"Do you think she's going to be in today?"

"Last time we saw her, she was charging into an army of demons. If that isn't enough to cancel class, what is?"

This was the line of conversation that raged throughout the room, bouncing from person to person. The events of Dalaran had left most shaken, though a few seemed hungry for more. They were aware that the attack had been repealed and forces had struck out at the Tomb of Sargeras in swift fashion. Yet, despite this, the class hadn't been called off.

Now, it left several students wondering just when their teacher was going to arrive. It wouldn't be long until class traditionally began, and she was typically at her desk long before class even started.

The door swung open, revealing the blood elf. She had clearly seen better days. Despite being tied back, her hair still looked like a disheveled mess. Her robes were smudged with dirt, pocketed by red stains that couldn't be anything other than blood, around tears that could only be created by blades and axes. The floating skull followed behind her, almost seeming to match the beleaguered appearance of its master.

The green fire in her eyes was dimmer than normal, and she appeared ready to slump over and fall asleep at any moment. But despite all that, her presence commanded instant silence as she made her way over to the desk.

"Good," she turned to face them, her voice only reinforcing her haggard appearance. But there was a twinge of stubbornness to it, even as she worked her magic, summoning today's demon. Louise frowned, as did any other who completed their assigned reading. She had read much of the Grimnoir given to them already, though part of her did regret doing so.

The demon before them wasn't really a demon at all, it's only solid mass being two bracers used to keep the creature bound. Its the main body was shaped like a raindrop, a writhing mass of shadow that warlock's used to absorb enemy attacks. While the legion made use of such beasts from time to time, they were not of the twisted nether. They were of the void.

Louise had been aware of the arguments held over what few of Azeroth's priests used when compared to the founder's own magic. There was none, in truth. One drove it's wielder insane, the other was used by a holy man. To try and compare them was foolish.

However, this was made of Azeroth's void, or rather, their universal concept of it. It simply was durable, with no vulnerability offensively to exploit. The spell was just as effective as a blade, which, honestly, simply was bad news for anyone. Thankfully, for all its defensive power, it wasn't exactly threat so long as the distance was kept. Sure, its claws were sharp, but it was slow.

A line mage of water and wind would be able to freeze it, and a simple dot earth could simply open a pit beneath its feet. From there, it could be taken apart at leisure. Fire could weaken it over time, and a strong enough wind mage was far from helpless. But where did that leave her?

A frown grew. Her continued practice was getting her nowhere, as far as she could tell. Her new teacher had promised to try and explore what she could produce her explosions, but the warlock had been busy, and would likely remain that way for the foreseeable future. Her own attempts at improving it had also proved less than effective.

So simply blast it. Again. It was almost insulting that a commoner had more variety in combat than her.

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"I just got word from Stormwind. We are green for the extraction of our target."

"About damn time we finally got the order. Any more dead patrols that the gig would have been up if it isn't already."

"The reports we wrote will hopefully buy us enough time to extract. Still, moving that many small children with prove a challenge. How many days are we away from the edge of the island?"

"Five days on foot, if we push it. A week's worth is expected though. Then we can get down the fleet and get out of here."

"Agreed. The sooner this gets done, the better it's going to be for everyone. The civil war here has taken another turn south. If they're involved, then we need to get that information to command at once."

"Do we even know why we're doing this? I mean, she doesn't look too special, even by elf standards."

"She herself, no. However, getting her out before they realize her sister has left their service will place her sister in our debt. The fewer complications, the better."

"Do we have the letter? She's not going to move otherwise. Even with it, I have my doubts."

"Naturally. If anything, it's because of the children. Sure, we have to keep off the beaten path, but we have a druid with us. That should help us."

"Ideally. Now, which of us will speak with her?"

"It should be Uthy. She's a night elf, so getting her to trust what she's saying should be much easier, especially if she hasn't heard about the alliance yet."

"Do I get any say in this matter? I would much rather prefer it if I don't."

"While you have the choice, I cannot deny the logic of such a statement. She is young and likely skittish around strangers. This could work in our favor, or against it. However, I ultimately leave the call up to you."

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The knocking at the door took Tiffania by surprise. Most didn't come this far into the woods, with her really going into down to buy goods every so often. Last she went, she'd heard something about a large animal roaming the woods. So what was someone doing all the way out here?

The first thing she noticed about the figure was that they covered themselves completely with a cloak. Not a single patch of skin was visible, but it did not escape her notice that two points appeared on the hood of the cloak, seemingly not human.

"I come bearing a letter to one Tiffania, directly from your sister." A leather glove with a green tree sowed into the back held out the envelope.

"Thank you," the half-elf in disguise said, taking the paper from the strange individual, before closing the door. She hadn't heard from her sister in quite some time, only receiving money from her work. The real reason why she was able to care for so many orphans was that of her sister finding work in Tristain.

