When the two reappear in Korthia, Anduin finds that while still Maw-like, the place felt more alive. Perhaps though that was just the feeling of hope beginning to return the more distance he put between himself and that damnable tower. There's still no sunlight, but the faded dusk tones were a welcome reprieve from the bleakness of Torghast. The bustle of activity made it easy to get lost between crates moving around getting ready to be exported to interested parties in the rest of the Shadowlands. It's here that Sylvanas sheds the bulkier pieces of her armor that would inhibit her from fitting into small spaces. She catches him staring when her shoulders are bare and she catches him blushing when she pulls off the heavy breastplate, even though nothing is revealed by the grace of the leather bodice coming up above her breasts. Sylvanas trades out her bracers and laces them up with military precision.

Slimmed-down substantially from the bulk of her Maw armor, she's far less assuming as they start to make their way towards the area with the most shipping containers. Sylvanas has learned that where the brokers are concerned, the less interaction the better. They mind their business until they're given something to gossip about in the hub city of Oribos—a place she's hoping to avoid physically. It's entirely too close to the Maw for her comfort, especially considering that's where the mortals keep entering and the other creatures of the Shadowlands as well, they seem fond of losing jewelry and musical instruments. Sylvanas often wonders how the other areas have even managed to not self-destruct with a lack of self-preservation.

"There," she says, indicating a portal with several large crates stacked near it. One was open, mostly full but not quite. "Let's test your mettle with stealth, king's cub," she challenges before bolting forward. She clears bundles stacked on pallets just for fun before he saw her tumble back into view and disappear inside the crate. It seems impossible how quickly she'd done it without being noticed.

His attempt is less about style and more about precision as he makes his way through, avoiding the cartel agents loading other containers with munitions, animals, and herb bundles. Inside the shipping container, items teetered in precarious stacks and he gasps when he's suddenly pulled in between one of the columns. Anduin's back hits the solid side of the container and Sylvanas is in front of him with a finger to her lips. In the near-dark of the container, her eyes are an even more unsettling tint of glowing red. The sword has been covered up, both to conceal the glow and to keep it from making contact with its intended master.

Sylvanas keeps him behind her so that she can keep watch on what is being loaded. They're far enough back that she doesn't think anything else will be loaded that isn't closer to the entrance. But when a narrow, impossibly heavy slab of polished obsidian is shoved in, Sylvanas bounds back to keep her head attached. It doesn't leave them with much space. At all. That's going to make it harder to escape unnoticed, but more pressingly is the unknown amount of time they'll be waiting in close quarters. Sylvanas's attention is drawn at the sound of Anduin sliding down into a sitting position and stretching his legs out, which definitely put them in her space. "What do you think you are doing?" she asks irritably.

"Getting comfortable, Dark Lady," Anduin replies, crossing his arms over his chest and resting his head against the crate. His legs are so long he can almost tap his toes against the dark stone that's trapped them, and he would have done it just to needle at her if they had. "I have no idea how long we'll be in here, but if it's all the same to you, I've listened to people screaming for weeks, this is the first period of solid silence and peace I've had. I'd like to try and sleep before wherever we end up. I'm in no shape to fight."

He's right about that; Sylvanas has taken note of how dark the circles under his eyes have become the last several days. "I will stand guard," she says, leaning back against a stack. It shifts slightly and she decides better than to test her luck on getting them buried below gods knew what.

Anduin watches her try and find a good place to settle, but she doesn't seem to want her back to the only entrance and exit from their unexpected entrapment. He finally closes his eyes once the novelty of watching her pace the too-close quarters wears off, and it's not a moment later that she hears his breathing change.

Her expression becomes dour and she approaches the sleeping king. Sylvanas straddles her feet on either side of one of his stretched out legs and squats down to examine him more closely, the dark having little bearing on the undead's ability to see. She can tell by the undergrown stubble on his jaw that much like his father, a full beard will always be a pipe dream. She observes the lightest smattering of freckles across his nose, long faded from not spending enough time in the sun over the last several years. The Banshee Queen ponders how much of his youth she's stolen from him.

