I'm very sorry this chapter took so long to go live. I've been pretty busy with life, and getting my characters in the game ready for Cata's release coming up. On that note, this story will continue to follow the pre-Cata storyline; as it was written and intended as such. Thank you guys!
"Let's go! Everyone up!"
Sitting unmoving, his arms tightly crossed over his chest, Deimos failed to give the slightest indication of either heeding his captor's words or even acknowledging them. Instead, the paladin held the angry and resentful look on his face with sheer determination and an unwavering firmness. Though he was mindful and aware of the sharpened scimitar's hanging from the five captor's belts and the polished guns resting on their backs, which Deimos was confident were loaded, he failed to follow the barking order and unsaid threat lingering in the air. Watching with lazy and feigned uninterested eyes as three of the captors move with précised swiftness through the meager hut, unfastening each of the bound slaves briefly only to bind them once again when pulled to their feet, the paladin stubbornly set his jaw. Though the traders had informed them that they wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet cleanly through their head should they decide to make a run for it, the captors were less willing to extend the hostility to the paladin. His extraordinary training, toned body, and young age made him a rarity in his own. He was priceless. And Deimos knew it.
Not bothering to lift his head when he saw movement out of the side of his vision begin to move towards him, Deimos carefully freed one hand from its crossed position. Gingerly and futilely working his fingers on the metal collar fastened around his neck, the already heated blood coursing through the paladin's veins seemed to rise in temperature. It had been two days since the despicable restraint was placed on him, his inability to rely and call on the Light disturbing him far worse than his precarious situation. Though he knew he retained a great gift most Sin'dorei lost, that being able to utilize the Light, Deimos was truly unaware of how much he was dependent on its presence. Now that it was gone, ripped ruthless from his soul, he felt a hollowed out and empty space in his being that craved to be filled once again. He felt betrayed, lost, and confused at the same time; though the once fearful and terror filled emotions were replaced with those of resentment and antipathy. That's not to say that he didn't dread the future; quite from it. The hairs on the back of his neck would stand at the thought of what the Light had in mind for his future, where he would end up or who would buy him. Though most of him wanted to believe that a chance for escape would eventually present itself, the greater part of him thought otherwise. At least in his current location.
The human captor hesitantly crouching low near Deimos, his eyes darting from the prone blood elf to the bindings he worked with a key, the paladin allowed his gaze to linger on those in the hut. Standing rigid and enveloped in fright were the three trolls. Hardly speaking a word of Common, the trio had a trying time interpreting just what the human traders were asking of them. Relying on either body language or another trader to interpret the order in Orcish, the lack of communication made the situation all the more ominous and fearful for them. They clung to one another in such a way that made Deimos assume they were either close companions or brothers. Though based on their physical similarities, the most probable assumption was the latter.
Moving his eyes from trolls to the fidgeting human slave, Deimos drew his brows together in thought. Over the past forty-eight hours, the human had only increased his restlessness and squirming; his wide brown eyes darting around the hut every so often as if seeing the disgusting shelter for the first time. His actions were peculiar and odd; his twitching putting Deimos in slight unease. If the traders took any notice of the odd behaviors from the slave, they didn't allude to it. Cocking his head to the side curiously as he eyed the human shuffle his feet eagerly, the paladin couldn't stop the darkened and portentous feeling that swept over his body.
Not willing to dwell on any warnings of his senses, his body already aware of the dire situation he was in, Deimos allowed his gaze to rest on the final slave in the lodging with him. Standing awkwardly with his hands fastened securely behind his back, Elik shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. His face and hair were riddled with dirt and debris, the repulsive quarters only hindering his once fine and up-kept appearance. Though the mage's eyes were roaming around the hut, they held a sort of distanced look to them that unsettled Deimos; a look he wasn't all that unfamiliar with. Having seen his fair share of healer's tents following a bloody battle, the paladin was unfortunate enough to have the chance to see once strong and courageous soldiers reduced to nothing in only a matter of hours. Forced to helplessly watch, or worse, futilely try to save the lives of their fallen comrades would sometimes leave the soldier with a broken and dispirited soul. Though Deimos and Elik exchanged little words in the past two days, the paladin couldn't stop the worried feelings at watching the mage slowly withdraw more into himself.
Licking his cracked and water deprived lips as he felt the harsh bindings fall free from his wrists, the once smooth and flawless skin caked with blood from the shackles, Deimos forced his body to remain still and composed. He was fully aware of the attention from the other traders focused solely on him, though he couldn't tell if the stares were daring him to trying something or pleading for him to comply. Fixating his own gaze on the dirt floor in front of himself, the young elf felt the slaver stand to his full height and tower over him.
