Before Gore had been the commander of Orgrimmar's defenses, he had always found a sort of serenity in standing at the edge of the market or auction house, closing his eyes, and listening to the steady hum of life around him. It was a testament to all that his people had accomplished under Thrall's watchful eyes, and it was encouraging to know his people were thriving.

As he would stand, little snippets of conversation would drift in and out and paint a picture of dozens of lives brushing past one another, too caught up in their own agendas to notice how the little fragmented existences they lived fit together as a puzzle would, painting a beautiful, if not hectic, picture.

People buying weapons, readying for weddings, celebrating births, praying for loved ones' safety in battle. That had been why he'd worked so hard, why he'd proven himself worthy of climbing to his role as commander. He'd wanted to protect that hum of life, that proof that better times were already being forged.

He'd given that role up so that he could ensure those better times. He would defeat any threats to his people. Even if he was never offered a word of praise, if no one ever heard even a whisper of his honor, it would be worth it. Just to know that his people were more than just surviving...that they were truly living.

Those had been his general thoughts, until recently.

Gore leaned against the wall outside of his cabin, his rough hands covering his face as though a shield against whatever might be coming his way. He didn't want to listen to the voices around him anymore. If he did, he'd hear one of his idiot guild mates plotting something beyond moronic, or worse, he'd hear the goblin crew members screeching because, whatever the plot, it was already in action.

He heard the floorboards creak near him, and he hesitated, thinking perhaps the person would walk past and leave him be. The creaking ceased, and he sighed, slowly lowering his hands and looking to his side to see Renza'shi standing awkwardly a few feet away.

The troll hadn't intended to travel with them, but when he'd gone to see about getting a zeppelin ride north—he was still guild-less and had figured he would fly solo for a while—he'd been thrilled to learn that there was a single opening left on the first zeppelin heading north.

However, he'd barely had time to put his belongings in his tiny cabin filled with four hammocks when Ta'lim had walked in and waved. It wasn't that Renza'shi didn't like Ta'lim. Quite the contrary. No, it was just that he'd already heard that Impervious was traveling as a guild, and if Ta'lim was there, that meant Haa'aji was somewhere on the zeppelin as well. Even though he'd run back to the deck, hoping to get away—the zeppelin ride had been estimated to take two weeks, and Renza'shi could barely stand two minutes with Haa'aji—they'd already pulled away from the tower, and Renza'shi wasn't about to fling himself off the zeppelin and hope he didn't break everything when he landed.

Thus he'd committed himself to the ride. And it hadn't been too bad for the first week. However, a little into the eighth day, Haa'aji and a few others seemed to succumb to boredom, and the troubles started.

As he looked at Gore, he had to wonder if perhaps the troubles had started even earlier, for the orc before him was clearly ready to smack who or whatever he needed to smack to ensure that the rest of the trip would be smooth.

The zeppelin abruptly shook, and a few gasps and shouts came from the deck overhead. Renza'shi took in a slow breath and pointed back the way he came. "Uh, sorreh ta botha ya, but Ma'garet wanted meh ta tell ya dat de crew gone somewhat postal. Dey tied Timmons up 'n hung him off de edge of de ship 'n Ma'garet said dey be afta Haa'aji, too."

Gore stared at Renza'shi for a long, unsettling moment. "They're hanging them off the ship? Are they hurting them?"

"Ah tink de concern been more for de crew, if dey actualleh get dea hands on Haa'aji..."

With a heavy sigh, Gore pushed himself away from the wall and began to walk toward the stairs. He wasn't sure, but he was beginning to suspect that his guild mates were somehow making him age faster, for as he walked forward, he felt older than he had when he first stepped onto the zeppelin.

Much, much older.

However, before he could head off, and Renza'shi could decide if he wanted to go watch the upcoming spectacle or just hide in his room and leave Impervious' drama to Impervious, the door near Gore swung open, and Sham stormed into the hall, looking one way and then the other, her eyes locking on the back of Gore's head.

"Gorgon Hellsblood! What is the meaning of this?" Renza'shi had never heard her raise her voice before, and his eyes widened as Gore's shoulders slumped. The orc turned slowly to see that his wife was holding a small piece of parchment toward him accusingly. "A suicide note?"

As their troll audience's jaw dropped, Gore frowned. "What? No. That's not—"

"It sure sounds like it," Sham snapped as she stalked forward, stopping in front of him and crossing her arms. "'I am sorry for my actions, but I cannot live like this any longer. Please forgive me'?"

