Baristolth's satchel of papers stayed at the front of Zarabethe's thoughts as she approached the enormous mountain that contained the underground city of Ironforge. The dwarven capital was even busier than usual: the dwarves' biggest holiday, Brewfest, was only a few weeks away, and people from around Azeroth were already arriving to set up shop and prepare their wares for the event. Normally the crowd would bother her enough that she would return at a quieter time, but she had another agenda after picking up her pay from the Explorer's League headquarters: she wanted to dive into their immense historical library and see how their records compared with the information contained in her bags. She nimbly threaded her way through a crowd mostly shorter than herself, making her way through to the imposing gates to the city. A massive statue of a dwarf dual-wielding hammers came to her vision long before she got there. She always snorted a bit to herself when she saw those gates...only a diminutive race would build such a statue to greet its visitors. She kept a close eye on Zar as they entered the noisy throng: he hated crowds even more than she did, and he seemed to have gotten a bit testy in his advanced age. They managed to make it through the front gates into the city without Zar taking off any gnome heads or eating any small children only to pull up short: the main thoroughfare was PACKED. Vendors hauling goods, old friends calling to each other, everywhere raucous dwarf laughter and enthusiastic shouts. She stood for a minute, floundering, until she spied the door leading into the business section of the city surrounding the Great Anvil. It was relatively empty. Keeping one hand on Zar's back, they maneuvered their way past a group of two draenei and a human appearing to have a hatchet throwing contest at a keg of ale. The owner of said keg was oblivious as he was shouting his wares to the people swarming past. A robust dwarven lady steered her three children hurriedly past Zar's scowl. All three of them were topped with a mass of bright red curls. Zarabethe smiled as the smallest, a girl, reached up to pat Zar's head before being grabbed by her mother. Zar's look of indignation was priceless. She scrubbed him between the ears as they reached the arched doorway leading farther underground.
"You know, Zar, if you weren't just so approachable, then you could avoid that sort of thing," she laughed at the ill-tempered nightsabre. The sound of metal on metal and a wave of heat met her as they entered into the massive cavern in the center of the dwarven city. Here was the real heart of the city: a swarming mass of blacksmiths, trainers, miners, and engineers scattered around The Great Forge. Amidst the clanking, hissing, and shouting of wares, Zarabethe was surprised to see a tall figure weaving among the vendors with a bag thrown over his shoulder. His violet skin and long ears were as out of place in the dwarven city as she was: but his shock of brilliant white hair was his identifying feature. She called to him as she made her way around the circular pathway. He looked up, his normally-stoic face breaking into a grin as she reached the booth he stood at.
"Hey, Zara," Elforen greeted her, striding towards the hunter through a throng of gnomes. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw him reach to embrace her and she deftly stepped out of it with one hand raised.
"Nice to see you again, Elf, " she said quickly, and smiled, hoping to diffuse the slight hurt and confused look that crossed his face when she avoided him. Most people who tried to touch her ended up with an dagger to their throat, but Elforen knew her better than anyone, and she waited patiently for him to remember.
"Sorry about that," he apologized quietly. "It's been awhile since I've seen you. Hey Zar," he bent down to scratch the nightsabre behind the ears. Zar permitted himself to be petted with a long-suffering look. An awkward silence grew between the two night elves as Elforen stood and adjusted the bag thrown over his shoulder, looking anywhere but her.
"What are you shopping for?" she asked, trying to change the subject. What had suddenly changed in Elforen that they were uncomfortable with each other? He seemed relieved when she spoke.
"Picking up some raw ore for the shop." He knelt down and pulled open the drawstring of the leather bag. Light from the Great Forge glinted off of the dark rocks inside. "There are some good pieces of thorium and mithril in here: much better quality than what we find around Stormwind."