"Let's go, paladin."
Stubbornly pursing his lips together at the malice lacing the human's words, Deimos didn't dare give the captor the satisfaction of compliance. Instead, he kept his stare even and strongly staring forward, despite the incensed and annoyed grunt from beside him.
"Get up!"
His small and paltry patience no longer at bay, the human roughly grabbed the elf's upper arm with sheer rage and fury. Emitting a low growl of anger as he hauled the insolent and less than submissive boy to his feet, the captor realized his mistake far too late. The once still and unmoving elf suddenly sprang to life with a fierce renewed vigor. One hard and firm fist colliding with the human's nose, the captor was dismayed to feel a second hand pull his sharpened weapon free from its resting place at his hip. Cringing and gripping his aching nose as he felt rivers of blood begin to generously pour from the harsh impact, the human was unaware of what else was going on in the small hut.
The scimitar held strongly in a trained hand, Deimos turned from the bent over human nursing his broken nose. Though he lacked the aid and much needed assistance of the Light, the young elf knew the strongly forged collar wasn't going to yield easily to his prying; if he wanted to escape, it'd have to be done so without the Light. Not bothering to allow his spirits be lifted from his small accomplishment of besting the one human, Deimos was both physically and mentally prepared for a sudden onslaught of the other four captors encompassing the hut. He knew each one carried an equally sharpened and menacing scimitar, their hesitation to use it to subdue the paladin minimal. Though he would be grossly outnumbered, Deimos highly doubted their ability to handle such a weapon against himself. Resisting the urge to smirk at the thought of the captors' diminutive swordsmanship, the young elf turned to face the rest of the inhabitants in the hut with a gasp.
While he expected the other captors to at least have their own blades drawn, he was less expectant to be staring down the barrels of four guns.
"Put the sword down, elf, and we'll spare your limbs," an undead captor grumbled from behind the view of his weapon, his scratchy voice resonating through the almost silent hut, save for the human moaning over his bleeding nose.
Setting his jaw in anger and resentment, his grip on the worn and aged scimitar flexing, Deimos darted his eyes between the four identical guns aimed at different appendages. The captors' trained fingers rested on the triggers, itching to move only an inch and send a burning bullet into the young elf's limb. His chest swelling with unspoken defeat and trounce, his eyes tingling at the notion that he knew he was bested and without a means of escape, the paladin pursed his lips together at his situation. While he had an advantage over the other slaves at being dubbed 'priceless', he was at a loss for a means of escape; either alive or not. The increase of supervision on his part left little chance for fleeing, a slaver always close by and breathing down his neck. If he somehow did manage an escape plan, as he did only seconds prior, executing it to its fullest extent would be trying. On the other spectrum, death wouldn't be granted to him either. While any other slave would swiftly have been given a fatal bullet, he wasn't reserved such a luxury. The traders were bent on preserving his life for exchange of a hefty pay.
"It's your choice, elf. Either walk out of here on your own, or be dragged out in pain. Completely up to you."
The undead's words ringing through his head, the paladin stood unmoving while he contemplated his choice. Though in reality, he knew the decision was blatant and obvious. Turning defeated eyes to glance at Elik, Deimos felt the decision be decided all the easier. The mage, his distant eyes returning somewhat back into focus, frowned deeply at the paladin in a saddened way. It wasn't in a disapproving fashion but rather an envious and lonesome expression. The paladin had a chance and means of escape, however small and diminutive as it might have been, and the mage knew it. Elik would be left behind to face his fate, whatever it would be, while Deimos got away.
Breaking the eye contact with the other Sin'dorei, Deimos turned his bitter and resentful eyes on the waiting traders with disdain. Clenching his teeth together at his overpowerment, the paladin threw the scimitar to the side; the sound of it making contact with the spoiled wooden wall leaving a sour taste in his mouth.
Hesitantly putting his gun down, the rest of the traders following suit, the undead smiled triumphantly as two of his colleagues apprehensively approached the paladin. "Good boy. I knew you'd listen to reason."