Gore took the note from her and pocketed it. "This is for when I snap and murder every last damn one of those—" He paused as he realized that Renza'shi was still standing there. His face grew eerily calm. "I suppose I should get up to the deck to take care of their newest mess, shouldn't I?"

Renza'shi stepped in front of him, palms out. "If ya be wantin', Ah can go find Grega, yeh?"

"It's fine," Gore muttered, stepping past the troll, his shoulder brushing against the wall of the tiny hallway. "Just...make sure you don't do anything to enable them, alright? With anything." As Renza'shi nodded slowly and edged against the far wall to give Gore more space, Gore shook his head slowly as he headed up the stairs. "Thank the ancestors I never had children. I couldn't live with years of this..."

Sham nodded to Renza'shi, though neither of them said anything. He'd witnessed her panic attack as she came to the conclusion that her husband was going to jump off the zeppelin and into the rolling waves below. She found herself feeling somewhat ashamed to have ever considered that Gore would end himself. However, in a way it was somewhat worse if he planned on taking the whole ship down instead.

She slipped past Renza'shi, deciding to back Gore up if he needed it. The troll watched the two of them head up and just turned slowly to walk down the hall. He couldn't imagine what Taknar would have done to fools who acted so bizarrely in Blood and Honor.

~"~

Wren had actually been enjoying the zeppelin ride to Northrend. As with Maraudon, he was fascinated to see the natural world and, even if Margaret couldn't understand what was so interesting about watching 'the same waves roll over each other', watching the glittering ocean below and the clouds above had still been a peaceful past time for him. Zeresa had come along—she'd taken Cloudless' spot, as the druid had declared that he would be going on a leave of absence, without a set time that he would be returning, thus freeing up a space on the zeppelin—and had attempted to join him on one occasion, but the continuous rolling of the waves had made the elf sick, and she'd vanished below deck. Hardly anyone had seen Zeresa since.

At least Blood and Shadow kept him company. Neither of them needed sleep any longer—and Shadow couldn't comfortably fit down the hall to the residential area—so almost any time one wanted to find them, one needed only go to the deck to see them either pacing or speaking quietly to the side, flipping through a stack of odd scribblings which they seemed hesitant to let Wren see clearly—they always tucked them away when Wren came over, though he merely dismissed it, figuring that almost everyone in the guild had some type of secret they didn't want to share with everyone.

However, Wren had to say he was a bit surprised at Margaret's disinterest. After all, she was a mage. Perhaps it was because he was an elf, but Wren had always been able to see the way magic flowed through nature, like the way tree roots pulled it up from deep in the earth, calling on it to sustain them as they might water. In Silvermoon, the spells were so cluttered and repetitive that it drove him crazy, and he'd always preferred spending time out at the different farstrider outposts, watching the natural magics twine through the air.

Orgrimmar had been a nice change of pace, indeed. While the orcish warlock coven and a few other 'hot spots' were still overrun with creature-made spells, the majority of the city was peaceful, reminding Wren of the serenity of Eversong before the Scourge had come.

The sea teemed with magic. Much of it was older than anything he'd ever seen before, whispering of times when spells were tenfold stronger, and the world was whole. Wren felt like he could get lost, listening to the lull of the ancient spells below.

Until a few days ago, anyway.

The magics had begun to shift. While they held no real color that the eye could register, they had begun to feel sicklier and darker the closer to Northrend they got. It was as though the Lich King's poisonous energies had plagued even the seas.

To the naked eye, they remained the same green-blue as they'd always been, but almost all of the serenity had left them. The others seemed to be feeling it to, even if they couldn't put a name to it.

Haa'aji, for instance, had begun to fidget and pace shortly after the necrotic spells polluting the water had become dominant, and many of the others were growing restless as well. Most would probably chalk it up to anticipation and knowing that their ride was almost over.

Wren was still somewhat disappointed that Margaret hadn't caught the change. By the Light, it didn't seem like any of the mages had, and Sethyl had been in a sour mood the whole time, making it impossible to talk to him about it.

It was an elven thing though, wasn't it? Some innate ability that most elves took for granted?

It had to be. After all, Wren couldn't cast even the simplest of spells, and he could see it.

Wren's hammock swung slightly as a shiver went through the zeppelin. He frowned and tapped a mana crystal as he waited to see if anything else would happen, like one of the walls drop off or some other hellish indication that their trip was about to take a turn for the worse. When nothing did, he figured it must have been turbulence and sighed.

