The day before Wren and Sethyl headed off to Silvermoon to help Liila, two lower aristocratic sin'dorei sat in the shade of one of the inns at one of the few tables within it, staring across the wooden surface to the undead mage who had joined them. The inn had been one of the first places to be rebuilt, as beds were needed for all the workers, and it was a great place to take a break. Not that these gentlemen had been working. No, they'd just arrived about an hour before on the zeppelin, and they were quite put out by the condition of Orgrimmar.

With little enthusiasm to offer to aid with manual labor, the duo had taken a seat and started drinking whilst they regaled one another with week old gossip from Silvermoon. One of the elves had just started in on a story about how he wasn't sure if he and his wife would make it, as the young Magister Duskflame was bedding her, when the mage had joined them.

Mitchell looked from one to the other, his blind gaze taking in their looks of mild disgust at his appearance with general apathy. "Sorry to intrude, but I overheard you mentioning a Duskflame and thought that I might know him."

"I doubt it," the first elf scoffed.

The second, the one who's wife was sleeping around, however, seemed happy to find someone who hadn't heard all the horror stories that went with the Duskflame name. "You probably heard the name whispered sorrowfully off the lips of some broken hearted wretch." When Mitchell cocked his head and leaned his chin into his hand, his elbow against the wobbly table, the elf perked up even more. "Magister Duskflame is a dog, but his son, Adrias, is even worse. He'll sleep with anything that—well, I'd say that has a skirt, but I hear he goes both ways. I doubt even you're safe from his whims."

"Really, now," Mitchell said, easily catching on that the elf needed little prodding. He ignored the jab that he was somehow worse a catch than most, figuring it was just because he was dead. If they started in on his Mohawk though, he'd have to kill somebody.

The sin'dorei cackled gleefully. "It amazes me that they haven't been stripped of their nobility, after all the chaos they bring about. I gander that were Magister Duskflame's father not the grand warlock, he would have been. They have broken so many families apart. You'd think that after the Scourge attack, they'd least show some restraint, but no. They say that the younger Duskflame, Adrias, bedded a widow at the funeral for her husband. Pulled her off to the side behind a few grave markers. Nothing is sacred to that family."

Nodding slowly, Mitchell seemed to mull over the information. "So then…I don't suppose Wren Duskflame fits into this equation somehow?"

The chattier elf paused to think on the name, but it was his friend who answered. "Wren is the younger son. A farstrider."

"Ah, yes," the second elf frowned. "You don't hear much about him, honestly. He keeps out of the spotlight, which in itself is suspicious. What is he doing that he needs to hide from the public eye?"

"I hear he's into humans…and a few Horde races, too," Mitchell said in a single breath, his face the picture of seriousness.

The elves were drinking up the gossip. The chatty one shrugged. "It doesn't surprise me. That family is beyond twisted."

"Yeah…I wonder if the rest of them are as arrogant as Wren is…" Mitchell trailed off, like he didn't notice the elves exchange a glance. They were used to hearing their people called arrogant, but Mitchell knew better than to let them think it over. "I mean, about two weeks ago, Wren shoves this letter at me—we're in the same guild—and he tells me to deliver it for him. When I tried to protest that I had matters that needed tending, he threw a few copper at me and told me to hurry it up." The elves were trying not to look curious. "I was just gonna light it on fire, but my guild leader doesn't want us to be bitchy to Wren, since he is so important…" He paused and sighed, shrugging. "I didn't know he was the grand warlock's grandson, but I knew he was up there."

"Right, right. What happened with the letter?" the quieter elf goaded.

"Well, I took it and…I'm not gonna lie," Mitchell sighed, slumping down in his chair and looking slightly ashamed. "I opened it. I figured it had to be some important missive or maybe just a request for more mana crystals—he goes through them so quickly—but it wasn't." He paused for effect.

"What was it?"

"A bet." Mitchell straightened up, his turn to look disgusted. "He said he'd laid a certain someone…an Embry Sandsliver, I believe, and was offering his brother a bet to bed someone in return." Mitchell paused, tapping a finger against his chin. "An Analiese or Annaseria or…I'm sorry, I not very good with elven names—" He cut himself off as the chattier elf shot to his feet and began stalking out of the inn. "What's wrong?"

"I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch!"

~"~

Wren stood with Margaret next to a small fruit stall, holding a crate of fresh imports from Rachet. Since the ghoul attack on Orgrimmar, he and a few others had gone down to pick up food supplies, and he'd counted himself lucky to run into Margaret as he carried some of it into the city. She'd been more than happy to unburden his hawkstrider—who looked ready to peck someone's eyes out—and take half the load on her rotting steed.