Keeping his eyes to the side while he felt two slavers reach his sides, Deimos resolved to remain silent. He wouldn't walk into the undead's taunts and scoffs, regardless of how much he wished to voice his discontent. His figure only tensing up when the a pair of hands ruthlessly grabbed his wrists, brutally shoving them into a pair of iron shackles behind his back, the young elf felt a pair of eyes examining him. Turning his own gaze up to inspect who it was, Deimos was rewarded with locking eyes with Elik. The frown no longer sat on his face, his eyes no longer demonstrating lonesomeness. Instead, the young mage's swirling green eyes contained evidence of relief and respite, though they also held a much deeper emotion. Tilting his head to the side slightly, Deimos didn't allow his body to show his surprise at distinguishing the gratefulness harbored in Elik's stare, but instead acknowledged the peculiar emotion by breaking the eye contact.
His hands clamped by the iron bindings harshly, the once-scabbed wounds on his wrists beginning to wet again with blood, Deimos blinked as a rough hand encircled his upper arm. One of the traders' was standing in the entryway to the meager hut, two began to shuffle the bound slaves towards the opening, the last slaver gripping the paladin's arm while also moving towards the entrance, to whatever lay ahead of them.
"I need to know everything you know about slave trafficking. And we have limited time, so you better talk fast."
Releasing a puff of incredible air through his pursed lips while eyeing the pacing blood elf commander, Matheus Williams shook his head dubiously. Sitting on a plush and overstuffed white couch crafted in Sin'dorei fashion, the rogue hesitantly glanced to his own commander sitting beside him; his close proximity only offering a small comfort from the dire situation. If he sought reassurance and support from Warren Steele, the look staring back at him was void of any. Instead, the warrior's gaze contained similar impatience and keenness. Sitting across from the two humans was Brightwing, his even and placid stare not aiding the rogue's discomfort in the least.
Turning his eyes back up to Tharsis, who continued burning his strides into the plush rug, Matheus drew his brows together in thought. "I can tell you what I know from the mission but it's kind of outdated. I doubt much of it's relevant."
The muddled response didn't deter Tharsis' determined and firm tone; nor did it slow his indomitable pacing. "Five years is hardly considered dated."
Rolling his eyes at the Sin'dorei, Matheus doubtfully shook his head. "Maybe for someone who's 185 years old."
The pacing stopping, the commander's head snapped to the sitting rogue's direction. "Excuse me?"
His even gaze locking with Tharsis' heated and resolute ones, the rogue shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Though he swiftly broke the unbearable eye contact with the stern commander, Matheus mutely wondered how often Deimos was on the receiving end of such stares. "Look, I want to find the kid as much as you do. But there're a couple things we need to set straight before we do this." Pausing to dare his eyes to glance back up, he was satisfied to find the once strict gaze softening ever so slightly. Or rather, it was replaced with annoyance. Wetting his lips, Matheus set his jaw in resolute. "First, while five years is just pocket change for your extremely long life spans, it's pretty long ago for ours. So there may be some holes in the information."
Lifting a delicate brow, Tharsis felt his face fall into a frown. "For your sake, there'd better not be."
"Tharsis," Brightwing interjected, crossing his arms tightly over his broad chest. "This is neither the time nor place to pick a fight."
"And that brings me to my number two," Matheus began, not allowing his stare to break the silent battle with the blood elf. "All of us are working together. For some crazy idea, I don't think you can grasp that concept, but whatever beef you have with human's or Warren or whoever, you've got to let it go for now."
Setting his jaw stubbornly, Tharsis willed his heated blood to cool, at least for the time being. After finding and insuring his son's safety, then the rogue could be dealt with accordingly. "Anything else, princess?"
Unable to stop the small grin from adorning his features, Matheus easily recognized the sarcastic and mocking tone; though he wasn't accustomed to hearing it from Tharsis. It seemed Deimos inherited more than strictly appearance from the elder Sin'dorei. "Some of the things I saw they- well, they weren't a walk in the park." Pausing to collect his thoughts, the rogue was instead plagued and bombarded with small memories he tried to store away come to the forefront his mind. Blinking hard and turning his head to the side in an ill-attempt to strangle the ghastly nightmares back to the recesses of his mind, Matheus felt a stone drop in his stomach. Though the mission was indeed many years ago, the images of the atrocious and appalling scenes were burnt into his memories. And his stomach only turned to knots to imagine his close friend going through the horrid experience firsthand.
Easily identifying the rogue's discomfort, Warren rested his clammy palms on his knees. "Matheus, we're going to need to know everything you saw. Even if a piece of information doesn't seem important, tell us anyways." Pausing to watch the younger man hesitantly nod, the commander continued. "Now, what can you tell us about your mission?"
