The Shattered Sun Offensive wasn't sure if things were progressing according to some hectic plan, or if the Horde guild which had arrived to assist them was just incredibly, stupidly lucky. They didn't know whether they ought to congratulate them on certain perceived victories, or laugh at them as blunders.

Howl didn't really care. Let the masses think as they wanted; Kael'thas' forces were diminishing by the hour.

Howl had been the only member of the guild not to be actively recruited. Rather, when Gore and Gregor had still been tossing around the notion of starting a guild, Howl had come to them, saying that they would need people. Prior to his joining, he had been one of Orgrimmar's master blacksmiths. While technically he still was, he was also almost never there and had passed his business on to two of his apprentices. Every so often, they would send word to him that they needed his assistance on making something truly awe inspiring, but for the most part his smithing was now limited to whatever the guild might need, including repairs. Howl could mend armor like no other...and he did it for free, for his guild mates.

While Gregor and Gore still sometimes wondered how the orc had even known they'd been considering starting a guild, they were glad to have him. He'd proved his worth time and time again, between fixing up damaged weapons and tracking down information. Who'd have thought a warrior who had never left Orgrimmar since its establishment would be so good at gathering intel? He was bested only by the rogues—some considered him better than Roberts, because he had the time to track down information, while the deathstalker was often busy serving Sylvanas.

Howl frowned as he stared across the small courtyard where the Offensive had set up base. He was supposed to have been gathering with half a dozen other guild mates to eliminate the demonic portal a few streets over. However, he stood alone. Couldn't an orc relieve himself behind a tree and not miss something?

He glanced around the area to make sure none of the members of the Offensive were overly close to him. When he was content that he'd have a few seconds before they—the elves in particular—descended upon him, he pulled his guild stone out of his pocket to check for any missed messages and sighed, understanding what had happened.

Apparently Enlyhn had been a complete idiot, and Whisper, Cloudless, Sprocket, Lash, and Leafless had hurried to the eastern coast to save their guild mates from being overrun by angry elves and naga.

The soft crunch of a boot on gravel near him caught Howl's attention, and he jerkily shoved his stone back into his pocket. A rather timid looking elven mage stood less than a yard away from him, her eerie eyes glowing with a look of mixed curiosity and disappointment.

With a glare, Howl deterred the latest attempt to strike up a conversation about his guild stone. It wasn't that he didn't think the elves would benefit from such technology; it was that he didn't know the mechanics behind it, being a warrior and all, and he didn't like the eerie way their glowing eyes seemed to brighten at the thought of unknown magic. He could feel several pairs of eyes on him, and he suddenly thought of one of Haa'aji's little rants about 'soulless windows'. He could understand it now.

The orc frowned as he almost visibly shivered and strode through the area; he didn't want the elves to know that he was uneasy around them. While he doubted they could smell fear, he didn't want to give them time to pick up on his unrest. And he didn't want to give them an opening to take his guild stone to examine themselves. That had happened to Cinder once in Rachet. As a result, the guild had had to ditch their original stones and make brand new ones, just so the mages in Rachet wouldn't be able to eavesdrop.

Howl scanned the different members of the Offensive, pondering what he could do by himself. The portal would probably have to wait for the time being. As his gaze swept over the area again, he noticed a single draenei woman sitting near the statue in the center of the courtyard, going through a few documents. She seemed to be the only member of the Offensive who wasn't already bogged down with people asking her what to do.

He started toward her and then hesitated.

Of the guild, his common was by far the worst. He could read it to some extent, but his spoken vocabulary was sparse. Generally, when dealing with neutral factions who didn't know orcish, he would just wait for someone else to pick up a few tasks and then assist them. Such actions had given him the reputation for being a quiet, stoic type in Shattrath.

While he didn't want to make a fool of himself by proving how little he knew of the most commonly used language in Azeroth, if he didn't get to killing something soon, he was going to go crazy.

He came up to the woman and stood quietly in front of her for a moment. Her head was bent down as she looked over what appeared to be financial records for the Offensive. Howl shifted his weight uneasily. However, even as he decided that he should let her be, one of his boots scuffed against the cobblestones beneath him, and she snapped her glowing gaze up, looking quite startled to see him.

An awkward silence settled over the two before Howl finally coughed to clear his throat. He glanced around again, feeling as though he were trapped. "What...needs be done?"