And with company, the last hour of his trip had been rather pleasant. The elderly orcess who ran the stall was busily inspecting the different wares they'd brought her, and Wren was content to hold the last crate whilst she assured herself that everything would be in order. Already a few customers had come by to pick up different rations, and the orcess was happy to praise and thank Wren for his assistance.

It was Margaret who tipped him off that something was amiss, for she stopped in the middle of story about accidentally blinking off a cliff and ending up dragged out to sea by a current to look past Wren and say, "Can we help you?"

As Wren turned to see who she was talking to, a fist caught him firmly in the nose and sent him stumbling backwards and dropping the crate of fruit to the ground. He held his nose at the bridge, trying to stop the bleeding, and stumbled back further, ignoring the gasps of a few passersby.

His attacker was an elf, and ice had firmly rooted his feet to the ground. However, while he could no longer reach Wren, that wasn't stopping him from swearing up and down about all the horrible things that ought to happen to Wren for destroying his marriage.

It only took Wren a second to realize that this had to have something to do with his brother and his lustful ways. He straightened up as best he could, thanking Margaret as she held a cloth to his nose to stem the blood flow, and then gave the elf a glare, though his expression quickly turned to exasperation when he tried to quiet him down.

"Look, I'm sorry if my brother's done something stupid, but I had nothing to do with that—"

"Oh didn't you?" The other elf snapped. Another elf trotted up beside him, eyes widening as he saw the blood running down Wren's shirt and on his hands.

The second elf gripped the first by his shoulder and jerked him backwards. "Come, he's not worth it."

Wren's attacker let loose a few more curses before finally hissing that Margaret should release his legs so that he could go. As she obliged him, her straightened up, indignant and turned to go, though he paused and glanced over his shoulder. "Have fun with your rotting whore—"

Before Margaret could even conjure the magic to freeze him in his tracks and shatter one of his legs—she'd yet to see a healer who could mend that sort of damage—Wren darted forward, swung low to the ground and kicked the man's feet out from under him and then launched himself on top of the elf and pinned him down, his knee against his attacker's chest.

He leaned down so that his blonde hair brushed across the man's face. "Say and do what you want to me, but don't ever bring an innocent lady into it again. Do we understand each other?"

The elf offered him a meek nod, and Wren hopped back to his feet, grumbling as he realized his shirt had been ruined.

"Well, aren't you the hero?"

Wren turned a wary gaze to see Mitchell already helping Margaret and the shop keeper pick up the fallen fruit. Wren reached out to grab one but stopped, seeing the blood still on his hands. He frowned and looked about for the cloth Margaret had given him. She set her fruit back in the crate and then conjured up some water and tugged out another bit of cloth. As she handed it to Wren, Mitchell sat back, slightly startled.

"That's not the cloth you promised me for the robes, is it?"

Margaret rolled her eyes and glared at him. "It has a better use at the moment, and you'll be fine with two less scraps. You know I always get you extra."

"Yeah, but…" Mitchell snapped his mouth shut and turned an icy glare toward Wren.

Margaret seemed oblivious, and Wren chose to ignore it, instead turning to apologize to the shop keeper, though she merely smiled and said that she'd just be sure to sell those fruits at a discount. Wren couldn't apologize enough.

As soon as they were finished, Margaret was at his side again, inspecting his nose. "I don't think it's broken, but we should probably swing by the shop, see if Whisper or Liila are there so they can heal you."

Mitchell trotted after them, glancing around to make sure the elves from earlier weren't anywhere to be seen before matching pace next to Wren. "That was so weird. What was that about?"

"I don't even know," Wren muttered, sniffing as he tried to breathe past the clotting blood. "My brother must have done something stupid again…" His voice trailed off and his usually pleasant demeanor shifted into a scowl. "He has a way of ruining things…and somehow, even if it has nothing to do with me, it comes back to haunt me. Does he ever suffer for his actions? No. But I do. I'd hoped that it wouldn't be so bad with an ocean between us, but…" He forced a smile as he sighed, exasperated. "I guess not."

As Margaret tried to offer him a word of comfort, Mitchell merely arched his eyebrows. "Sounds like you should go back to Silvermoon. I can port you if you want." When both Wren and Margaret gave him 'are you crazy' looks, he shrugged, trying to hide any desperation that might find its way into his voice. "I mean…family is really important. If I could go back and fix the bond between me and my mom, I totally would—"

"Your mother's a willing member of the Scourge who helped spread the plague," Margaret snapped.