However, his relief was short lived. His hammock abruptly flipped and he found himself sprawled out rather awkwardly on top of Haa'aji. Even as the troll grinned at him and waggled his fingers in a nonchalant wave, Wren darted away from him, a frown firmly in place. "Please, don't do that."

Haa'aji lurched up into a sitting position, one of his ears going through the holes in the hammock above the one he'd taken up. It wasn't his; no one could actually figure out where Haa'aji was sleeping. He was technically on the guest roster for the zeppelin—well, he was a number really, as Gore had used guild funds to pay for the correct number of bodies—but when people did the math to see which room had an extra bed, they always fell short. It was as though the troll didn't exist.

Wren's hair tumbled over his shoulders, and his frown deepened for a moment before he realized that Haa'aji was absentmindedly winding the elf's hair tie around one of his fingers. Wren held his hand out. "Please return that."

"Onleh 'cause ya be such a nice guy," Haa'aji let the fabric unravel from his digit and held it out to Wren. The elf took it, pausing to inspect the earnest smile on Haa'aji's face. Such an odd troll.

After Wren had finished tying his hair back, he arched one of his eyebrows and crossed his arms, though he made no move when Haa'aji patted the spot beside him on the hammock. "Is there something you wanted?"

"Wan'ed?" Haa'aji cocked his head, inspecting Wren carefully. "Ah be wan'in' all kinds a tings, yeh? Doubt ya can do much about most a dem, t'ough."

"So then you just flipped me around to screw with me?"

Haa'aji frowned as he heard someone shout down the hall. His ears twitched, and he looked back at Wren. "Ah don't tink Ah got long, yeh? But Ah got some questions. About de captain ya called in a fava from when ya helped Liila."

"Captain Dawningblade?" Wren hesitated, puzzled for a moment.

"Yeh, him. Wat de fava been fa?"

Wren furrowed his brow. "Why do you care?"

Haa'aji shrugged. "Ah like ta know tings."

"I saved his life," Wren paused, frowning as he remembered what had happened.

"So ya be a hero, den?" Haa'aji leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his chin propped in his hands.

"I..." Wren hesitated and then sat on the hammock across from the troll. "It's complicated."

"Ah be good at followin' stories." Haa'aji looked so genuinely interested...

A random warning struck Wren from the back of his mind. Cloudless had said that Haa'aji and his group had a tendency to play pranks and not realize how they might hurt others. It was the latter part that made Wren uneasy, though he simply brushed it off, figuring the sort of pranks Cloudless had been talking about were like flipping his hammock.

"Well, my brother's best friend lost his fiancé to the Scourge. She was actually one of the first to fall to them, of our people." He hesitated, to see if Haa'aji would still be interested. When he motioned for him to go on, Wren shrugged. "He was convinced that she was still alive, even roped me into a rescue mission with my brother and his fiancé's best friend. Her best friend died, but the rest of us made it back. He seemed to drop my brother as a friend and joined the farstriders."

"'n dis be relatin' ta de cap'ain some way, yeh?"

"Ah, yes. See, the reason the fiancé had joined the farstriders is because the captain was one—a low ranking ranger at the time. He'd been friends with the missing priestess—"

"Whea dis priestess be comin' from?"

"Oh, right…" Wren took in a deep breath. "Sorry, it's a fairly common tale in Silvermoon, so I forget not everyone knows it. Basically, my brother, Adrias and his friend, Gryst'lyn Emberdawn, were considered the worst elves in Silvermoon. Then Gryst'lyn met the love of his life, a priestess called Amaeria something-or-other, and he…he didn't quite become an upstanding citizen, but he was better. He loved her more than anything. Took it hard when she died."

"Ah…"

Wren nodded. "Well, Captain Dawningblade had been childhood friends with Amaeria. She had been on a patrol with him when she disappeared, and apparently there were conflicting reports about how she went missing. It was suspicious. Gryst'lyn decided the captain was at fault, so he joined the farstriders, even as the Scourge marched upon us, just so he could get close enough to kill Captain Dawningblade."

Haa'aji rocked back a little, brow arching as he whistled. "Revenge, den?"

"Something like that." With a sigh, Wren shrugged. "I don't know all the details, but I happened across them before Gryst'lyn could kill Captain Dawningblade, and I saved him."

Haa'aji watched him with an unreadable expression that reminded Wren of Liila for a moment before the troll abruptly stretched his arms out in front of him and then let them rest against his knees. "So... Dis Embadawn eva find out what happen ta his lova? 'n wat happen ta him?"