~"~

As the draenei woman took it upon herself to help Howl with his grammar, Wrachette sat perched atop the highest tower that the Offensive had taken when they'd stormed the harbor, watching him from her vantage. However, it seemed that his conversation was going nowhere quickly, and she grew bored, her gaze wandering out to look over the rest of the area. It was thanks to her that they'd arrived so early.

She was tired of always showing up just in time to kill the boss, like she had for both Magtheridon and Gruul—Karazhan had been fun, and it was actually that raid, in which more than a few people fell from towers, took part in the opera, and nearly got eaten by a dragon, that she decided she wanted in on the fun more often. Hence her trip to the Molten Core, which had been a sore disappointment.

She wanted to have adventures like Margaret's. Thus, she'd managed to convince the 'scouting' expedition to call for the guild early. It hadn't been easy either. They hadn't wanted to drag everyone away from their day jobs. Gore and Roberts, for example, would be missed from their posts. But Wrachette had known her stupid brother wouldn't have come unless the rest of the guild did, and she always had this inexplicable terror that if she left him alone in Booty Bay, when she came back he wouldn't be there. She'd managed to overcome it for Molten Core, but again, nothing had happened there, and she was somehow certain that if she had an amazing adventure, it would end with her losing her brother...unless he was part of it, of course. Then she could keep an eye on him, even if he was older by two minutes.

Tizzle didn't seem to have the same fears of abandonment. While it pissed her off that he either assumed she would always be there or just didn't care, she tried not to let it show. Tizzle had done a good job taking care of her all through their childhood, and she didn't want to seem ungrateful.

The little goblin jumped as Roberts collapsed down beside her, sitting with that forsaken hunch as he inspected their surroundings as well. Wrachette fought back a sinking feeling...Roberts was one of the three major intel gatherers in the guild, so he was probably here because he knew she was the reason he wasn't off sneaking into Gilneas on a follow up mission.

While she was right that he knew, she was wrong to think he might despise her for it. In truth, Roberts didn't care. He enjoyed his raiding guild more so than his rogue one, but kept at it so as to keep himself busy during downtimes.

Though some might think it odd to have two guilds, in truth, many deathstalkers had 'show' guilds, to help mask what they really were.

For Roberts however, his heart was more into raiding, and he sorely missed the good old days before he'd been blackmailed into becoming a deathstalker, back when he, Haa'aji, Timmons, and a few others had had their share of mishaps and adventures. At the end of the day, a job was just a job. If he couldn't finish it, someone else could...or he could just find a way to do it later. He never missed a raid.

Roberts stopped abruptly and pointed out toward the western side of the island. "Did you see that?"

Wrachette perked up and narrowed her eyes, trying to get a better view. However, all she saw were trees. Just as she was about to dejectedly answer no, it happened.

A small flicker of light from somewhere beneath the leaves. Roberts already had his map out and was looking over what should have been there. It was supposed to be nothing but forest.

With a frown, he rose to his feet slowly and then looked down at Wrachette. "Want to find out what it is?"

He didn't need to ask twice. Already, the goblin had hopped up and was heading down the spiral stairs of the tower.

~"~

While Howl appreciated the draenei's eagerness to help him learn common, he really wanted to run away. He was there to kill things, right wrongs, triumph over evil, not to get a lesson in nouns in common. It was because of that that he nearly hugged the brittle old bag of bones when Roberts came over and asked him if he wanted to accompany him and Wrachette.

Even as Howl offered the Offensive woman a poorly conjugated goodbye, Roberts looked back down at Wrachette, who was applying shaman buffs to her axes gleefully. "Do you think you'd be able to heal for us?"

Wrachette's eyes rolled up slowly so that she could look up at him. "I don't heal, friend."

Roberts arched an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. "Not even for something so casual?"

"Whisper told me all about how ya guys work," Wrachette strapped her axes to her back and then pointed accusingly at her guild mate. "Ya ask all sweet like for heals and then if ya find somebody's good at it, BAM!" She stomped her foot, and the draenei woman jumped. "They never get ta fight again. No thank ya. I'm not a healer."

Howl trotted over to them as the draenei woman looked like she was about to say something else. He was relieved to be able to speak orcish again. "I think I saw Tizzle over near the inn."

The trio wandered over that way, though they didn't even bother to go up the stairs as they saw Tizzle standing on a stack of crates so that he could look the draenei innkeeper in the eyes without having to crane his neck back.

"I tell you," the woman was angry, and she waved a finger through the air, as though to kill Tizzle's objections. "The cost is forty silver a night. This is good deal. You go to other places, they charge far more."