Rolling his eyes, Mitchell gave her an a-duh look. "Doesn't mean I don't miss her." He tried to look sincere when he turned back toward Wren. "Think about it. Do you want to look back on your life and know that you and your brother never reconciled? What if you got news tomorrow that your brother was dead? Think how guilty you would feel. You should leave…for home. And stay as long as it takes to mend that relationship."

"Mitchell," Wren began slowly, not wanting to offend the young mage. "I'm sure your heart's in the right place, but there is no saving my relationship with my brother. He's gone too far too many times for me to ever forgive him. I do still love him, but he is pure evil."

"Then isn't it your moral responsibility to keep him in line? Since you know, you're related by blood and all…." Mitchell cried out as Margaret jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

She rummaged through her bags quickly and then produced a bundle of cloth. "Here. Take this, and go make things. Leave Wren alone, okay?"

Mitchell readied a protest, but when Margaret gave him a stern look, he gripped the cloth and jerked it out of her hands. "Of course. Wouldn't want to make the little elf think he wasn't welcome…."

As Mitchell blinked to help hurry his exit, Wren turned a wide-eyed gaze toward Margaret. "What did I do to piss him off?"

Margaret shook her head. "You didn't do anything." When Wren didn't seem to believe her, she shrugged. "Mitchell just gets weird around other guys sometimes…maybe he has a man crush on you or something."

Wren arched his delicate eyebrows. "That is no man crush." As he spoke the last word, their last raid suddenly flashed to mind, and he remembered how every time his gaze had happened across the casters—be it during strategizing sessions or actual fights—Mitchell had always been standing near Margaret, laughing, joking, talking. By the nether, Mitchell had even darted in front of her to protect her from spells a few times. Wren sighed, relaxing enough for the pain in his nose to recapture his attention. As he cupped his hands around it, Margaret patted his arm.

"Don't worry about Mitchell, okay? He'll get over it." She looped arms with Wren and began to drag him toward Whisper's Vials. "Now then, let's get you fixed up."

~"~

"It just be a question, mon," Haa'aji muttered as he leaned across Ta'lim and Khai'rhi's table to steal food from Genji. The other three trolls frowned at him.

Genji slapped his hand away. "Ya just be messin' wit' us."

"Nah, mon, seriousleh," Haa'aji wagged a finger at them. "Tell me just one ting ya eva rememba doin' on a Tuesdah mornin'. One ting. Nobodeh can eva rememba what dey be doin' on a Tuesdah mornin'. Neva."

The other trolls stopped as they considered that this was true. Last Tuesday morning was a blur. Surely there was something that had to have stood out for it. Finally, Khai'rhi shrugged. "Dey be slow mornin's. It be nothin' ta worreh ova."

Even as his sister spoke, Ta'lim furrowed his brow and scratched one of his tusks. "Ah tink Ah got me pet last Tuesdeh."

"Before noon?"

"Ah be sleepin' before noon." Ta'lim dismissed Haa'aji's triumph with the wave of a hand.

As Khai'rhi muttered something about Ta'lim being a degenerate, Haa'aji eyed the hunter. "What pet ya be gettin'?"

"A dragonhawk," Ta'lim said, grinning. He motioned over his shoulder in the direction of the stables. "He be a pretteh ting, all floweh like."

"What ya be, a damn elf?" Haa'aji teased, shoving his friend. "Ya give dis 'n a name?"

"Rapta," Ta'lim's enthusiasm vanished, and he stared forlornly down at his food. "Ah neva named me rapta before he got all toasteh." He shook off his sadness. "So Ah be honorin' him wit' a name."

As much as Khai'rhi wanted to comment that it was a stupid thing to name a dragonhawk, she held her tongue and made sure Haa'aji held his as well. She didn't need Ta'lim moping around. Her gaze slid toward Genji, and she frowned when she saw that he'd been watching her as well. He looked away quickly when he realized she'd seen him.

That damned mage. Ta'lim had invited him over for dinner again, despite Khai'rhi's protests. While Genji would have declined, Haa'aji had abruptly appeared from nowhere, invited himself along, and dragged the other two trolls back to Khai'rhi.

She had not been amused, though her anger was somewhat stifled when Haa'aji presented her with a rather delectable raw entree of vegetables to go with whatever meats she might be cooking. She hoped he hadn't stolen it, but knew it was pointless to ask him.

Khai'rhi and Genji were actually oddly grateful for the rogue's presence, for he easily carried any conversations in directions that avoided romance or family—aside from his own; on occasion he would lapse into memories of his good old Amani days, which always sparked irritation among his fellow trolls; if he missed his tribe so much, he ought to go home.