"He was sent on a scouting mission to redeem himself for attacking a brother in arms and went missing. He's assumed dead. If he did live, though, I'd guess he's still looking for Amaeria. Or maybe he found her." Wren sighed. "I doubt that, though."

"Nah a big believa in love conquerin' all?"

"Not when it's up against necrotic magics and the Lich King." Wren shrugged when Haa'aji seemed disappointed in him. "If you really want all the sordid details, you could try asking my brother, though in fair warning, he's very bitter and doesn't like people in general, especially if they're somehow connected to me."

Haa'aji nodded a little absentmindedly. "Do ya know wat she looked like?"

"The priestess? I never met her...I think he said she was blonde?"

"Ya don' know nuttin' else?"

"Aside from blonde priestess, no." Wren paused and then shook his head.

"Hmm..." Haa'aji considered what the elf had said for a moment. Then, he swung to his feet and stretched his back, his hair brushing the cabin's ceiling. "Ah tink Ah go see what Timmons be up ta, yeh? Ya wanna come?"

"Ah, no..."

The troll shrugged and sauntered out of the room. However, even as the door swung shut behind him, several high pitched goblin voices let out a few shouts. Wren heard Haa'aji cry out and the sound of something heavy—like a troll—slammed into the floor outside. Wren darted to the door and opened it in time to see a few Goblins hoisting an unconscious rogue onto their shoulders and scuttling off down the hall. One paused to glare back at Wren, and the elf slowly closed the door.

Wren reached into the pack on his hip and tapped another mana crystal, though it didn't even begin to take the edge off his nerves. After tapping a few more and wondering what could be making him so stressed out, he paused to consider what Haa'aji had asked about. He hadn't thought of Gryst'lyn and his beloved Amaeria in ages, mostly because he'd had such a minor role in that tragedy.

It didn't take him long to grow tired of that train of thought. While he did find an idle curiosity about what had become of lovers, he didn't want to waste time he could be enjoying by thinking about people who were tied in any way to his brother. However, now that his half-awake ponderings of magic and the like had been broken, he found himself too restless to lay back down.

And he doubted the number of crystals he'd need to tap to calm his nerves would be healthy. Thus, he made sure he was presentable and headed up toward the deck to do some wave watching or in the very least, find someone to talk to.

As Wren emerged from his room and stared toward the deck, Renza'shi was walking by. He caught the elf's arm and shook his head. "Jus' stay down hea today, yeh?"

Wren thanked him for the warning but went to the stairs anyway. He'd barely poked his head onto the deck long enough to see that several goblins had Haa'aji, bound tightly in a rope cocoon, upon their shoulders again and were walking toward the edge of the zeppelin while Gore tried not to get into a yelling match with the aircraft's captain. Not wanting to get involved—and figuring that Gore probably had things under control, or at the very least Sham did—Wren slipped back to the residential section of the dirigible.

~"~

Liila stood in front of one of the doors below deck, arms crossed, and fingernails lightly drumming against her sleeve as she considered what she was about to do. Even as she reached for the door handle, however, she heard a soft sniffle from behind the door.

Her lips dipped into a frown. When she'd been at her worst, she'd hated when people had caught her crying, but then… In the end, they'd always helped her, somehow, someway.

It was time to pay it forward.

Gripping the handle, she hesitated again, thinking better of just striding in the way Haa'aji always did. Instead, she let her knuckles rap against the door twice. As she pushed the door open, she heard a weak, "Not now…"

She let the door swing shut behind her as she stood there, staring at Zeresa. The redhead looked up at her with surprise, then fear, then contempt. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and she looked like hell.

Liila ignored the disdain plain on the sin'dorei's features and walked across the room to sit on the hammock across from her. When she'd settled in, she played with her cuff rather than look at Zeresa. "It took me a while to figure out why you bothered me so."

"You came all the way to tell me you don't like me? How sweet," Zeresa spat the words. "You can leave now."

"I did not like you at first, yes," Liila continued, her voice droning a little as she kept herself from being distracted by the elf's words. "I had horrible nightmares after the day we met. I couldn't understand why just being near you made my skin itch." She looked across the way to see that Zeresa had stilled, eyes wide, afraid. "And then it hit me."

The other elf didn't respond. By the Light, she barely breathed.

Liila considered saying what she'd come to say, but there was no need. Zeresa understood. Instead, she shrugged a little. "Do you truly like Wren? He seems a little hopeless to me."

