior asked, uncertain of why the elf might jeopardize himself for them and their cause. It couldn't be just for Valsann, as Jeth said, although it did seem that debt ran deep.

"The things anyone wants," Jeth answered with a coy smile. "Safety, respect, autonomy. I want to keep the gold I earn and use it as I desire. I want to take customers as I please and turn away the ones I don't. No fear of reprisals. And I want to kill the collectors," he murmured as he peeled the skin from a grape and popped it into his mouth. He met the orc's gaze unflinchingly. "You and Arastel and whoever else I find can eradicate the rest. But I have scores to settle with those two," he said darkly.

Gurok had a feeling that Arcelia's cronies had taken more than gold on their visits to collect, but he kept silent. Jeth's anger and hurt seemed to radiate now, thick and intense enough to feel. He was furious, even if he kept the better part of it hidden, and Gurok was certain that it was that deep resentment that had pushed the elf this far- like a low-burning fire that had suddenly been stoked into a roaring blaze, Jeth had embraced this plan with a cold dedication that made the orc wonder... "Did she die? The one you said... Andoreah," he whispered as her name came back to him. "The one they whipped."

Jeth set down his bowl and his plate and uncrossed his legs. He leaned forward, his head angled down, but Gurok could see the dampness in his eyes that he tried to conceal. Was it because he thought it was weak, or did he want to spare himself the warrior's pity? "She did. I... I didn't know it had happened til morning. I didn't even realize she had left," he said softly, "or else I would've- I could've gone to her. If someone had just stopped them and untied her," he trailed off and looked out over the street, eyes glazing over as he must have been imagining a different ending to that night.

"I'm sorry. That it got this bad here for you," the orc clarified, shifting awkwardly as the small elf continued to stare blankly away. He got the impression that Jeth needed time alone, and with the two of them constantly occupying his room it seemed the least the warrior could do was allow him some brief solitude on the balcony.

Gurok rose and headed inside, choosing to wait near the bathroom door for Arastel to emerge. He needed his own time to bathe anyway, and now seemed as good a time as any to ready himself. Later they would need to find whoever these other hiding victims of Arcelia were, attempt to bring them in, because there was no way that he and Arastel could dismantle such a large organization alone.

"It got this bad because we let her fester like a dirty wound," Jeth said from behind him.

Gurok nearly jumped, startled by the slender elf's words. Jeth's steps were so light that hadn't noticed he'd been followed.

"I'm as guilty as any," the redhead continued, unconcerned with the orc's alarm, "of standing back and bemoaning it, decrying it... but doing nothing about it. Suicides that rang of murder, young elves stolen to appease some slaver's tastes, corruption in the highest councils and orders. We would talk of how terrible it was, how monstrous her dogs were, what a nuisance it was to have her take a cut of our gold, but I suppose I didn't really care until it was someone I loved. And now it's... now I..." He shook his head and thinned his lips into a line, his stare hard on the carpeted floor.

The orc was wordless. His jaw worked for a moment but no sound emerged. It was probably for the best, for he could think of no words to reply to such a statement.

"Do you know who hurt her?" Arastel asked as he opened the bathroom door, steam billowing out with him. The freckled elf ducked his head slightly, an apology for eavesdropping on a conversation he probably couldn't have helped but overhear. "I can... I could do them special for you," he offered as he wrapped his towel tight and tucked the corner in to hold it up. His cheeks were red, and not just from the heat of his bath- Gurok saw the rogue avoided his glance, as if shamed that he'd made such a proposal.

Jeth's breath caught, literally speechless for a moment. "Th-thank you. I... I'll have to consider..." he said slowly. "And I'd have to ask around and get the names of the ones involved. But... I would like that," he said in a shaky voice. "I would like them to know that was why they were dying. For her."

Arastel nodded, understanding and a strange sympathy clear in his eyes. Doubtless, he'd been hired for many attempts to return blood for blood. If there was something he knew well, it was probably revenge and whatever relief it could bring.

Andoreah. Salesha, Hatoof's lover that had died by Arastel's hand at Arcelia's command. The list of names would grow, certainly- people that needed to be avenged. Gurok hoped that Arastel's mother wouldn't be added to it.

He excused himself and ducked under the doorframe and into the still steaming bathroom, peeling off his clothes as soon as the door swung shut.

The copper tub in Jeth's bathroom was large enough to hold three elves comfortably, or one large orc, Gurok found- there was a tap with hot and cold water right in the room, which left the orc yearning such a thing for his own home. The shelves behind the tub were lined with soaps and bars of perfume, bottles of lotions and glass jars filled with fine sand for scrubbing.

The warrior picked one up and opened it, shaking the jar gently. The scent from within was powerful, the dried, crushed mint leaves mixed in with pale sand freshening the whole room. Other jars held other herbs and spiced blends- peacebloom, dried lemon peels, honey, the pungent jasmine from the Highlands, and even one full of powdered bloodthistle.

The orc settled on a bar of soap with whole peacebloom petals buried inside it, comforted by the smell of the hardy white flower that Durotar had in droves.

Gurok hissed as he eased himself into the scalding water, but once submerged he tipped his head back and groaned contentedly as he felt the heat drawing the tension from his aching shoulders and back. It was a brief but welcome respite from the pain... and the conversation outside.

His head felt muddled by thoughts about their purpose here, about what needed to be done. Perhaps it was the comfort of the city that had so disarmed him, or their intimate stay in that first brothel. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but...

It wasn't this. It felt like planning a coup and a culling at the same time. Murder and wholesale slaughter would be their goal, and one day soon they would have to reap the fruits of that labor... He forced his mind to go blank rather than suffer thoughts of how perilous it would be, how dreadfully unlikely it was that they could both emerge unscathed from such an assault.

The warrior swirled his hands through the bubbly residue left atop the water after he'd washed, the pale froth smelling mildly of peacebloom and milk. He liked the way the swirl of soap and water distracted him from the worries of what lay ahead of them; he didn't realize he'd been doing it for over an hour until a knock at the door startled him and he noticed the water had chilled.

Arastel's voice came through the wooden door, tentative and concerned. "Gurok? Are you alright in there?"

"I'm fine," the orc said in reply. He looked back down at the milky water and knew it wasn't the time to bring up doubts or allow any sort of divide to well up between them. For Arastel's sake, he was fine. He resolved to be fine, to be strong, to be as certain of his duties now as he'd been when he first joined the Kor'kron and put on that tabard.

Gurok would do whatever was necessary to protect Arastel- and Jeth too, if he could- and he would be fine.

I really like most of this chapter, in large part because I got to introduce two side characters I like a lot.

Let me know what you thought. :)