Tizzle crossed his arms. "And I'm tellin' ya, I can't part with more than twenty-five silver."

"It costs money to house, to feed. I charge only what I need to run business."

Scoffing, Tizzle looked the woman up and down. "Ya expect me ta believe ya ain't gettin' a copper of profit out of this place?"

The woman's mouth formed a thin line, and she abruptly pointed out toward the rest of the island. "The profit is that people stay to retake this island."

Tizzle slapped the back of his hand into his palm. "Look lady. I get that, really I do. But I'm tellin' ya that I can't stay ta help, if I have ta pay forty silver. Ya breakin' my bank."

Howl took a step forward, but felt long fingers catch his hand and looked down to see Wrachette shake her head. "Leave him be. He ain't goin' anywhere any time soon."

Both Roberts and Howl frowned when Wrachette merely shrugged. However, before Roberts could pull out his guild stone and see if there was anyone else available to help, a soft cough interrupted their brooding. The draenei woman who had been helping Howl with common stood behind them. She waved slightly, nervous, and gave them a tentative smile.

"You need healer, yes?" Her draenei accent was heavier than most, and even Roberts had difficulty understanding her, seeing as he hadn't used common often in years.

Wrachette, however, simply crossed her arms as she appraised the woman. As a business woman, it benefited her to understand all accents and most all languages. "Ya offerin' ta heal?"

The woman nodded, her hands clasped in front of her. "Yes. I help you...with woods, you say?"

Wrachette had to wonder how this woman had been helping Howl with anything linguistically. "Hold on a second." Even as she held up a finger toward the woman, she looked at the other two and switched back to orcish. "She says she wants ta heal for us."

Howl furrowed his brow. "She does know we're Horde, correct?"

Wrachette rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Look, she's Shattered Sun. That makes her neutral, like me."

Neither Roberts nor Howl voiced that being in a Horde guild hardly made her neutral. Rather, Howl shrugged. "If she can keep up, then she's welcome to come, I suppose. After all, it wouldn't do to get caught by off guard without a healer."

Wrachette nodded to Howl and then looked back at the draenei woman, who was still waiting patiently in front of them. Giving her a thumbs up, Wrachette grinned. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Veena Lightsway," the woman curtseyed and nodded politely as the others offered their names quickly.

Introductions aside, Roberts marked the point of interest on Howl's map, and they headed into the forest.

Veena was a discipline priest, and the group figured it would be fun to run with her if only for that, seeing as Tizzle was loathe to go into his off spec, instead generally sticking with holy.

She proved to be an apt healer, if not a little overzealous, always tossing heals and shields around even when there wasn't really anything to fight. It was as though she feared she would be discarded as ineffective.

Honestly, Roberts hated it, seeing as he was forsaken. The Light burned when it washed over him, even if it did heal his injuries. It was because of this that he began to ponder if perhaps the healer were secretly threading some curse over them, masking it as excessive heals. By the Light, if the draenei kept it up, she just might jump start his heart.

The majority of their trip into the woods was uneventful. They were hardly attacked by any wretched, which were supposed to be crawling beneath the shadows of the foliage, and only once did they see a stray guardian construct wandering past. It didn't even register them, instead angrily attacking a branch that had been broken by Light knew what.

They left the broken machine alone, though Roberts did send off a quick message about it to Mitchell, and headed on.

Just when they were beginning to suspect that the lights had merely been a reflection from spells being cast somewhere else on the island—it was a far stretch, by anyone's imagination, but stranger things had happened before—they stumbled into a small clearing littered with the bodies of wretched. The creatures had been mutilated, and their magic drained from their bodies, leaving them as dry husks.

Veena covered her mouth with a hand, turned a shade paler as she took in the carnage. Howl reached out and patted her shoulder roughly, mumbling 'it's okay' in common as best he could. While Veena smiled faintly at him, her color did not return.

Whilst Howl sought to comfort their gentle healer, Roberts was busy inspecting the bodies. Wrachette walked up next to him and looked down as well. Her eyes lit up, and she reached down for a small, glittering earring on one of the bodies, though she paused to make sure Veena wasn't watching before she took it. She had a feeling the draenei was the righteous kind who wasn't above scolding, and honestly, she just didn't feel like listening to some priest she barely knew spouting nonsense about disrespecting the dead. Where was the disrespect? It's not like they were using their things anymore.

Roberts inspected another of the creatures, frowning. "I can't tell if they did this to each other or if it was something else."