Genji didn't doubt that Haa'aji knew about what had happened between him and Khai'rhi. The rogue was a mite bit obsessed with knowing what was going on around him. He supposed that might have stemmed from having to hide from the Scourge for almost a year and needing to know if someone had seen him or suspected a living creature nearby.

As a result, if one needed to know anything, he was the troll to go to. This also meant that the guild's privacy was a sham. Genji had to hand it to Haa'aji. He didn't hold any secrets over anyone's heads. Anyone in the guild, at least. The mage had to wonder if his fellow troll was as virtuous to all living creatures. He doubted it. Regardless of how well Haa'aji could fit into society, his first and foremost priority was always himself.

Liila was the one thing that seemed to throw a kink in their understanding of him, though. Genji supposed it was because of their history.

Genji felt a shiver run down his spine and came back to his senses to see the rogue was watching him. His hands were clasped beneath his chin as he leaned on them, and Haa'aji was watching the mage as though he could see what thoughts were bouncing around inside his head. Genji frowned and fought back another shiver.

"Wat?"

"So de Alliance be takin' ca'a a Illidan. We got us a safe world again, mon."

"How can ya be sayin' dat afta what happened hea in de last week?" Ta'lim asked as he bit into a carrot, eyed it, and then dipped the rest in the marinating juices around the boar Khai'rhi had roasted. His sister hit his hand away, and the troll scowled.

"Dea still be de Lich King," Khai'rhi murmured. She hadn't ventured into the Plaguelands but once to aid Enlyhn in tracking down reagents to learn to summon his dreadsteed—which he never used—but that and seeing their forsaken allies was enough to convince her they needed to take the fight to Arthas sooner than later.

"Maybeh we let dem Alliance take him, too, yeh?" Haa'aji said offhandedly, abruptly picking at his food as though he'd lost his appetite.

"What de matta wit' ya?" Ta'lim eyed him. "Ya know sumtin' about de bastard we don't?"

Furrowing his brow, Haa'aji shook his head and looked back over the other trolls. Of the men, he was the only one who never wore face paint. While he claimed it would give his Amani ancestry away, Genji had offered a few times to teach him Darkspear markings. The rogue always managed to derail such conversations—and when he didn't, he just threw out offhanded comments hinting that he didn't think their paints would mix well with the thin layer of moss growing on his skin. Genji suspected Haa'aji's real reasons for not wanting to use paint were somehow tied into Amani prejudices against other troll tribes, not that the forest troll ever actually voiced any such thoughts….

Haa'aji scratched one of his ears slowly. "Nah, mon. Ah don't know nuttin' about de Lich King. Dat be why Ah don't wanna fight him. He be a su'prise, yeh?"

Ta'lim laughed it off. "Dea be nuttin' wrong wit' su'prises, mon."

"Oh, ya tink so?" Haa'aji leaned across the table. "Let's say we go ta fight him den. We get dea, 'n what ya tink happens?" When none of the trolls responded, he tapped the table. "He sees him some freed minions 'n focuses on dem. His whole will, on Blood 'n Leafless 'n Shadow 'n maybeh even de fo'saken."

Genji shook his head. "Shadow 'n de othas wouldn't succumb ta him again. Dey be free."

"Dey be free 'cause da Lich King spread himself too t'in. He controllin' moa 'n moa 'n so his grip slips on some. Ya realleh tink he couldn't get Shadow 'n de uddas back if he let his zombies roam free fa a few minutes 'n bent all his will toward dem instead?"

"Ya know what Ah tink?" Khai'rhi abruptly snapped. "Ah tink ya be tryin' ta cause guild drama, 'cause everehtin' been goin' so well." She shook her head and jerked Haa'aji's plate away from him. "Dat ya'd stoop so low as ta try ta get us ta mistrust Shadow, t'ough? Dat's just pathetic."

Instead of listening, Haa'aji was watching his plate move away from him with an unreadable expression. At length, he looked back at Khai'rhi. "Shadow be a main strategist, yeh? If he fall ta de Lich King again, how we gonna know? We lissen ta him 'n walk inta a trap."

Ta'lim had to concede that this was a legitimate concern. However, as he reached down to his plate, his fingers scraped against the table. Looking down, he saw the place in front of him was empty and turned slowly to see Haa'aji quietly munching on his food. He knew the damned creature was a rogue, but did he have to steal everything?

Khai'rhi shoved Haa'aji's plate over to Ta'lim, and her brother grudgingly accepted the secondhand meal.