"Probably cheaper, too," she added under her breath, but her mind was already refocusing on the quest burning in her mind. From what she remembered, the section of the library on the Dragonflights was minimal, mostly concentrated around the Dragonsoul and then the subsequent fall of Neltharian into Deathwing. The Bronze Dragonflight and their enygmatic leader were so secretive that not even the Explorer's League knew much beyond what was common knowledge. As it was, the dwarves tended to stick to their own history, and origins of Azerothian species. She saw that the entrance to the Hall of Explorers (and the library contained within) was much less crowded than the main thoroughfare. She realized belatedly that Elforen had launched into a theory on how dwarves found the better veins of metal and tried to catch up, nodding her head as he slung the parcel back over his shoulder. "So anyway, I'm pretty much done here. I'll be starting back to Stormwind in the morning. I don't have to be back for two days, but I'd rather hire a mount and skip the gryphon flight." Zarabethe chuckled along with him; neither of the night elves were fond of flying. "So what business do you have in Ironforge?" he asked as they started picking their way out of the booths lining the walkway to the Great Forge. "I'm assuming you're not here for Brewfest."
"Of course not." Zarabethe wrinkled her nose. She had enough problems keeping her concentration balanced without imbibing alcohol. "Just picking up a paycheck from a digsite."
Elforen glanced sideways at her, one long eyebrow arched. "That's it?"
She rolled her eyes. "And to visit their library."
Although they had vastly different jobs during the Northrend campaign, they were both based in the same barrack in Borean Tundra. Elforen had many times come in from training to find Zarabethe fast asleep in an immense text, trying to cram as much information into her head as possible before her body gave out on her. She had helped the Explorer's League excavate the massive titan structure that was Ulduar, while Elforen served in the armies fighting against the Lich King. As he was more comfortable around the humans and dwarves than their own kind, and she kept to herself as much as possible, they quickly took to watching out for each other, partnering in the frequent attacks to the base, waiting for when the other returned from their missions. She hadn't seen much of him in the months since they had returned: he was busy working the blacksmithing shop in Stormwind for the military, and she had been hopping from digsite to digsite, collecting artifacts and texts to compare with the knowledge brought back from Ulduar. It felt comfortable to fall in step beside him again. "I've got some personal research to do before I head out again, as soon as possible. Far too many people here for my taste."
"I completely understand," Elforen agreed. For a moment his silver eyes caught hers, and she stopped as a strange feeling flickered through her chest. She blinked, shaking her head a little, and saw confusion mirrored on the other night elf's face. For one, long moment, she forgot which direction she had been walking, and why it was even important to get there. Background noise faded to a haze as she was caught in an emotion completely unfamiliar to her. One minute passed, unnoticed.
Three dwarves engaged in a loud conversation bumped into them and continued on, breaking the revery. Zarabethe realized both she and Elforen had been standing stock still in the main walkway, and laying a hand on Zar, stepped out of the way. The sight of the arches indicating the library returned her to her senses, and the moment passed from her mind. She started to turn that way, but Elforen quickly interjected a question.
"So, I know you're in a hurry, but do you think you'll have time to join me for supper later?" The other night elf seemed reluctant to let her go just yet. Zarabethe frowned, weighing choices. The puzzle contained in the satchel was screaming at her to be solved. But a part of her held onto that strange, disorienting feeling, and whispered to stay, just for a moment longer. This part was small though, and easily ignored.
"Possibly. I need to get started researching though, so I'm going to head to the library. If you want to catch up later, you know where I'll be," she smiled absently, then waved as she turned towards the arches of the library's entrance, Zar in her wake. She didn't see Elforen's gleaming eyes follow her until she left his sight.
It was well past eight o'clock when Elforen realized he had been subtly watching the main thoroughfare for the other night elf. He had been sitting at his table for quite some time, keeping his mind busy: going over the ore in his bag, making marks on his supply list, staring at his cup of coffee, mentally calculating the vacation he had built up, counting the cracks on the floor. Thinking of some of the worn down equipment in the blacksmith shop and what he could do to repair it. By the time he decided he was done waiting, he had rebuilt the entire shop in his head, improved upon the inner workings of the forge, and planned a great deal of new weapons he could make with the better equipment.
