Contrary to popular belief, it wasn't often that Mathias Shaw came back to work to find the corpse of one of his enemies lying on his desk.
"Amber!" he called, as he eyed the shroud covered form with suspicion. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. If it's not one thing, it's another, he thought tiredly. "Do you know anything about this?" he added, gesturing at the body as his agent entered the office.
"Nope," Amber replied. She looked at Mathias with a concerned frown. "You want me and Mishka to deal with this? You've got enough to worry about, what with not being able to get to Vashj'ir yet."
Mathias scowled. Stupid Horde attacking our fleet. Stupid weather.
"No, I'll handle this," he said, waving the other rogue off. "I need to keep busy." I need to keep my mind off Aveline.
"Who is it?" Amber asked. Mathias shrugged.
"Let's find out." Mathias strode forward and pulled the shroud off the body. It floated through the air as he and Amber stared at their unexpected companion in surprise.
"Well I'll be... " Amber whistled. "I'm guessing he didn't go quiely in his sleep."
"Good," Mathias snapped, remembering the look on Aveline's face as Perenolde kidnapped her. "If he's dead, though, who has Aveline? Where is my wife now?" His fingers twitched in agitation.
She can't be dead. She's too valuable for them to have killed her as well. Someone else must be after the weapon.
Mathias bent over the body, nose wrinkling slightly at the smell, and began to search Perenolde's pockets. Amber whistled again, this time in appreciation of the potions and posions that Mathias was unearthing, alongside numerous small weapons and lockpicks.
"He was certainly prepared for anything," Amber said. Mathias nodded, his hands continuing to dip and delve into the dead man's armor. He paused as the slight rustling of parchment signalled the discovery of a letter or map of somekind.
Mathias pulled his hand back to reveal a small square envelope. He showed it to Amber, pointing out the name written across it in a neat and elegant hand: Master Mathias Shaw.
"I'm guessing the postal service was too mainstream," he said, running a careful eye over the missive. Even though he was still wearing gloves, he didn't want to run foul of any poisons or powders of any kind.
"Is it clean?" Amber asked, concerned. "Want me to fetch some tweezers and goggles?"
"Yes," Mathias replied. "Better safe than dead." He moved the letter to a smaller desk pushed against the wall. He held it up to the window, the late afternoon sun revealing nothing suspicious lurking between the folds of paper.
Amber returned, handing him the safety equipment, which he swiftly donned. "Stay back," he cautioned, and she retreated to the doorway. Mathias slowly slid the blade of one of his daggers under the flap of the envelope, prying it back with careful precision. Picking up the tweezers, he used them to pull the letter out and then peal it open.
"All safe?" Amber asked, but Mathias did not answer. All his attention was focused on the two lines of script scralwed across the parchment. His hand shook slightly, the only sign of his increasing anger and distress.
With my compliments,
Halathrien Skyborn.
"Damn it!" Mathias snarled, slamming his fist unto the desk. He closed his eyes as he relived his last memory of Halathrien Skyborn, the half-elf swearing vengeance against Shaw and Stormwind, the blood-soaked body of his wife clutched to his heart.
Lyria Skyborn, Mathias thought, feeling the bitterness of old wounds reopening. My biggest regret.
"What's wrong, Shaw?" Amber asked, coming over to his side. Her blue eyes radiated concern.
"Do you remember Lyria Skyborn?" he asked curtly.
"Yeah, she was one of my trainers," Amber replied with a grimace. "She died just after I completed basic training. Nasty business what happened to her."
"Yes," Mathias said. "It was. And now it's coming back to haunt me."
"What do you mean?"
Mathias held out the letter, and Amber read it, gasping at the familiar name. "By the Light!" she exclaimed. "Do you think he has Aveline?"
"I'd say so," he responded, a hand coming up to his forehead. "With her in his grasp, he is well placed to fulfill his vow."
Not that he needs the weapon to have his revenge against me now. He has Aveline, and that's all that he requires.
"Do you think he knows about you and Aveline?" Amber asked, looking distressed.
"Gods, I hope not," Mathias replied, his head bowed. I hope not.
"I am not wearing that!" Aveline protested weakly, backing away from the garment Warren held out to her.
"It is just a tabard, Aveline," the warlock said, shaking the red and black item at her, "and it will keep you alive on our journey."
She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. "It's treason," she said, then tried to flee when Warren moved towrads her. She squealed as he grabbed her arm and pulled her back. His hands were rough as he forced the Horde tabard over her head and secured it with a leather belt.