The rest of their dinner passed by uneventfully. Near the end of the night, Haa'aji dismissed himself to head off to wherever it was that he slept—some joked that he never slept, only watched. Ta'lim walked him to the door and waved, though he cut the action short as a burly orc bumped into the rogue. The roads were so wide that it seemed odd to him, and when he saw Haa'aji had stopped in his tracks, Ta'lim trotted out to his guild mate, glancing back to see the orc had disappeared.

For a moment, he thought he saw a note in the rogue's hands, but in a blink it was gone. Ta'lim decided it couldn't have been real, for Haa'aji wasn't even wearing long sleeves, so what could he have hidden a slip of paper in?

He blinked when he realized Haa'aji had an eyebrow quirked. The rogue slung an arm around Ta'lim's shoulders, eyeing their surroundings suspiciously. "Not ta scare ya a nuttin', but Ah hea dea be sum shadeh people around Orgrimma at night, yeh? Ya should stay indoors, mon."

Then, without any further explanation, Haa'aji patted Ta'lim on the back and trotted off.

~"~

"Sethyl may have found someone who knew me before I was taken by the Scourge."

Haa'aji frowned as he heard Liila's voice. He'd figured she'd be at the shop, but didn't think she'd be entertaining…even if other people were present. And to be talking about her past… As Timmons and Enlyhn walked ahead of him, Haa'aji couldn't help but feel a bit lost.

He and Liila had been through hell together, and now she was moving on. She was going to return to her people eventually—he'd supposed he'd known that from the moment he found her lying in the woods in the Ghostlands as he'd tried to find an end to the undead's reach—and then where would he be? They were the two misfits of the Horde, and Haa'aji was fairly certain that having sole claim to such a title would be less than fun.

By the time he'd reached the door, Liila was still talking to the elves. He eyed them. Wren seemed to only have two emotions, panic and curiosity. Today he was sporting the latter. Sethyl however…Haa'aji didn't like him. He knew how the paladins got their power and couldn't help but wonder if the only reason the damned elf was growing more attracted to Liila was because he could feel her power…a power he might be inclined to steal for himself.

Not wanting to follow this train of thought and figuring that he'd kill the damned elf before he could hurt his fellow misfit, Haa'aji abruptly plastered a half grin to his face and sauntered into the shop.

"Me gods, mon! Liila be speakin' moa den two words at a time!"

Sethyl and Wren whirled around to see Haa'aji and the warlocks just inside the shop. Timmons strode past the confused elves to Liila, a smirk in place. "It's so cute that you actually talk to them now."

Liila glared at their forsaken companion and then slung herself over Timmons' shoulders as he turned to head toward the guild hall. Once upon a time, Haa'aji had said that the forsaken slouch made it look like they would break if they tried to carry anything with decent weight to it. As if to prove him wrong, Timmons had lifted Liila up, only to have the rogue emphasize 'decent weight'. Ever since, it was an ongoing joke that Liila was the heaviest thing the warlock could or would carry. Timmons stilled as Liila leaned her head against his and patted his hood. "Shall I say a prayer for you?"

"Do you want a third curse?"

Liila wrapped her arms around his neck and swayed to the side, tipping the warlock off his balance. "I think you like me too much to do that."

Timmons lightly gripped the rim of his hood as it threatened to pull back from his harasser's actions. He'd nearly fireballed Haa'aji in the face once for trying to remove the man's hood. Even in Tirisfal, Timmons had kept his face hidden. While patting down the hood proved that his skull was still intact and that he wasn't covering some horrible gash that left his brain exposed, none of them had ever been able to get the warlock to explain to them why he was so intent on not being seen. "Haa'aji. Control your woman."

Liila was probably the first lady that Haa'aji had ever treated even remotely near an equal, and they'd had a few arguments over his brash treatment of the female gender. While he knew Liila would never take offense to his idiocy, he also knew that it could make others incredibly uncomfortable, and he was pleased by Timmons' subtle invitation to play with the elves. Both looked as though they had no clue whether they should defend Liila or just stay out of it. Well, Wren looked that way. Sethyl looked ready to defend.

Haa'aji shrugged and slung and arm over each of their shoulders roughly, flattening a few of Sethyl's spikes on the back of his head as he did so. The two probably thought he was too large a creature to be gentle. He twitched as he felt something flick his ear. Was Liila still playing or was she telling him to be nice?

After a flung dagger and threats about revealing his void reaver's existence to the guild leaders, Haa'aji decided to re-rail their conversation.

"I'm not going to Silvermoon." Liila shrugged off their protests. "It would be like Timmons walking into Stormwind."