She opened the envelope, eyes looking over the words of his sister, growing ever more concerned that this was not to be an average letter. While it was indeed her handwriting, she had written in a hurry, with a few mistakes that wouldn't have been made if this were a normal letter.

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Dear Tiffania,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I'm sorry I haven't been able to keep touch as much as I'd like, but I have been very busy, and have recently found a new employer. Many things have changed since I last wrote to you at length, and I wouldn't be surprised if you haven't heard about them. Two new nations have arrived in force, bringing strange ideas and even stranger people's. One of their high ranking military leaders has hired me and said I could name my price if pay alone wasn't good enough.

I took him up on that offer. He agreed to send three of his best agents to remove you, and the children under your care, and bring all of you to a safer place. Not only will you be safe from the war, but you also won't need to hide who you are anymore.

I know this is out of nowhere, and I'd rather be there to speak with you in person, but the war has made travel impossible. Please, do believe what they tell you.

I will see you again soon,

Your big sister.

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Tiffania looked at the letter, again and again, trying to process what was on the page. She wouldn't need to hide she was a half-elf? Her mind whirled at the implications of such a thing. Her sister wouldn't lie to her, she was sure of it, but that should be impossible.

But wait, did that mean? Tiffania opened the door again. The figure did not look like they had moved an inch from where they had been left, and now they were flanked by two others. Neither had long hair, the one of the left was short cropped and brown, while the other had hair at a more medium length, close to her shoulders, which seemed red.

Leather gloves reached up, pushing back the hood used to hide the first's face, and Tiffania couldn't bite back her gasp of surprise. The trademark sign of an elf, long ears that ended in a point, was unmistakable. But something was wrong. More accurately, her entire face was wrong. Rather than any normal shade, the elf before her had deep purple skin, combined with piercing silver eyes and a long mane of green hair.

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Things had taken no short amount of time to explain. It was nearly noon when the three had arrived, but by the time they were done, the night was on the horizon. At first, the children were distrustful of the newcomers but took to them swiftly enough. The Kaldorei, otherwise known as night elves, had a better handle on them than expected, more than enthralled by her shape-shifting abilities.

She knew they hadn't informed her of everything. Why would they be so willing to risk being caught over something so relatively minor? But what reason did they have to lie?

Her sister wasn't lying either. Out here, they were isolated, and those under her care only had herself to rely on, nor did they interact with others their age outside of each other. Stormwind, the capital of the Alliance, not only had an orphanage but many active families. It wasn't just a better choice for her, where even a stray gust of wind could mean death, but ultimately for them as well.

They said they couldn't force a choice on her, but that wasn't fully correct. There was a choice, but it certainly wasn't a good one. It wasn't just her sister's instance, it was that this was, ultimately, the best choice.

They would be leaving tomorrow, at the earliest they could. Many were relucent, she could see it in their eyes. For some, this was the only place they'd ever known, the only place they had memories of. Some of the older ones helped their younger peers, understanding what was going on.

There was an unspoken rule that they were to pack light. Only carry what they needed, or what they couldn't do without. Most of that was clothing and food, with only a few having trinkets and relics to remember their family by. Tiffania herself was the same. Only having terrible memories and a ring left to her by her mother. She would take it, of course. Even if it was painful, it was still all that she had left.

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The forest was thick with leaves and trees. Navigating their way through would have normally been a difficult task, but the three knew where they were going. Or their leader did, and everyone else was simply following. To make sure the children didn't run off, they had split themselves evenly among the group, either trying to keep them entertained, or to otherwise prevent them from running off.

It was slow going, regardless, even after the first two nights. They'd stayed off the road entirely, taking routes that shouldn't even exist. When questioned, they had pointed out the roads were filled with brigands and other thieves, and dealing with this would leave clear evidence of what path they took.

From what she had gathered, they had some type of small ship waiting near the coastline, ready to take them down to a naval vessel ready for this exact operation. Another strangely in an already strange world.

All she hoped for is that everyone returned safe and sound.

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"So, the Princesses operation to retrieve that letter is about to begin?" the question was clear, as was the reasoning behind it.

"Correct. That's what our source had indicated. How sure are you that it's the Viscount?" Fouquet looked up at her new colleagues, surprised they knew so much already. What they didn't know, they suspected and were close to proving. Though the Viscount being her handler was a bit shocking.

"Very certain, though nothing that would hold up in any type of legal court," Shaw groundout. "That personal spell of his allows him to create and control duplicates of himself over vast distances. Unless we can prove he knows it, nothing we have on him could ever stick."

Fouquet's mind turned. She never really did try to look beneath her handler's hood, but she had caught a glimpse at time or two and had to admit that they looked similar. She always chalked it up as a coincidence, but after hearing that, she was beginning to doubt.

"What's in the letter was apparently damning enough to cause the wedding between Princess Henrietta and the Germanian emperor to be cut off. Beyond that, I'm uncertain," Fouquet continued.