"A bigger, badder wretched?" Wrachette offered, drawing her axes and scanning the forest. She'd almost finished her three-sixty, when she noticed something drip down off to her right. She paused and, ears dropping, hated herself for what she was about to do. Turning her gaze upward slowly, she only had a split second to register the grinning, broken toothed smile of the creature in the tree branches above them before their world was engulfed in harsh, arcane light.

It was then that they appreciated Veena's over-healing. As the light subsided, Howl barely had time to sidestep the wretched as it lunged at him, spittle and blood dripping from its mouth. The thing had been chewing on its own lip.

The creature stumbled, thrown off by its attack missing, and Wrachette ran up and nailed it with one of her axes. As her blade hit the creature's leg, it let out a wail and retaliated, spinning about and kicking the goblin square in her chest.

She let out a cry as she flew backwards, though she was already enveloped in another bubble before she hit the ground again. The wretched stopped and straightened up, almost looking like a normal elf for a moment. Its eyes were glued on Veena, the only caster in the group.

The shell of an elf lunged toward her, though Roberts easily darted up behind it, caught it, and snapped its neck. The creature fell, twitching, to the ground before finally growing still.

With a withered sigh, Roberts walked over to Wrachette and rustled her hair. The goblin felt annoyed. This had been her chance at an adventure and, just like Molten Core, it was turning out to be a waste.

Just as she was about to ask if they should head back to the Offensive, Veena and Howl both let out sharp gasps. Their warnings came too late, though, and Roberts sucked in a sharp breath as shadows seethed beneath his feet and flung him into a nearby tree. The wretched had gotten back up, its head cocked sharply at an awkward angle as a grotesque grin spread across its lips.

Howl sucked in a sharp breath. "The damned thing's plagued."

The fight was a miserable one. Howl quickly realized that the creature before them had to have been using those damnable mastery crystals, for it easily switched between mage and priest abilities. Veena was horrified that it could still call on the Light, even in death. Every time they killed it, the plague forced the creature back to its feet. The Horde trio was growing weary, and Veena was running out of magic. While Wrachette attempted to use what few fire spells she had to disintegrate the creature, it had retained some of its intelligence and kept her mana tapped and silenced. Veena was further horrified to see that it kept attacking, even after Roberts beheaded it. Even without a mouth, the corpse kept casting.

It was then, just when they thought they might be, humiliatingly enough, downed by a single damned zombie, that a holy seal slammed into the creature's body. Even as it again rose to its feet, flames erupted around it and burned away what was left of the corpse. The thing still came at them until finally, it had burned away completely.

Even as Wrachette considered cheering, Roberts faded into stealth, and Howl gripped his axe. Though the orc looked exhausted, he also looked ready to fight until he too was burned away to nothing.

Wrachette turned her attention to their saviors to see a human paladin and mage had come up and were talking to Veena. The mage looked furious as he pointed accusingly toward Howl and Wrachette. "Do you want to be hung? What is wrong with you?"

Veena kicked one of her hooves into the ground lightly as she shrugged and mumbled, "You said I am not helpful. I thought I would show you wrong."

"Are you..." The mage trailed off and ran his fingers through his hair. "They are our enemies. We don't help them." He shook his head. "Do you understand the concepts of war...and treason?"

"Carrol, enough," the paladin interrupted, noticing that Veena looked ready to cry.

Even as the mage pointedly crossed his arms, he noticed Wrachette watching him with wide eyes and spit on the ground, nearly hitting her shoe.

Anger overtaking her, Wrachette pointed her axe at him accusingly. "Ya best never make it ta Booty Bay, friend!" she said 'friend' facetiously, "Because you are blacklisted! Ya hear me?! And I'll make sure ya never get ta stay at Rachet, Gadgetzan, Everlook—if it's a goblin outpost, ya can forget about lookin' for help!"

Even as the mage seemed surprised by her outburst, the paladin merely stepped past him and made a swift bow. "My apologies, miss. Carrol was just concerned over our friend's health. He..." the paladin turned a stern gaze toward the mage, "is not good at dealing with his worries." He nodded respectfully toward Howl. "I promise you, the Alliance—at least the members of my guild—will not start any skirmishes here in Quel'Danas."

The Horde trio stared at him for a moment before a rather basic realization dawned on them. Howl pointed at Veena slowly and spoke in common. "You...not Shattered Sun?"