The others kept pushing, though Haa'aji nearly twitched when he realized that their paladin was watching him instead of Liila. This was why he hated Sethyl. Had he noticed that Haa'aji had fallen as silent as Liila normally was? While Haa'aji was Horde, he couldn't exactly just saunter into Silvermoon, where most all of the warriors had been trained to know what an Amani troll looked like. While he didn't doubt that he could escape from the glowy-eyed little bastards, he'd probably end up killing at least one and that wouldn't do well for public relations at all. If he ever went to Silvermoon, care and explanations would be needed.

"My home is here," Liila snapped before she could stop herself, and Haa'aji felt an inkling of victory in the back of his mind, though he ignored it, so as not to give Sethyl any clues as to what he was thinking. Let the elf figure it out on his own. Timmons merely laughed and tousled her hair before heading to the guild hall. Liila stilled for a long while, the way she always did when she was considering the pros and cons of a situation.

He understood her reservations. They'd been naive idiots when the elves had first joined the Horde. Whisper, Margaret and he had teased her about how she was going to be leaving them for some hunky elf who had been missing her for these last few years thinking she was dead. They'd all but thrown her to the elven ambassadors. At the time, none of them had really taken the time to learn much about the difference between blood elves and high elves.

It was lucky that a few guards were patrolling nearby, or the bastards would have seriously hurt her—since she couldn't stay dead, what with the curse and all. What kind of prick spits on someone who comes up asking if they could talk, anyway? Liila hadn't gone near any of the elves after that…until they were accepted into the guild.

Finally, Liila caved. Perhaps she figured the same thing Haa'aji did: elves were used to living a long time, so they had to be patient; if they didn't get what they wanted now, they'd just keep bugging her about it. "If you can get me an assurance that I will not be attacked…and make sure that a few of our guild mates can come along, I'll go with you."

Haa'aji frowned. He knew that he and Shadow were probably the 'few' she wanted. And Timmons. "Well, damn, wooman. Dat sound like it gonna be takin' time 'n Ah nah be havin' much a dat. Ah got business in Da'nasus 'n gonna be gone fa a decent while afta tomorra."

It had been what he'd been coming to tell her, anyway. Even as Sethyl tried to clarify about what he'd just said, Haa'aji noticed Liila looked disappointed. However, she shook it off, trotted over to him, and patted one of his tusks. "Be safe then. If you need anything before you leave, just swing back by."

Haa'aji nodded to her. He'd already swiped the potions he wanted from the shelves. At this point, she probably knew the sorts of things he'd taken. He sometimes wondered why she never told Whisper about his kleptomania. Did she just pay for it herself? He'd have to ask her one of these days.

~"~

Haa'aji had left everything in order. He'd set up the appropriate mail retrieval system; should any worthwhile jobs come in while he was gone, they would go to either Liila, Timmons, or Roberts, based on the job and the need for finesse. While Roberts could play the typical rogue, Timmons just fireballed everything to death. You'd think he'd use shadow or curses more, seeing as he was an affliction warlock, but Haa'aji didn't sweat the small stuff.

Aside from jobs, he'd done a round of threats to people he thought needed them as motivation, started a trade riot by shouting that Thrall was a socialist bastard who wasn't even an actual Azerothian and how he was going to lead the Horde into holding hands and singing with the Alliance in no time, and left Orgrimmar's and Undercity's warlocks in a coven war. It was a shame the night elves didn't have warlocks, or he could have done a cross faction one. As an Amani troll, he still wasn't too keen on messing with either the Darkspear or sin'dorei covens. Sure he'd stolen a few things from both, but he wasn't ready to plant them in other covens' territories.

Haa'aji sat in a large tree with purple leaves as he considered all that he had done. It was a good set up, and he doubted that he would miss anything important during the ensuing chaos. He hated being left out of things.

He almost used one of his daggers to pick something out of his teeth, but stopped as he remembered he'd already applied his poisons. What a damn waste. He glanced through the window again at the archdruid. Staghelm had seemed like an interesting target, but he'd have to let this one go. After all, with the crazy cult the elf was in, Haa'aji figured it would be better for the Horde if he kept this one alive. With luck, the nutty druid would destroy the Alliance from within.

However, that didn't really matter. Haa'aji had already decided he wouldn't go after the kaldorei, and he never changed his mind on such matters. His problem turned out to be the damn coven war he'd started. Neither Timmons nor Enlyhn were answering requests for summons, as they were too busy trying to screw each other over.

Haa'aji had brought just enough reagents and supplies to get him into Darnasus, but hadn't considered how he was getting out.

He glanced over his tree branch roost and watched a few diligent sentinels march by. Getting home was definitely going to suck.

~"~

"Ta'lim!"