Sylvanas waits and waits...and waits a bit more until she has memorized every freckle and line in his face and she is certain he's in a deep sleep before she finally takes up a permanent position. The Dark Lady feels anything but menacing as she lowers herself down in between his legs and leans back against him, all while trying to make sure she doesn't wake him. It's her solution to keeping herself facing the escape route, and also keeping him close enough that she can tell if he's about to attack her. The positioning is wholly strategic of course. Nothing else. Sylvanas freezes when his hands shift positions, arms unlocking under the weight of her and moving to rest around her waist instead.

He's snoring just slightly so she knows it's not conscious. It doesn't stop her muscles from tensing up though. His chest rises and falls beneath her reclined shoulders, lifting her just slightly with each breath, and the warmth of him seeps into her back and again beneath his hands where they rested slack against the curve of her hips. She questions herself again-what is she doing? If she fails, she's damned them both instead of just him. Why couldn't he have just seen things her way and joined them willingly? This would all be over by now.

Eventually, she's lulled into a calm, almost meditative state as she considers her options-plans, contingency plans. So much is uncertain, and Sylvanas hates not having a plan. She considers that there must be a steadily strengthening alliance among the Shadowlands that perhaps they could join, but she also doesn't want to get separated from him. If he reunites with Jaina, Baine, and Thrall - they will whisk him off back to Stormwind and she loses her collateral. The situation in the Shadowlands must be remedied before anyone can think about returning to normalcy.

She isn't sure how much time has passed when the crate is slightly jarred, being prepared to pass through one of the broker portals. The hands on her hips squeeze lightly to let her know that Anduin is awake, but he says nothing. Wise. Sylvanas freezes again, foolishly thinking she wouldn't be caught and would be able to move quick enough when she first heard his breathing change in order to make sure he was unaware of her position for the last few hours. So much for that plan.

Sylvanas remains in place long enough for the dizzying feeling of passing through the portal to recede and then stands in one smooth motion. His hands ghost down over her legs as she stands and she's removed from his grasp again. When his hands drop into his lap he takes the moment to stretch. He's stiff from being in one position, but he feels leaps and bounds better after having some solid sleep. Sylvanas in the meantime has strapped the sword to herself again, still wrapped this time to prevent any unfortunate accidents. She's trying not to think about the way her body has grown warm in places and how quickly it's leaching out of her into the air again.

The crate is cracked open at the other end and both of them can hear it being unloaded far more swiftly than it had been packed. The long piece of obsidian is pulled out and Sylvanas is able to pop her head around the corner to see what they're up against. Skeletal, undead-looking things gathered herb bundles and lighter items while larger, hulking guards took the heavier supplies. "We will have to be fast," she murmurs, looking around them and then back to where the crew was starting to unload items closer to them. Sylvanas still has weapons, but Anduin not so much, and priests weren't exactly known for their speed and agility. "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'm going to be," he assures her, moving closer to where she is so that they can make a break for it at the same time. She counts them down silently with one hand held up for him to see before she dashes forward and he follows behind her. She keeps pace with a large box that's being pulled out, following it out until they get towards the entrance. She takes a route slightly to the side of the box, physically pulling him when he doesn't react quick enough. But as they break into a full run, she feels confident that they have escaped unnoticed.

"Sonofa-"

"Light!" exclaims Anduin as both he and the elf he was escaping with are suddenly snared several meters above the ground in a net weaved of thick rope. Sylvanas can't believe that she didn't see it before it was tripped. Immediately, he hears the sound of rope shredding and knows that she's already working on cutting them out; however, from the downward momentum each time she snaps another line, he figures out she's going straight for the bottom of the net. He wonders how long you had to be dead to forget that living creatures shouldn't fall from those heights so haphazardly. "Sylvanas wait-" he begins, but she's too fast and their combined weight breaks the last cord holding them up.