"Don't push me, human," Warren warned Aveline as she immediately began to pull at the belt. When she persisted, he grabbed her hands, twisting them behind her back.
"What are you doing?" Aveline cried, tears of pain gathering in her eyes. The warlock ignored her and pulled her over to where his felsteed was pawing at the ground. He rummaged around in one of his saddlebags and pulled out some long strips of leather.
"This should keep you out of trouble," Warren muttered, and used the leather strips to bind Aveline's hands together. She winced as he pulled the restraints tight. Her gloves prevented the straps from digging into her skin, but she could still her fingers start to tingle as her circultion was impeded.
Warren stood back to admire his handiwork. "Yes, that will do nicely," he murmured to himself. "The more you look like a hostage, the more likely you are to survive any encounter with the Forsaken."
"And what about the worgen?" Aveline asked. The thought of running into the Forsaken was bad enough, but rumour had it that Gilneas was still home to a lot of worgen, most of the feral, or close to it. They see this tabard, they aren't going to care if I'm human.
"I'll take care of them," Warren replied with a shrug, picking her up and setting her in front of the saddle. The felsteed whinnied, and attempted to dislodge Aveline, but a few strong words from the warlock had it settling down. By the way its nostrils flared and one of its front hooves pawed the ground, she could tell that it was still not happy about her presence.
"Where are we going?" Aveline asked in a small voice as Warren swung into the saddle behind her. He slung an arm around her waist to keep her from falling as he urged his mount forward. She thought wistfully of the time Mathias had held her when they escaped Perenolde on the back of her husband's gryphon.
I miss him.
"We are going to the Undercity," Warren told her, and Aveline froze as she realized that the warlock wasn't joking. "The Horde Council are meeting there. They are all too happy to help me recover this weapon before the nasty Alliance has a chance to do so."
"But I thought you said... "
"Oh, I still plan to use the weapon for my own ends," Warren said, tickling her sides, "but a little help of the offical variety will make retrieving it a lot easier." Aveline squirmed in an effort to escape the warlock's fingers, causing him to chuckle softly.
The felsteed moved with surprising speed and grace through the deserted streets, its hooves rapping sharply against the worn cobblestone. It was getting darker, and she wondered if Warren was foolish enough to ride through the night. As much as she did not want to go to the Forsaken capital, she did not want to be riding through the ruins of Gilneas in the dark, either.
Light forgive me for ever opening that book.
The ruins of Lordaeron's capital city pierced the horizon like a skeletal hand poking out of a grave. The pale stone reflected the dim light of the mid-morning sun, which barely shone brighter in Lordaeron than it did in Gilneas. Aveline shivered. Her skin crawled at the thought of entering that place.
This place used to be as busy and alive as Stormwind, she thought as Warren brought his steed to a halt. It's so sad what happened here.
"Better take that tabard off now," the warlock said, and began removing the garment. Aveline winced as he pushed her forward to pull the tabard out from under her bound hands. "It served its purpose out in the wilds, but here, well... they might get a little offended to see you wearing it."
Aveline said nothing. She knew that there was no point. Warren was determined to see his plan through, and there was nothing that she could say to deter him. Lacking the power to confront him directly, all she could do was go along with him and trust in Mathias to come after them.
And maybe I can find some way to slow Warren down, she thought. She shuddered as she remembered the tortured look on Lord Perenolde's dead face. Although I'm not sure I'm brave enough to risk angering him. He needs me alive, but that doesn't mean he won't hurt me.
Warren guided his felsteed through the ruins, towards the entrance of what looked like it had once been an impressive castle. He dismounted at the stone archway, and pulled Aveline down after him. Her eyes widened as she saw a thick, bright green liquid flowing out of the sewers.
"What is that?" she asked, stumbling over her own feet as she tried to keep up with Warren.
"Probably best that you don't know," the warlock replied with a smirk.
Aveline stopped dead in her tracks, a new fear making her heart race. "It... it won't make me sick, will it?" she asked, her voice a high-pitched squeak. "It won't turn me into a Forsaken?"
"Only if you drink it... or touch it." Warren said. The malicious glint in his eyes told Aveline that he was enjoying her fear immensely. "I wouldn't recommend breathing near it, either." He laughed as Aveline scurried forward, having to reach out and steady her as she lost her balance.
Even in such an advanced state of decay, the building they entered was still beautiful, its graceful columns testifying to its former grandeur. Aveline murmured a quick prayer as they past a stone coffin, hoping that the occupant had found peace in the Light.
King Terenas...