The troll's ears perked up as he heard his name, and he turned just in time to dart out of the way as Genji's raptor skidded to a stop. The mage hopped off his mount and landed with a thud beside Ta'lim. They clasped hands briefly before Ta'lim's perked up, and he rummaged through a mail bag that was slung over his shoulder. At length, he pulled out four letters, but made sure that no one saw him hold them out to Genji, looking around suspiciously.

"Ya tink ya can take dese hea ta de guild leadas?"

"Mail fa Anonymous?" Genji grinned as he nodded and quickly pocketed the envelopes.

"Yeh, mon. T'ough Ah don't know what Ah gonna be doin' soon. Dey been noticin' dat de lettas seem ta disappea durin' me shifts, so Ah need ta lay low fa now, yeh?"

"Ya don't want de ladies t'rowin' demselves at ya fa bein' a hero?" Genji grinned, poking him in the ribs with an elbow.

Ta'lim frowned. "Dey watch me or ya…'nebodeh realleh, dey see who we be hangin' wit' 'n everehbodeh's privaceh go ta de netha."

"True dat," Genji murmured, considering what Whisper would do if people found out about them. If her mother found out…. He snapped from his thoughts as Ta'lim waved and went to resume his delivery route. "Lissen, mon. Ah got a fava ta ask, yeh?"

"Oh?" Ta'lim motioned for the mage to walk with him, and the two both trotted along, Genji leading his raptor.

"Ya tink…ya tink ya can find a friend ta stay wit' tonight?"

Ta'lim stopped in his tracks and eyed the mage with sudden suspicion. "Wat? Why?"

"Ah wanna talk ta ya sista. Privateleh." Genji glanced around, as though not wanting to make eye contact with Ta'lim. "Ya probableh noticed de tension between us de pas' few weeks, yeh? Ah wanna clea de air."

Ta'lim eyed Genji for a long moment before abruptly shrugging. He had caught on to it…he'd hoped it would just go away, but if a confrontation was needed…though he would like to be there to defend his sister if it got into a shouting match. "A'ight. Ah crash wit' Liila or somebodeh."

~"~

Ta'lim sniffed the salad in front of him suspiciously as he sat across from Liila and Lash. The latter had come over as well, when Gore had hinted that it would be nice to have some time alone with his wife once in a while. Liila had been accommodating enough, since they'd brought their own bed rolls with them. While Whisper would have normally been with them, she'd left on a visit to Thunder Bluff that morning and hadn't offered much on when she might be back. Margaret and Ta'lim had had a fight that morning, and she still wasn't speaking to him and had apparently holed herself up in Undercity.

As Ta'lim further inspected his meal, already having overcome his disappointment that there was no meat in it, Liila rolled her eyes. "I didn't make it; I picked it up on my way home."

Both he and Lash let out sighs of relief and relaxed, the troll scarfing down his food. Liila was such a good alchemist, but when it came to cooking… People had tried to tell her to look at it the same as she was concocting a potion, with proper proportions and all, but somehow things always went wrong.

Duskeh and Rapta were outside, mulling about the small fenced in area that the elf, Margaret, and Whisper claimed as their yard. Lash peered out the window to make sure Duskeh wasn't trying to maim Ta'lim's pet one last time before settling in to eat as well. While the two hunters chowed down, Liila satisfied her own hunger at a slower pace, savoring the crunch of the vegetables.

"You two should get a house together," Liila murmured. While she didn't mind them crashing, she figured that at least Gore and Sham were ready for the fledgling to leave the nest. Lash and Ta'lim eyed each other.

"Move in wit' us," Ta'lim muttered, pausing to inspect a slice of tomato. He couldn't name half of the things he was eating, though he knew they went good with different cuts from roasts.

"I already have a home."

"But we be needin' somebodeh ta clean 'n stuff," Ta'lim objected, though he hesitated as Liila's eyes flickered black momentarily. She was no one's maid.

"Then go out and find ladies who will take you," Liila shrugged. She leaned against the table and a smile flitted across her face. Ta'lim and Lash were the youngest members of the guild—along with Mitchell—and people often joked that the guild had spent so much time coddling them that they were never going to start their own families.

Lash rolled his eyes. "No point in settling down until the Lich King is dealt with."

Even as Ta'lim nodded, a small smile tugged at Liila's lips. "You say that now, but once he's gone, you'll find some other reason to need to hold off. And another and another. Before you know it, you'll be lonely old souls."

"We just hang out wit' ya 'n Haa'aji den," Ta'lim shrugged, though Lash hit his knee under the low table they sat at. As the hunters exchanged a look, Liila arched her long eyebrows.

"Haa'aji has a lady friend."

The two hunters eyed her, wondering if it was a joke or if she was being serious.