He stops their plummet by casting a levitation spell and grabbing her before she could tumble too far past him. Anduin looks a little stunned, he's been trying to use any sort of magic and has been unable to wield it in the Maw beyond his glorious last stand. She holds on to him only because getting down sooner isn't going to get them away. There's an entire contingent of well-armed guards awaiting them on the ground. Sylvanas grumbles something in Thalassian that he knows because of Valeera, and she is not happy. Sylvanas pulls the cowl back over his face to conceal the flush of his mortality. "Let me do the talking," she growls as they touch down on the ground.

There isn't much talking to be done though and they are forced along into something more like a city. At the center stands a tall female orc, imposing and massive compared to both of them. Her armor, like the rest of the area, was dreadful and glowed a sickly plague green. "Found 'em in one o' the traps out behind the Theater, Baroness," one of their captors announced. She nodded once and made a motion for them to open the way for her to see the pair.

Sylvanas straightens her shoulders, she herself doesn't look too out of place, being dead herself. The problem will be Anduin, full of life and anima, and entirely too much to say. Draka stops a couple of steps away from them, it's easier than looming over them. "I am Draka, once of the Frostwolf Clan, now Baroness of the House of the Chosen. What business do you have in Maldraxxus, outsider?" Her voice is typically rough for an orc but isn't directly threatening.

The Banshee Queen moves to speak but Anduin beats her to it, pulling down his cloak immediately. "Frostwolf clan?" he asks excitedly. "You're Thrall's mother!" he exclaims. He finds that both women are looking at him like he's grown a second head, though Sylvanas's gaze was more murderous than the distrustful, but curious expression the orc leader wore. "Ah," Anduin says, snapping his fingers trying to recall a memory. "His birth name Ga…Go..."

Draka steps forward again and supplies the answer. "Go'el?" she asks.

"Yes! Go'el! Although he didn't know that name for a while, I have always known him as Thrall."

"And you are friends with my son?" she asks with a heavy measure of hesitation. Anduin is not the first mortal to have come through the realm since the Jailer somehow managed to break the veil between the Shadowlands and Azeroth, but he's the first one who has ever said anything like that.

"Yes," Anduin says confidently and Draka breaks into a giant toothy grin. Sylvanas is shocked into silence by everything happening. How does he do it? She doesn't understand the character mechanics of Anduin Wrynn. They defy all logic and expectation.

"Come, walk with me! Any friend of Go'el's is welcome in my House," Draka announces and clasps Anduin on the shoulder. Sylvanas falls into step behind them as they begin to walk and talk. "Tell me everything, I did not survive long past his birth—relations are good with orcs and humans?" she asks. Sylvanas manages not to snort in derision, to her credit.

"A tentative alliance," Anduin says, "He was a steady warchief, and returns now to a council of peace that rules the Horde. The wars are largely over...at least on Azeroth," he adds, sounding every bit like the high king of the Alliance briefing a diplomat. He remains engaged with Draka, which is fortunate because it means he doesn't see Sylvanas's face twisting into something between anger and disgust.

This news seems to please Draka, who looks very proud. "I always knew Go'el would be a change in the world for the better. He was worth dying for." Anduin reaches out when the orc speaks and places his hand on her arm, sharing his comfort for her loss. Sylvanas glares at the both of them but she is smart enough to keep her mouth shut. This isn't expected, but it's going better than she could have hoped for, so in spite of wanting to vomit at the exchange, she just continues to scout everything she can see as Draka leads them down a dusty area with bubbling sludge pools. The orc pauses next to a large hydra-like hell hound that looks like it could swallow Anduin in one bite, but would probably tear him into three parts for fun. "Ah, don't worry about ol' Deathfang, he's friendly.

Anduin approaches hesitantly and the three-headed creature the bounces around in a way that makes the ground rumble. An unfortunately human-looking skull is dropped at his feet and Deathfang looks at him expectantly. "That's 'is favorite toy," Draka explains. "He wants you to throw it for 'im." This is the first instance in which the light-wielder looks uncomfortable. He leans over and his hand pauses over the skull in a few different positions before he finally puts his thumb through one of the eye sockets to get a decent grip on it.