As Carrol offered a snide remark about orcs being ignorant creatures—to which Howl very much wished he knew how to say, 'I speak five languages fluently and can write well in more, how many have you mastered?'—Veena's eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. Quickly she shook her head, looking almost panicked. "No. No, no. I am so sorry. Did I mislead?" She looked worriedly at her human companions and then back at her group mates. "I am Alliance." She hesitated again as an awkward, tense silence threatened to settle over them. "But...this is no problem, yes? Alliance and Horde can work together on Quel'Danas."

Carrol shrugged. "How did we work together? You healed and we killed."

Even as Veena glared at her friend, Roberts faded back into sight beside the paladin, and the mage let loose a string of expletives. The forsaken looked over the paladin for a moment before bowing to him quickly. When he spoke, all three Alliance were taken aback by his clear common. "You are the leader of Reverent, are you not?"

The paladin gathered himself quickly as Veena wondered if she should have tried to make conversation with the Horde members. Clearly at least two of them could have spoken to her freely...and she knew the orc had broken common, as well. "I am Sir Jonathan Caudry, leader of Reverent, as you say."

Wrachette's ears perked up, despite herself. She knew of Reverent, though she had to say she only vaguely remembered the paladin of the three members in front of her. Years before the opening of the Dark Portal, Impervious had shown up to defeat the elementals in the Molten Core at the same time as an Alliance guild, and it had been a tense standoff as both guilds sought to bring glory for their factions. However, just as it had almost broken out into a total blood bath, Gregor had managed to pull the Alliance's guild leader to the side—it had been a warrior at the time—and beseeched him that it made little sense to kill one another, since that would leave the Firelord unchecked. As a result, after a rather tense debate, the guilds had agreed to divide and conquer the greater enemies of the civilized world. Though it could be considered treason on all of their parts for working with members of the opposing faction, it had worked out well enough throughout the years...until the Alliance guild had taken heavy losses at the opening of the Dark Portal.

As Wrachette considered that Reverent must have recruited others and was finally back in the game, Roberts nodded slowly to Sir Caudry, mildly thankful that he wasn't wearing his deathstalker uniform. He doubted the paladin would have humored him with a conversation otherwise. "We are members of Impervious," as Roberts spoke, Carrol frowned, apparently having heard of them in passing before, "and while you caught us on a bad day, it was our understanding that we were the ones to be handling the situation here."

Carrol made a comment about how well they were doing, and Veena jabbed him in the side with her elbow. Sir Caudry eyed the rogue. "Your guild leader is nearby?"

The yellow light in Roberts' eyes flickered. "Of course." He pulled out his guild stone and drew a few quick symbols into it. For the first time, Carrol looked interested in what he was doing. "Gregor will meet us back at the harbor, if you would like to discuss matters with him."

~"~

Gregor sat at one of the tables in the inn, his helm in place, watching idly as Tizzle argued with the innkeeper. It seemed like the goblin had been at it for hours, and he had to say he was impressed at how steadfast the draenei was in her price. He'd never seen anyone last this long against Tizzle before.

He always kept his face hidden from view when he went into neutral territories. A friend had managed to help his family escape Lordaeron before the plague hit, and if he could still sleep, he was certain that his slumber would be filled with nightmares of his family seeing him as the monster he'd become. His daughter had been begging to be trained as a mage, and it was his fear that one day he'd pass her on the road, and she'd run screaming from him, or even strike him down...not that he would blame her, if she ever did.

Gregor wanted his family to remember him as he had been. The guild leader of Reverent had been one of his closest friends in life, hence the odd agreement between their guilds. While Gregor didn't like that his friend, Mathew Cunningham, had learned of his fate, the human had promised to never divulge the truth to his family, and Gregor took the rare occasion when their paths crossed to ask how his wife and children were. Mathew never offered more than a quick, "They're fine," but that was enough for Gregor.

One of the Offensive guards stepped up to his table and offered him a drink. Gregor frowned to himself, wondering if the elf was trying to get him to remove his helm, as the man nodded to him. "For your help with that portal. Without demonic reinforcements, perhaps we can retake the island now."

Gregor thanked the elf for the drink and the Light that the elf couldn't see his frown beneath his helm when the sin'dorei pulled out a chair and joined him. The elf glanced toward Tizzle as the goblin's voice raised slightly. "It's odd to see a goblin outside of their cartel's lands."

"The Sprogworks twins come to where the money is, from time to time," Gregor offered with a shrug before adding, "if you're ever in Booty Bay, you should stop by their tavern. Best ale in Azeroth."

The elf chuckled and shook his head. "Must be friends to promote him in the front lines, hmm?" When Gregor merely shrugged, the elf cocked his head. "I was wondering...hoping, really, that you might indulge a question of mine."