"Unfortunately, last we've heard, the plan's changed. It sees Reconquestia is less supportive of their revolution these days, though we have yet to determine the cause of such a shift," Anna huffed. "We have people trying to figure out why, but both seem to have kept it under very tight wraps. Our eyes on the ground suspect potential Legion involvement."

"If true, then their plans for global domination might have more than just some bark. It'll be a problem we'll all have to deal with," Shaw shook his head with disgust.

Again, Fouquet found herself being overwhelmed. How deep were the Uncrowned roots? How were they able to insert spies into an organization that nobody else knew existed, let alone was a threat. She knew they were good at their jobs, but this good? Sure, they couldn't prove most of what they knew, but the fact that they knew it, more than she did.

And this was nothing more than a collection of brigands, pirates, thieves, assassins, and spies, all working together. At this point, she wouldn't be surprised if the organization had its hands in crime across not just Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms, but all across Halkeginia as well.

Sure, it wasn't legal, but she didn't care, and clearly, neither did they. They hired her, the most infamous thief Tristan had ever seen, simply because of that fact. Whatever information she had on Reconquista was just a bonus.

Sure, some nobles in Tristain would be mad over the whole thing, if they ever found out, but the Uncrowned technically didn't exist. They couldn't catch her in the first place, and now, even if they did find a way, they really couldn't touch her, either. Though she doubted that she'd be stealing from them anytime soon.

Potential artifacts from Alliance nobles? Likely unnecessary at this point, though finding information if blackmail was needed also fit her bill just fine. Infiltration was always her specialization, and she doubted there would be defenses in place for people with her brand of earth magic.

"Yeah. They've already been putting pressure on the Horde to 'dissolve their heretical nation and wait to be purged one by one', and Maltuk's having none of it. If they start pushing military, the Warchief will come out swinging. He may not want a war, but they seem to be trying to provoke one. Them allying with the Legion would be the final straw," Annadorsa muttered to herself. "Though I wouldn't be surprised if he's already formulated plans to take the entire island."

That break Fouquet's concentration in swift order. There was no way that was possible. Right? There was no way a nation whose air power numbered in ships in the single digits could take Albion's navy and win.

"Surely you're joking, right?"

"Sadly, no. Maltuk had a very, very long track record of finding ways to win engagements he shouldn't be able to," Shaw groaned out. "We have a file on hand, actually. Annadorsa, can you grab it for me please?"

"Which volume? We have one for each campaign. Two for what happened during Pandaria," Anna flipped her way through a folder filled with papers each could be used to make a book.

"Northrend, please. It's the shortest on hand and it'll have some of the best examples," the folder impacted the desk with a loud thump, almost as if a book had been tossed down. If that was the smallest, what exactly was the biggest like?

"The Horde attempt to seise Wrathgate Woe was a disaster, killing most of the attack force, including most standing officers. This left Maltuk in a quasi-commanding role with a large number of wounded soldiers. Knowing he couldn't hold the position with what he had, he fell back, using what engineers remained to create saronite bombs in mass. He then loaded both devastators and had them fire until their evacuation team arrived, taking no further casualties."

"At the Wrathgate, he went back for wounded troops, regardless of faction, with a crude gas mask until the dragons killed who couldn't be saved. He only lost his sense of smell and his sense of taste as a result. Most got off worse than he did."

"Yeah, before nearly storming the Undercity by himself. Would have honestly succeeded, if the Horde leadership had let him."

It went on and on, each exploits almost as over the top or insane as the one before it.

"Wasn't there someone else who was going to hold the position of Warchief?" her question felt innocent enough. She hadn't heard anything beyond that the orc had advocated that the present Warchief be given the position, rather than himself.

"Yes, the highest ranking officer besides the Warchief, High Overlord Saurfang. His track record in combat make's most Orc's achievements seems minor by comparison, even the Warchiefs. He's fought in every conflict since the First War. He has decades of experience under his belt, and can easily cut down ten foes in a single swing of his axe."

"Oh," was about all she could say. What was with this world that it produced people who could deal with the average mage no problem? He sounded like the Karin of the Heavy Wind of none magic users. Half of what you heard about him was false, but it was the crazy stuff that was actually true.

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"Captian, we just received word from the shift change. They're gone!" a soldier broke into the small barrack, not caring who heard the announcement. Muttering and grumbling echoed, the earlier than normal wake up call not being appreciated by anyone.

"Who's gone?" from one of the larger beds, a voice grumbled, opening his eyes in annoyance.

"The girl! The one that Lord Cromwell himself ordered us to observe!" that got everyone moving.

"How? We were alternating soldiers every week! We would have noticed!" cries like that echoed throughout the room, increasing in intensity.

"Enough! Hand me that report, now!" the papers were torn from the soldier's hand, as the commander looked over the missive. A frown turned into a scowl, a scowl into a grimace of hate and fear.

"Gather whatever horses you can! They could not have gotten far!"