He considered just getting some food and returning to his room above the inn. It was getting late, and he still had preparations to make before he left in the morning to head back. In fact, he wasn't sure why he was waiting at all: he knew she wouldn't come. She had that pre-occupied look in her eye and wouldn't give in until she had found everything she needed to on the subject, be it hours, days, or weeks submerged in piles of books and scrolls. He stood, slung his satchel over his shoulder, tipped the red-headed barmaid, and headed up to his room. Once there, he started to sort his bags and pack the ore away more carefully for the journey, but he found himself distracted. He found the silence of the single room pressing in on him, almost louder than the crowded room below. He realized he had been folding the same shirt over and over and in frustration threw it on to the bed. He gazed around the contents of his sparse room as he stood and paced. The small bag containing his belongings: change of clothes, sharpening stones for his arsenal of weapons, single bedroll. One cup, one plate, one bare set of camping equipment. Even the stash of ore, piled in corner and half-packed to travel, seemed to be lonely. He sat back down on the bed. This was ridiculous. He had always been alone. He had CHOSEN to be alone. He had spent many years doing things on his own time, in his own way. He needed no one's approval, and especially not their companionship. So what was wrong with him that he suddenly felt like following this girl around? Zarabethe was as independent and self-sufficient as they came: a quality he admired in himself as well. She didn't need his protection, and she barely seemed interested in his friendship except for that of convenience.
As he lectured himself in his head, he continued packing his things. What could he possibly gain from pursuing her? Just someone else to reject him when he needed them. Not again. Satisfied with his arguments, he slapped the lid on the package containing the ore down firmly. The hollow sound filled the entire room, then everything was quiet again. With no more distractions, he felt the tendrils of a terrible loneliness dig their way into his thoughts again. When he had left his family to follow the path of the warrior so many years ago, their displeasure in his choice had caused what felt like a great hole inside of him. Where he had been surrounded by numerous family members his entire life, now he had no one but himself to rely on. For a long time he missed them horribly, but as time went on he grew used to his solitude. A stranger in the Alliance army, there were no night elves in the company besides him. Eager to be free from the name of the family that was ashamed of him, he took the nickname thrust upon him, Elf, and made himself a new name, Elforen. That had been so long ago that if anyone referred to him by his old name, he would pass them by. The pain had dulled through many years of military service, keeping his mind busy with dedication to the cause. When kal'dorei had officially allied themselves with Stormwind, and other night elves began to join the ranks, it did not bother him to distance himself from them. He was not of their own kind anymore. Zarabethe had been the anomaly: most of the other kaldorei had hung together in a pack. She stayed away from everyone, preferring to spend her time hidden in books or training alone. It had been she that had sought him out at first as a partner on defense of the encampment, remaining silent and nearly invisible in the tree above him, carefully picking out targets for her arrows as he lured them to her deadly aim. They had formed a quiet kind of friendship, never pushing any boundaries. When the campaign ended, they had parted ways with only a wave and a pleasant word. He had hardly thought of her since, instead burying himself in the smithy, working long hours until he collapsed exhausted in his bed each night. The white-haired night elf rubbed his hands over his eyes and glanced around the room again. Perhaps he was just trying to keep his mind from being idle.
Making a decision, he stood and strode determinedly out of the room, locking the door behind him. If he was this distracted, he wouldn't be able to sleep. He knew someone else not likely to be sleeping either, and he was hurting nothing by catching up on old times.
"So, the Bronze Dragonflight?"
Zarabethe looked up to see Elforen standing by the table she had covered with books and scrolls holding two plates of food. She stared at it uncomprehending, until her stomach rumbled and she realized she hadn't eaten since the morning. She quickly made some space, shoving two scrolls about the life and mating habits of dragons to the floor. Elforen set the plates on the table and pulled up a stool across from her.
"Uh, yes," she affirmed lamely as she ran her finger down the text to find where she had been reading. She marked her spot with a piece of paper and moved it aside. She rubbed the grit out of her eyes as she tried to remember how long she had been sitting there absorbed in her research. The hours had all run together as usual. By the ambiance in the city though, it was very late: after dark at least. She poked at the food on her plate: it was typical dwarven fare, a hearty dish of lamb and potatoes covered with a thick gravy, and she was nearly too pre-occupied to eat, but she took a few bites to appease her appetite. She was surprised to find it flavorful, if a bit greasy.
"Thank you for bringing me supper, Elforen," she said distractedly. Her eyes stole back to the pages of notes in a stack beside her. "I've been too wrapped up in reading to keep track of what time it was."
"I figured as much," he said as he ate his own meal. He did a poor job of hiding his grin behind his fork.
She ignored it as she launched into her story. "While I was in Silithus working on one of the Ahn'Qiraj sites, I would take Zar for a run every night near Cenarion Hold. There was this crazy old man there, sometimes yelling at people that went by, sometimes he was passed out, but he was always there. One night I saw him stumbling around at the edge of town looking confused. At first I thought he was drunk, then I realized he was unwell. Zar and I escorted him back into town by the inn, hoping they would take him in for the night, but he insisted on telling me about a parcel of papers he had that he was supposed to pass on to some adventurer. He claims they were from Anachronos." She leaned back in her chair.