As an awkward silence settled over the table, Lash shifted his weight. "So, I hear the elves are trying to help you find your past?"

"They are," Liila murmured with a sigh. "They want me to meet them just inside Silvermoon next week. Apparently there's some…translocation orb in the ruins of Lordaeron? A teleportation device. Wren said it would be squared away by then. He just has to call in a few favors."

The silence threatened to return.

"So…Sethyl seems kinda taken wit' ya," Ta'lim teased, half hoping she might indicate whether she was actually taken. With her group, he could never tell which jokes were based in truth and which ones weren't. He'd heard on multiple occasions that Liila had a druid lover, though he'd also heard once that she had a dragon one.

Liila eyed Ta'lim for a long, quiet moment, as though what he'd said was news to her. Surely Margaret or Whisper had already harassed her about it, though. That's what ladies did, right? Gossip? "…You think?"

"Ya sholda seen how upset he been when ya wasn't dea fa de Sunwell raid, yeh?" Ta'lim nodded.

"He was, wasn't he?" Lash nodded, absentmindedly rubbing his shoulder. He'd pulled it while helping to restore Orgrimmar's bank's roof the day before. However, he didn't think he ought to waste healers' time with such an insignificant injury and had left it to get better on its own. If it still hurt in a week, he'd hit someone up to do something about it.

Liila swished her water around slowly. She'd been down this road before. People telling her that things were all sunshine and rainbows only to end up impaled on the end of a stick. "I see."

Both hunters cocked their heads. Ta'lim leaned toward her, not bothering to hide his interest. "Ya got sometin against him?"

Liila frowned. "It's nothing important…."

"Is it because he took your ring without telling you?" Lash offered.

Expression blanking, Liila shrugged her shoulders. "Like I said, it's nothing important." She motioned toward their plate,s and Lash pushed his toward her while Ta'lim gripped his protectively. Honestly, it was as though the troll were constantly being starved. Liila took Lash's plate from the table and came back after a moment, tossing him a toothpick. "Sethyl is fun to play with, though."

Lash laughed. "Be careful, you go too far, and Gore will figure out you're going against his orders."

Liila stretched her arms over her head. "What's the point of a guild if you can't have a bit of fun with one another, hmm?"

Ta'lim flashed her a thumbs up and nodded, grinning. "True dat."

~"~

On the other side of town, Genji sat across from Khai'rhi during the longest, quietest half hour of his life. Sure, he'd gotten rid of Ta'lim, but that had just made things worse. At first, he'd thought Khai'rhi wouldn't even let him in, but she'd merely stalked away from the door, leaving it open, and he'd taken that as an invitation. She'd already eaten and made it clear that since Ta'lim wouldn't be home, she wouldn't be doing anymore housework for the evening.

It was well enough. Even so, she'd gone about ignoring him, fiddling with her guild stone and inspecting a few old scrolls documenting different totemic ideas. She and Sham were still working on new ones, and apparently they'd gotten Whisper involved to some extent, just before she'd had to go home to Thunder Bluff.

Finally, Genji couldn't take it anymore. "Wooman, ya just gonna ignore me de whole damn night?"

Khai'rhi didn't even look up. "Ya did de same damn ting ta meh fa t'ree months, so wat be ya point?"

Genji frowned. He hadn't ignored her, had he? "Ah was helpin' de guild gatha infa'mation."

"'n dat meant ya couldn't check ya damn stone? Ya ansa'd Haa'aji plenteh a times, but neva me." Khai'rhi set her scrolls to the side and glared at him, her eyes flickering red. Genji's eye twitched despite himself. Damned rogue…of course he'd help fuel any guild drama that he could.

"Ah was scared."

"Scared? What ya tink Ah was, wonderin' whetha ya eva be comin' home a not?" Khai'rhi hissed. She wagged one of her fingers at him accusingly. "Ah taught ya hated me. Den ya come back like nuttin' eva happened? It been insultin'!" Even as Genji readied to defend himself, Khai'rhi added, softer. "'n it hurt."

Before an awkward silence could descend, Khai'rhi rose to her feet and smoothed a few wrinkles out of her kilt. It was a typical, plain brown one, with small triangular patterns across it. She would have dressed a bit nicer if she'd known she was going to have company… Sham was right. Men were stupid.

"It be gettin' late, so Ah tink ya can show yaself out."

She froze in place as two strong arms wrapped around her, and Genji's chin rested on her shoulder. "Ya be a real pain, yeh?" As she scoffed, he pulled her closer to him and leaned his head against hers. "Wooman, de onleh reason Ah fight so hard ta make de world a betta place be 'cause ya in it."