Sylvanas delights in the expressions she can see twitching at the corners of his eyes and mouth as he tries to school his face into anything but what he's actually feeling. Deathfang makes an awful sound of excitement and bounds backwards a few steps. The king with all his strength heaves the skull as far as he can, but the three-headed hound catches it before it can ever soar over its first head. The two extra heads whine in displeasure, as if to ask 'is that all you've got?' and drops the skull again. This time, sullen glowing eyes fixate on Sylvanas. Deathfang seems to have learned which races were weaker than others by scent alone. Human mortals, boring, but it puffs and snorts out of the six nostrils from all of its heads, assessing Sylvanas as the superior playmate. At least someone was assessing her correctly. She picks up the skull and chucks it much further and the beast gallops off after it, shaking the ground.

Draka nods approvingly at the distance achieved and turns to Sylvanas. "You've not said a word—who are you? Do you also know my son?"

Again, Sylvanas is cut off by Anduin, who has gone full-diplomat in his relations with the Baroness. "Lady Windrunner served under your son when he was Warchief," he says and leaves it at that. Because that was all that needed to be said. It's not a lie, but it's definitely not the full truth. When Draka clasps a fist to her chest, Sylvanas mimics the action of respect. The irritation at being cut off turns into her almost being impressed at how shrewd the young king has become. They linger for a while longer and Sylvanas actually finds herself having fun as she runs around with the large hound while Anduin and Draka 'talk business'. It's Draka that notices that Anduin's eyes keep drifting off after 'Lady Windrunner' and he's completely faded out of the conversation for a moment. The rogue looks between them and sees that Sylvanas is smiling unaware that she's being watched, and the young human in front of her is fully enthralled by it. The orc clears her throat loudly and Anduin snaps his attention back to her. He tries and fails to prevent the color rising in his cheeks. It just makes the orc's smile broaden.

"Come, we will catch a flayed wing back towards the House and I will get you properly fed," Draka assures the king, squeezing at his cheek in a motherly way. "Small pink boy, you need more meat on you." Sylvanas scratches each of Deathfang's heads for a final time before she joins Anduin and Draka as they continue their trek up to a ridge. Sylvanas knows enough about poisons to carry on a conversation with the rogue that was enough to make Anduin feel nauseated at some of the more graphic descriptions of the effects of various poisons.

Perched on top of one of the jutting areas of the landscape, a flock of flayed wings sat preening furred manes of their second heads and basking in the gasses that bubbled up from the plague green pools below. Draka doesn't get too close at first, and instead, points at a location where they want to end up. "Baroness, it's impressive that they are so well trained that they require no riding gear," Anduin praises.

Draka laughs, a full belly sound from the orc and moves her hand like she's wiping a tear, even though none flow. "These are wild, Houndskeep Merrin needed me to bring a couple back. It will be much easier with your help so that I don't have to try and wrangle two of them at once." The wild flayed wings look decidedly less friendly than the oversized hound Deathfang, who Draka had raised from birth. "I'd recommend you both try and jump on one, it will probably take both of you to get it to the stables," she suggests before running and jumping on the back of one of the flayed wings. It takes off and immediately starts flipping in circles trying to get the orc off its back.

Anduin looks back at Sylvanas, who is wearing a discontent expression again. "Guess we're just winging it, unless you have some special ranger abilities to help us here," he says, trying to gauge the best way to position themselves on one of the beasts. He uses a mind soothing spell to put it into a bit of a stupor, at least long enough for them to mount. She insists on being the one in the back and Anduin knows the calming spell won't last forever, so he relents and mounts the flayed wing first before she hops up behind him. Sylvanas tries to put some space between them, but there is very little sitting room without a saddle that will make for decent leverage on the otherwise scaly body.