"The Guardian of the Caverns of Time?" Elforen frowned. "He's not exactly friendly; I once saw a group of Horde try and lure him away from his post so they could get a better look at the entrance: burned to a crisp, every single one. He'd be more likely to roast someone than to give them a quest."
"That's what I thought," she agreed. "But he was so insistent that I take the bag, I did just to get him to go into the inn and get some help. We broke camp and left early that morning, but I started looking through it on the way back here, and I'm not sure he wasn't telling the truth." She swept the scrolls littering the table to the floor and opened Baristolth's bag on the table. It looked to have once been very sturdy, possibly made of dragonscale, but was very old. The papers and maps it held hummed with magic as Elforen thumbed through them carefully. "Some if it is written in old Darnassian, and this portion down here appears to be Draconic. The instructions at the top say to collect these certain fragments of silithid carapaces and bring them, along with this parcel, to Anachronos. I've been scouring books on the Bronze Dragonflight all afternoon with no luck, but just before you came in I think I found a clue: there's a portion right here written in old Qiraji." Her silver eyes glowed with excitement. "I think this describes where Fandral Staghelm scattered the remains of the Scepter of the Shifting Sands."
Understanding dawned on Elforen's face as he quickly scanned the maps in his hands. "You might be on to something here. But the Qiraji were defeated a long time ago: there's no need to retrieve the Scepter now." He handed her back the papers.
She carefully shut them back in the bag. Her mind was spinning. "But think of the history surrounding this discovery! A lot of this information was thought to be lost, and here I have possibly the only gateway into finding it again. I need to at least take this to Anachronos, and see what he has to say." Her mind was already far away, planning travel details. "I can pick up the silithid carapaces in Tanaris; there's still one hive there that hasn't been completely uprooted. I can catch a boat to Theramore from Stormwind..." she trailed off as she started jotting down notes on a scrap of parchment.
Elforen watched as the other night elf became completely lost in her own head. She was quite a sight: quills tucked behind her long, graceful ears, a smudge of ink on her cheek, her dark violet hair escaping from her customary braids. Her food lay forgotten on her plate as she consulted several scrolls at once, making notes and muttering to herself. Without thinking, he reached forward to wipe the ink off with his thumb. Zarabethe started, jerking her head back and staring at him with wide, almost panicked eyes. He was instantly apologetic.
"You had ink on your face," He showed her his hand where it was smudged. She half-smiled, wiping at her own face before turning back to her paper, but the slightly wild, child-like look was still on her face. She stole a nervous glance at him, catching him staring at her. He saw the wall come down over her eyes, and the vulnerability in her face vanished, replaced with a hardened determination. She very deliberately focused on her travel plans and the rest of the world could have dropped away for all she would have known. While normally he would have backed off immediately, he was filled with nothing but intrigue: there was something to her underneath the tough barricade she had built. He thought of all the time he had put in at the smithy lately, trying to escape his own thoughts. He was due some time off. Maybe he could lend her a hand in her quest, and figure himself out in the process.
"So when do we leave?"
Zarabethe's head shot up and she stared at him incredulously. He suddenly felt unsure.
"That is if you wouldn't mind some company. I've been stuck at the shop for weeks now, and I've been meaning to get away for awhile. After I drop this ore off, I can leave anytime I want." He had been looking to the side as he spoke, and he brought his eyes up to hers in the last sentence. She looked as if she were considering it, so he continued, adopting a teasing tone. "You might need a hand when you ask a hostile dragon about a thousand year old quest that might or might not exist."
"I can probably handle a dragon by myself," she retorted. Her eyes, gleaming with challenge, held his for a moment. He leaned back in his chair, casually crossing his arms behind his head.
"Then you won't mind me tagging along to see if you get a little crispy around the edges." He left his offer on the table. After a moment's deliberation, she took it.
"I doubt he'll even get that close," she smirked. All previous questions had vanished, and now they were back to how they were in Northrend: a deadly pair on equal footing. Elforen smiled. This should prove to be an enjoyable vacation.