Wetting his lips, the rogue allowed several beats to pass by uninterrupted, his mind swiftly gathering the free-floating memories to a more organized setting. Warren and Brightwing patiently allowed the interlude of silence, while Tharsis shifted his weight impatiently from one foot to the other. Clearing his throat, Matheus moved his gaze from Warren to Tharsis, his eyes slightly clouded over in recollection. "Well, I was assigned the mission from SI:7, as you probably know already. You know I can't tell you details about the assignment; what my objective was and what not." Moving his eyes from Tharsis' deep frowning face, the rogue instead chose to rest his stare onto Warren. "But I can tell you I was on the mission for six months, four of which were in the field. Using some intel and my fine acting skills, SI:7 arranged for me to assume an identity of a slave trader. They gave me the identity, I had to supply the finesse to get into the inner circle of traffickers. And, man, it was a lot more established and lucrative than we thought."
"Where do they take the slaves after capturing them?"
Resting his gaze back onto Tharsis, his demanding and unyielding question sounding more like a command, Matheus offered a meager shrug. "I wish the answer was as simple." Pausing to shift around on the couch, the overstuffed cushions no longer offering much in terms of comfort, the human heaved a heavy sigh. "See, there are different rings of slavery, and I doubt even I know all of them. Personal, sexual, labor, gladiator, scientific, war; you name it, there's probably a ring for it."
Setting his jaw, Tharsis felt the bitter and distasteful words leave a pungent taste in his mouth even before they left his lips. "And which one is Deimos in?"
The question, loaded and trying, caused the rogue to squirm all the more under the intense and severe trio of stares; which waited and longed for an answer of good tidings. "I can't- I can't say for certain which he'd fall under. Personal, sex, and gladiator were the big sellers when I was in the field." Shaking his head in thought, the human mutely wished the gesture would shake the horrid memories from his mind. "Based on his age and physical appearance, I'd say he'll most likely end up there."
Squeezing his hands at his sides into fisted balls, Tharsis was forced to concentrate on his intake of breath to prevent his fists from releasing his fury. The human's words ringing through his head, the commander angrily stalked over to the window, the sounds of the streets of Stormwind threatening to spill through. Crossing his arms tightly over his chest, the elf easily identified his rage and hostility, though he had to force his mind and body not to physically act upon it; a concept that felt foreign and unsatisfying. Eyeing a small child racing down the cracked cobblestoned streets, a small leather ball in his grasp while several other children raced after him with smiles on their faces, Tharsis blinked angrily at the scene. The children outside played gleefully in the streets of the human capital, their minds solely focused on their juvenile banter. However, there was no parent watching over the playing children; nor any supervision for that matter. Instead, the youths were free to gallivant about in any way their hearts desired. At such a young age, any notion of consequence or dire situation would rarely cross their untrained minds. Such was never the case for Deimos.
Since the boy was born, Tharsis was set on pushing and demanding the utmost possible from his son. When he was young, such as the human children playing in front of him, Deimos was rarely let out of the commander's sight, unless it was to train with the paladin instructor. Tharsis instilled not only a curfew but an appropriate bed time for the boy, which was slightly augmented with each passing year the paladin saw. And while Deimos only recently began to complain about the rules set forth, though based on his adolescent age Tharsis wasn't all that surprised, it was nevertheless true that the commander was seen as domineering and controlling in all aspects of his son's life. However, even with his overbearing regulations and severe rules, Deimos was still kidnapped and taken.
Glancing to the side to take in Tharsis' turned back, Brightwing didn't have to see the commander's face to know the wrathful emotions coursing though him. "How would we know for certain which ring Deimos ends up in? We can't just search all the rings."
Watching Tharsis slowly turn around to face him at the open question, Matheus took a slow inhale of breath. "Well, first they've got to classify him. I guess you can say there're stages leading up to when he'll be auctioned. He's been gone for five days, so…" Momentarily pausing, the rogue burrowed his brows together in silent contemplation and deep thinking. "I would say he's just finished being classified or at the end of the process."
His face contorted into confusion, Warren shared a concerned yet puzzled look with Brightwing before addressing the rogue. "When you say classification, what do you mean exactly?"
Rubbing a hand over the nape of his neck, Matheus spared a quick glance at Tharsis, the commander's face filled with anger yet also interest. "You have to understand that to the traders, this is all for a profit. They're not going to send a scrawny gnome to the gladiator slave ring – they'd lose money and reputation. Just the same on the other spectrum; they won't send a slave like Deimos to the scientific ring. It'd be a waste. So to determine where everyone goes, they have to classify which ring would give them the most profit. If Deimos hasn't been classified yet, he's still with all the other slaves. They don't separate them until they know which to send them to."