"I can control its mind," she says, hoping that her Banshee magic was strong enough to go head to head with one of the 'living' creatures in the Shadowlands. It's a team success. As long as Anduin continued to pat the creature and baby talk it, Sylvanas seemed to be able to get it to go where they were aiming. Between the two of them, they finally land safely and the creature is taken over by the stablehands. Anduin is visibly relieved to have his feet back on solid ground again. "Those were some very creative pet names you came up with, your majesty. I almost feel sorry for your future wife," she snarks.

Anduin looks affronted. "I'll have you know, if I have such reason to refer to my bride as my slimy louse-covered newt-skull that I will mean it with all the love and sincerity of my heart." He almost gets a smile. He sees it on the corner of her mouth before she purses her lips together and narrows her eyes to hide the way the smile had started to crinkle them at the edges.

The moment is short-lived as Merrin leads over a couple of blood tusks. "Baroness Draka has already gone ahead," he gestures with a large torch towards some lit braziers. He picks up a second and hands one to each of them, using Anduin's torch to light Sylvanas's. "Head the opposite way and light the braziers on the other side of the main arena, when you run into the lit side, you'll find her waitin' on you. I don't suggest you make her wait long," Merrin adds.

Sylvanas looks over at Anduin as she mounts the bloodtusk in one graceful motion. "Do you have some sort of plan with all of this?" she asks, gesturing broadly at the general situation since he's decided to befriend people instead of using any possible amount of stealth in moving through the Shadowlands after escaping the Maw.

"Not a one," he says with a single shrug of his shoulder as he looks up at the burning torch. "I thought you would have had one since all of this was your idea," he goads, because at least for now, he has leverage.

"And if I'd had a plan, how was I supposed to execute it around your inability to do what I say?" comes the waspish reply from the Dark Lady. It wins her a smile from the blonde man. Sylvanas considers if perhaps the Maw has broken him completely and he's lost his mind. He has no place to needle her patience in such a way, and yet his audacity is charming-no, irritating. His boldness is irritating. Why had she decided again to rescue him? She has convinced herself that it was over the freedom of choice, and that she wasn't willing to become Arthas. Something else is nagging at her though, and she keeps pushing it aside. The boy king has certainly won this round.

"He said we shouldn't keep the Baroness waiting," Anduin says, pulling up the hood of his cloak before he mounts his bloodtusk—distinctly less gracefully than she had. "Race you there," he challenges before digging his feet into the side of the beast to get it going. Sylvanas decides that yes, he completely lost his mind in the Maw. She clicks her tongue at her own blood tusk and starts it after his.

Sylvanas runs quite a few paces behind him, but while he is holding on to the bloodtusk on the lookout for a brazier, she is wrapping cloth around an arrow and pouring oil over it. As they approach the first brazier, she nocks her arrow and waits until he's within moments of lighting it before she lets her arrow fly. It lands in the brazier and bursts into flames as the oil splatters around it.

"That's hardly fair!" he yells back at her.

"Fairness is a fool's errand, little lion, no one smart plays fair," she calls back to him before urging her bloodtusk onward to try and overtake him. It's more of a race after that, and Anduin is utterly put out when she shoots an unlit arrow through his flame to stick in the brazier before he can light it. He growls at her and she smirks back at him wickedly before her bloodtusk begins to outpace his own.

Anduin allows it and even lets her get a sizable lead this time. He watches her lift her bow and start to aim a flaming arrow at the last brazier but before she can release it, he pulls her to him with a leap of faith spell that catches her fully off guard. While he was fully prepared for the impact, he wasn't really prepared to handle the banshee thrashing like a feral prowler. He holds her with an arm braced across her front, restraining her from hip to shoulder against his chest as he stabs the torch into the final brazier and sets it ablaze.

There is a slow singular clap that interrupts the laughing of the Baroness. "I have watched many champions run this route, but I have never been so entertained," she announces. "Come, we have prepared dinner and we can discuss your plans further," Draka says before disappearing inside a building that overlooked the sparring champions in the arena. For a moment, Anduin thinks Sylvanas is breathing, but when he sees molten vengeance in her sanguine eyes, he decides she's likely shaking in rage. He lets her go and she dismounts wordlessly to stalk into the dining hall.