"He's a good elf," Zeresa snapped, instantly. "He has a sweet heart, and he doesn't deserve what he's been through."

"You really do like him," Liila replied. Even as Zeresa looked confused, Liila hopped to her feet. "Good. I do not know him well—and I am aware his opinion of me is not terribly high at the moment—but he is a guild mate. I will protect him, just as I would any others."

She rummaged through her pockets and then pulled a few leafs form her pocket, offering them to Zeresa. When she didn't take them, Liila carefully set them down near her. "They help with pain, should you find yourself in need."

As she stepped out of the room, she heard that crying resume almost as soon as the door clicked shut behind her. Her brow pinched together, and she almost went back. However, she stopped herself. It wouldn't help.

What would help couldn't be done on a zeppelin.

As she paced down the hall, she felt the temperature drop a few degrees and turned to see Blood standing there, leaning against the wall. When he noticed her attention, he tilted his head back. "I wouldn't suggest going to see her again. You'll tip him off."

"He already knows, I'm sure," Liila shrugged. "I'm fairly certain he can still see through my eyes, as well as hers."

"That may be, but we don't know how much of her free will is bound. If he orders her to attack the zeppelin—"

"I do not think he will," Liila interrupted, stepping over to Blood so that she could drop her voice. "He always liked being able to see the fear in his victims' eyes in person."

A brief silences settled over the two of them before Blood finally motioned to her. "Shadow and I have been looking over your curse." He held his hands up when Liila stiffened. "Roberts gave us the druidic notes on it, so we don't know what pieces you still have." He paused. "I… I don't know that they can all be removed without killing you."

"I thought as much."

"And the ones you put on Gregor and the others likely can't be removed without killing them."

Liila nodded, shifting her weight a little. Gregor still wasn't talking to her because of what she'd done, though the rest of the forsaken seemed surprisingly neutral about having had death runes carved into them.

Well, Timmons hadn't voiced his opinion on it yet, as he wasn't talking to her either.

Haa'aji said that was for the best, but it just made Liila seethe to think that Haa'aji was being too judgmental.

"I had a thought," Blood finally said, his reservations echoed in his voice. He crossed his arms and then uncrossed them, cross them again, and then motioned toward her. "You are welcome to turn me down, but…I think I might be able to adjust your runes in the least."

Liila started to take a step back, but stopped herself.

Blood waited until he was sure she wouldn't flee before he arched an eyebrow. "I could fix them so that you're not in so much pain, so that you automatically heal when you resurrect, too. Then you wouldn't die the same way over and over without heals. I might even be able to remove some of the ones that cause pain. Or…turn them into something else."

Though a small, terrified voice in the back of Liila's head screamed that she turn down the offer vehemently, she couldn't help herself. Tilting her head, she appraised Blood carefully. "Something else?"

~"~

"Sethyl!"

The paladin's ear twitched as he looked up from his holy tome—he'd been reading up on his spells, telling himself he wasn't just looking into how one might remove a curse, even though he seemed to keep flipping over to those pages. He never liked being interrupted from his reading.

Mitchell stood in front of him, hands clasped behind his back as he looked down sightlessly at his guild mate. His lips were curled into a simple, overly innocent looking smile. The mage rocked from his heels to his toes and back a few times, waiting.

"...Yes?"

Mitchell took the single syllable as an invitation and hopped down beside him, his face turning toward Sethyl's book. His smile faltered slightly as Sethyl snapped his tome shut. Something—Mitchell hadn't cared enough to learn what—had happened to Sethyl recently, and the paladin had resumed being the total arrogant prick that he'd been when he first joined the guild. His attitude had left Margaret grumbling about how 'that damn elf had gotten his mace stuck up his ass', and it delighted Mitchell to no end. If only he could ruin Wren's standing with Margaret, life would be good.

However, that was hardly his concern. "So, I've been working on some experiments—" he cut himself off as though expecting to hear someone interrupt him. When no one did, he continued. "I find myself needing some help."

Sethyl eyed him. "What kind of experiments?"

"Oh...this and that. I'm trying to find a cure for the plague," Mitchell shrugged his shoulders, unable to stop his childish grin from lighting up his face. "It's kind of a secret, but I could really use some help."

Sethyl had to say he was pleasantly surprised. Mitchell always seemed a bit too enthusiastic about killing things, to him. "What do I need to do?"

"Drink this." Mitchell held out a small, bubbling green vial.

Sethyl could smell death wafting up from it. It took him a moment before his eyes widened, and one of them twitched. "Is that the plague?"