Gregor eyed the elf and drummed his fingers against the table slowly. "Depends on the question."

"Forsaken are generally such...bitter creatures," the elf paused as though to make sure Gregor didn't take offense to his wording. When he couldn't see the corpse's expression or read his body language, he continued anyway. "Yet you don't seem to suffer that anger and resentment. By the Light, I can almost forget you're dead."

"I can't," Gregor replied, tone even. The elf offered a hasty apology for his comments, though Gregor merely shrugged. "And I am hardly different from the others...I just don't think that I am somehow above the law because life hasn't played out the way I would have liked it to." He paused and tapped his mug. "Thank you for the drink."

The elf took his cue to leave just as Roberts walked up with the others in tow. The deathstalker watched the elf scurry off, slightly disgruntled to have been sent away. Roberts dropped down into the elf's chair and motioned to the Alliance members as they stood awkwardly near the table. "These gentlemen—and lady—would like a word with you."

Wrachette eyed them, decided they weren't going to take a seat, and shoved past the mage to claim one for herself, grinning as he jeered something about she should watch where she was going.

Gregor eyed the Alliance members, paused to arch an eyebrow as Howl offered Veena the last chair at the table, and the mage rolled his eyes in disgust. He looked back at the paladin. "I was told to expect Reverent's guild leader."

"Such is my title." Sir Caudry bowed and offered a few hasty introductions.

Gregor paused to watch Wrachette slide his drink over to herself and then start sipping it, making faces beneath her mail cowl as the taste disagreed with her. "Mathew Cunningham is no longer your leader?"

"Not for about a year," the mage scoffed. "He was a dick anyway—"

"He stepped down," Sir Caudry interrupted and then paused, glanced around, and pulled up a chair near Gregor. "I was under the impression, from what Cunningham told me, that we…worked together to defeat enemies."

Mathew had stepped down? Gregor allowed himself a hollow laugh, which took all of them by surprise. "I see. You're upset because we've grabbed most of the glory from Outland?"

"We believe in pulling our weight. This world is ours to defend, as well as yours."

"I would appreciate," Gregor's voice was flat, "if you would get to the point of this conversation. Do you want us to withdraw from the island?"

"No." Sir Caudry frowned. "I thought, perhaps you would need assistance?"

"We will be fine."

Sir Caudry seemed as though he wanted to continue to attempt to offer aid, though he gave up as Gregor's helm turned away from him, dismissing his presence all together. With a heavy sigh, the paladin rose to his feet. "Carrol, a portal to Stormwind, if you will."

As the portal disappeared, Gregor frowned. "You could have told me it wasn't Mathew."

Roberts shrugged. "It's not like you could have caught up out here, anyway." As the old warrior seemed even more irritated than before, Roberts added, "Besides, he wanted to speak with a guild leader, and unless I'm mistaken, you still claim that role."

While he wanted to reach out and smack Roberts upside the head, Gregor instead rose to his feet and headed back toward the courtyard. "We need to win back this island before they decide they're giving us help, regardless of whether we want it or not."

Wrachette stared after him, surprised. With a low whistle, she shook her head. "I didn't know Gregor could get angry." She paused. "Well, at anyone other than Haa'aji and Mitchell, anyway."

Roberts had already risen back to his feet as well. "Gregor's always touchy when it comes to the living."

~"~

Ta'lim patted his phoenix as the eight of them stood in the early light of the new morning. It was a little thing, and barely a consolation for losing his raptor, but it had been drawn to him, perhaps sensing a broken heart. Or maybe it was just that it liked to chew on his hair.

Whatever the reason, the little bird sat curled up on top of his head, the delicate flames of its wings flickering ineffectively against the troll's head, barely casting a warm flicker across Ta'lim's skin.

They hadn't found Kael'thas in the Magister's Terrace, but rather his phoenix, Al'ar. While it had been something they had managed to avoid in the Keep, despite Haa'aji's pleas for a chance to get himself a new mount, after defeating it here, they had to wonder why they had thought it would be such a difficult creature to down. Sure, it had resurrected itself almost thirteen times, but that was just what phoenixes did, right?

According to the dragon, Kalecgos—who had fortunately been a patient creature—Kael'thas was off tampering with the Sunwell a few buildings over.

While they would have normally been pleased to have eliminated an enemy, the dragon's warning had put a damper on things. Kael'thas was no longer their main concern. Now Kil'jaeden was.