Anduin sighs and rubs the back of his neck for a few moments before he slides off the bloodtusk to follow her in, hoping that Draka's presence will keep her from ambushing him the moment he walks in the door. Unfortunately for Anduin, Sylvanas seems quite pleased with herself when he walks in and it doesn't take him long to figure out why. The feast set out before him is...interesting. The main course appeared to be some kind of bug leg—perhaps a spider's. His stomach lurches at the thought and Sylvanas stands smug in her excuse of not needing to eat. He joins Draka towards the head of the table where Sylvanas stands behind and slightly to the side of his chair, playing the role of guard.

Her position mainly serves to allow her to participate in the conversation without taking up space or participating in the meal which everyone seems to be thoroughly enjoying. Everyone except Anduin who still hasn't worked up the courage to break into the black spiky shell. Draka decides eventually that his small human hands are too delicate to break the shells, so she does it for him, making the meat easier to access. He manages a weak 'thank you'. "Make sure you eat plenty, you'll need your strength in the days ahead," Sylvanas goads in a pseudo-caring voice that he doesn't buy, and that she doesn't expect him to.

Unfortunately, he is starving and after a few more minutes of working up the courage, he tucks into the creeping crawler meat. It's as vile as he imagines but he talks himself through it like repeating a penance prayer. He tries to focus on what she and Draka are discussing and he hears the word "Bastion" but he quickly has to go back to repeating his litany to keep from throwing up the slimy entree. The dinner thankfully isn't an affair that drags on and he has never been so glad to be excused from a table in his life.

Draka leads them to the stable where several sorts of creatures wait restlessly to get back in the sky. "That one will take you to Bastion. I don't know where their brokers are, but Cartel Ta has a strong presence and transfer station there and should be able to get you anywhere else you need to go." She turns to Anduin then and takes him by the shoulders. "If you see my son again—tell him," she pulls the leather strap and glowing talisman loose from her neck and hands it to him, "that he is and was the greatest thing I've ever done. I am glad to have met you, Anduin," the intense orc says fondly. The king tucks the necklace away, something to look forward to—seeing his friend again and sharing such heart-warming words. Draka's eyes turn to Sylvanas then. "I have seen enough battle-hardened souls to know when I see one fighting. Whatever your battle is, Lady Windrunner, do not back down."

The Banshee Queen places a hand over her breast and bows her head "Lok'tar ogar, Baroness," she says and waits for Anduin to mount the larion before she lifts herself up behind him into the too-snug seat of the saddle. She reaches around him to take the reins and it presses her against his back even more firmly than she was. He hears the sound of her tongue click too close to his ear and realizes her chin is all but sitting on his shoulder so she can see where they are going.

A shudder passes through him, and he sees where she has him at a disadvantage for now. But after the larion bounds a few paces and leaps into the air, they're both jostled backward and he reaches behind instinctively and grabs her around the outside of each thigh to make sure she doesn't fall off. He feels her freeze behind him, but he doesn't release her until the mount has stopped gaining height and is flying smoothly. His fingers press into her momentarily before he lets go and moves his hands back to the front of the saddle; however, the holds he takes on it land on the outside of her hands where she holds the reins since she's insisted upon it. It effectively traps her arms against his sides. If she wants to make it uncomfortable, he can certainly accommodate.

Her eyes narrow at the back of his head and he feels her rooting her nose into his cloak so that she can get to his ear. His stomach tightens and a wave of goosebumps disguised by his leather armor form over his skin. When she bites down hard enough to draw blood, she thinks she hears him groan over the whipping of the wind. "Be careful of the games you choose to play, majesty," she threatens.

When he turns his head, she hasn't moved hers and it puts them nearly nose to nose. "I have no time for games, Sylvanas."