"Uh, duh?" Mitchell frowned. "I can't move forward with a cure if I don't have anyone to test it on."

"What about Roberts? Or Margaret? Or Gregor or Timmons?" Sethyl had darted from his seat and was well across the room from the forsaken seated on his hammock. "Or try it on yourself."

"Yeah, um...Gregor and Timmons are already a work in progress." Mitchell shrugged as Sethyl stared at him incredulously. "And Roberts keeps stun-locking me and vanishing whenever I get him in a room alone." He paused. "And how can I work with the plague if I'm susceptible to it? You're not dead yet, so I know you have a functioning brain...use it, would you?"

Sethyl had to wonder how much trouble he'd get in if he threw the mage out the window. Mitchell seemed to read his thoughts. The mage abruptly hopped to his feet and cackled. "I'm kidding, you know?" He tilted the vial and let it drop onto his other hand. When nothing happened, he laughed. "It's not really the plague." Even as Sethyl eyed him warily, he trotted toward the door. "I would like some help, though. I mean, paladins are supposed to be good at curing stuff...I think you were talking about it with Liila a while back? Anyway, I would like someone to bounce theory off, and thought maybe you'd be a good candidate."

"I suppose I could listen to your theories," Sethyl murmured, slowly relaxing.

"Awesome, well." the mage edged closer to the door, his hands behind his back again. "Well, I don't really need the help right this instant, but I wanted your permission for later, before...you know, just bombarding you with questions."

Just as he reached the door, it opened, and Wren nearly walked into him. Mitchell let out a startled cry and then forced a smile. "Hey."

"Gonna ask for his help with the plague, too?" Sethyl muttered.

"What? No," Mitchell frowned. "Farstriders aren't known for their prowess in healing." He looked Wren over. "No offense."

"None taken," the elf replied, looking somewhat puzzled.

"Well, I'll be going then...leave you two to...do elf things..." Mitchell raised his eyebrows, and for a moment Wren thought the mage looked like he was afraid he'd mentioned something he shouldn't have. Mitchell caught the curious expression on Wren's face and panicked. He had to keep them from asking the right questions... "So... I probably shouldn't ask, but are you two lovers?" As both elves' jaws dropped, and Wren tried to form a coherent sentence that would ask how such a thought had even entered the mage's head, Mitchell abruptly shrugged. "I dunno. There's some rumors about you elves and your preferences. Not my business, I suppose—"

"'You elves'?" Sethyl hissed.

"We're not lovers," Wren said, point blank. "I'm married, for one. And already committed to Zeresa."

Both Sethyl and Mitchell perked up. "Really?"

As Wren frowned, and considered that he was technically getting that annulled, but that he was still married for the time being, Mitchell edged out into the hall. "Right. Sorry. Um...this is really awkward, so I think I should just...go..."

Mitchell smirked as he sauntered down the hall and heard Sethyl go off into a rant about where the hell that had come from. With luck, the duo would be wondering just who was whispering about them behind their backs and that would distract them for a good long while.

As he made it to the deck, he paused when he noticed Gore standing with his back to him as a few goblins angrily hauled up a rope that looked like something heavy was attached to it. Sham was standing beside Gore, and she frowned as she saw Mitchell come into the open air. Even as she gave him a warning look not to do anything stupid, he merely smiled back and walked to the far side of the deck.

He glanced around as he came to the edge and leaned against the rail. Shadow was near the others, and the goblins were persuading him into helping them with their rope. Mitchell switched his position so that he was leaning with his hands behind his back, back against the rail. His gaze swept the area one more time. He paused when he saw Haa'aji abruptly flip up onto the deck. A few goblins cursed about how he'd gotten out of his ropes, but the troll merely hugged them, and they forgot their earlier curiosity, instead crying out to be set down. As Gore yelled for him to set them down, Mitchell nodded to Haa'aji, holding up one hand to show him Sethyl's mana crystal pouch.

Even as Haa'aji grinned and twirled with the goblins still in his arms, Mitchell gave the area a final once over and tossed the bag over the edge of the deck. He looked back out at the waters, so far below, as the bag fell through the air, its contents spilling out and glistening in the sun before finally plummeting into the icy waters.

He decided to enjoy the tainted, northern air a little while longer before heading back to his room. He did indeed want Sethyl's help with an experiment, not that it had anything to do with the plague. Mitchell found himself whistling a merry tune as he watched a few gulls fly by, a clear indication that their trip was almost over.