"You need to listen to me now, Aveline," Warren told her as they approached a stone door. Behind it, Aveline could hear a faint grinding sound that seemed to be slowly getting closer. "No matter what happens here, do NOT leave my side, even for a minute." The warlock turned to stare at her, his face stern. "The people here will show you no mercy if they find you wandering around on your own. They would try to harm you anyway, if not for my presence. The know me, and, more importantly, they fear me. It is that fear that will keep you alive. Nothing else."
Aveline stared at Warren in horror, unable to keep walking. Is he... is he serious?
The warlock groaned as he saw that she was frozen in fear. Her eyes were restless, and her mouth hung open. He strode forward, lifting Aveline over his shoulder. Even then she said nothing, though he could probably feel how hard she was trembling.
The stone door opened with a harsh grating noise, and Warren carried Aveline into an elevator. She stared down at the green floor, tears beginning to gather in her eyes. I'm going to die. I am going to die, and Samara will be left all alone, and I will never see Mathias again.
Her stomach lurched as the elevator gave a sudden jerk and then started moving. The sound of stone grating against stone made her ears hurt and set her teeth on edge. "Prepare yourself," Warren muttered as the door opened.
Aveline cringed as she was assaulted by a wall of noise. Wherever she was, it seemed to be a major thoroughfare of some kind, or perhaps some sort of central trading hub. She was too afraid to lift her head and study her surroundings, instead choosing to look at people's feet and legs as she passed them by.
Most people here seemed to be Forsaken, which was no surprise, but Aveline also passed many orcs and elves, and ... is that a Goblin? She looked away as she came eye to eye with a little green woman with brash, blonde hair and shrewd eyes that seemed to be evaluating Aveline's worth on the open market.
Light be with me, and keep me safe in its warm embrace...
The noise died down as Warren began climbing up a stone staircase. "Oooph!" she groaned, as she was jolted up and down on the warlock's shoulders. Whispers broke out in a great rush, and it was like listening to winds gusting through trees during a storm. A few people called out, but it was always in a strange language that Aveline did not understand. Only once did Warren reply, and it was in a tone so vicious that the whispers died out and silence again reigned.
Eventually, Warren took her to an area that was much quieter. They passed fewer people, but ran into some abominations that were so foul that Aveline had to bite her tongue to stop herself from crying out in horror.
They were stopped, once, by a guard who spoke angrily to Warren. He responded in the same language, the beautiful sounding words almost ruined by his threatening and contemptuous tone. The argument ended with the guard leaving in a huff, and Warren resuming his journey with a mocking laugh.
Warren crossed a bridge, and Aveline's eyes widened as she caught sight of more of that horrible green liquid flowing freely through the 'city' centre. Remembering what Warren had told her, she held her breath until she felt dizzy and her vision began to blur.
"Breathe, girl," Warren laughed. "I was only joking about that."
Of course he did, Aveline thought bitterly. I'm beginning to think he's addicted to my fear.
"Are we there yet?" she grumbled, but he did not reply. It grew quieter the further Warren took her into the city, and darker. Where is that smell coming from? she thought, wrinkling her nose in disgust. The very air here reeks of mold, dust, and decay.
It was a long time before they came to their destination. Aveline struggled to see anything in the darkness as Warren came to a stop. He spoke with two men, who did not seemed happy with Warren's arrival, but after a brief argument, they were allowed to procede through a narrow door.
The sound of a vigourous conversation greeted Aveline's ears as they entered the new part of the city. "Forgive the interruption, Warchief Vol'jin, Lady Sylvannas," Warren said politely, as their entrance was met with sudden silence, "but I'm afraid there's been a slight change in plans."
"And who be your little friend?" a male voice asked with the strangest accent Aveline had ever heard.
"This is Aveline," Warren replied, dumping her at his feet. She cried out in pain as she hit the hard stone floor, landing squarely on her bound hands. With a wimper, she sat upright and turned herself around to come face-to-face with the most intimidating group of people she had ever seen.
"Why be bringin' her here?" the man asked, staring at Aveline with a look of dislike. He must be a troll, she thought, staring at his long, wicked looking tusks and vibrant red mohawk.
"Because she's the key to our victory over the Alliance," Warren replied dramatically. "Aveline is the key to finding the weapon."
AN - dun dun dun.
Fun fact - I brought Warren in to replace Lor'themar's original role in the story. I thought it was bout time to move away from the blood elves for a while. If I hadn't written "As It Should Have Been", I probably would have gone with my original plan.
Next Chapter: Aveline struggles to adjust to her new circumstances, while Warren attempts to gain more influence with the Council by gaining intelligence about the Alliance from her.