"What goes on during the classification?"
Wetting his dry lips in apprehension, Matheus silently and strongly contemplated his next choice of words. Giving a small shake of his head, the rogue knew the more direct approach was perhaps the best route; given Tharsis' impatient and edgy attitude regarding the entire ordeal. "Classification is routine and orderly. All slave traders know how to do it, and have gotten pretty efficient and skilled at it. It starts with rounding up all of the slaves…."
Turning to gaze around himself, Deimos had to use all his will power not to respond accordingly to his newly freed hands. Though he knew with one quick look around, his attempt of fleeing would prove not only futile but also detrimental. Standing shoulder to shoulder with two other slaves beside him, Elik to his left and the peculiar and silent human to his right, the paladin glanced down the long line of slaves. Nearly a hundred slaves total stood motionless in the same fashion as Deimos, their once bound arms hanging limply to their sides. Though the spectrum of races varied considerably, the young elf was able to distinguish several dozen blood elves that he was sure once inhabited Silvermoon.
Lifting a hand to wipe the sweat that began to form on his brow, movement in the corner of his eye drew Deimos' attention. Standing several paces away, a thick and intimidating bow already notched with an arrow resting in his grasp, an orc shifted his weight from one foot to the other while he carefully watched the paladin. Allowing his hand to drop to his side, the Sin'dorei moved his eyes from the orc with pent up frustration. He was a high risk and high payout slave; naturally he drew unwanted attention from the traders. Feeling a drip of sweat make its way down his face, Deimos scanned his eyes around the area to take in the environment.
Lush green leaves and vines hung around the small enclosure that housed the settlement. Broad trees and thriving grasses surrounded the site in every direction, the thickness of the brush obscuring any unwanted eyes from seeing the encampment. Once inside the small clearing the young elf called home for the past few days, the ground was barren save for packed down tan dirt. Lining the clearing were numerous crudely constructed huts, their shoddy craftsmanship on par to the one that housed Deimos. There was just over a handful better constructed shacks, which the paladin naturally assumed housed the traders. Based on their unique environment, the young elf deduced they were in the jungles of Strangethorn Vale.
Blinking away a drip of sweat, Deimos moved his eyes from each trader, mentally taking a count in his head. Nearly two dozen stood around the perimeter of the clearing, sharpened scimitars and weapons at the ready, though the young elf was unsure if their presence was to stop the slaves from escaping or the feral animals from attacking them. Either way, their positions made the notion of escape seem all the more distant. Not having to squint his eyes too profoundly, Deimos easily spotted the trader's situated on the tree trunks, bows and guns drawn and ready to fire if need be. Another dozen or two armed trader's patrolled inside and around the lined up slaves, each warily eyeing their products. Escape, it seemed, was not happening that day.
"Listen up!"
The booming voice slicing the silenced air with precision, Deimos turned his head in attention at the Common words. Walking in front of the row of slaves, a tall and burly human didn't bother eyeing the eager and frightened faces starring back at him. Instead, he took large and haughty strides, impatience and annoyance quickly radiating off his body in waves. Reaching the middle of the line, two tauren standing on both sides of him, the man crossed his arms arrogantly in front of his chest.
"I don't like to repeat myself, so you better listen," the man bellowed, his rough voice only causing more discomfort in the slaves, save one blood elf. "You all have two minutes to disrobe entirely. Place all your clothes on the ground in front of you, and wait for a trader to come take any jewelry you're wearing. Let's go!"
No one moved. In fact, Deimos wasn't sure if anyone breathed. While he heard the trader's loud words, his mind had a trying and difficult time comprehending just what was requested of him. Though based on the sincere lack of movement around him, the young elf doubted he wasn't alone in his lapse of comprehension. It seemed, however, that this routine was just that; routine. "C'mon ladies! This isn't the time to be embarrassed or self-conscious. Start moving!"
Before Deimos could react to the demanding order, a blur of movement on the right side of him caught his attention. Turning his head to inspect it, the young elf was taken by surprise to see the once silent and peculiar human, wide eyed and ashen white, take a leaping step forward out of the row. Having seen his fair share of bloody and trying battles, the paladin was well attuned to distinguishing when someone acted strictly from fear; and the human fell perfectly into that category. His large running strides not slowing in the least, the row of slaves looked on at the fleeing human with both envy and fright. Jealousness for not having the sheer amount of courage and drive to execute such a daring task of escape; yet frightened for the inevitable outcome.
A second movement paces in front of the paladin pulled his attention away from the fast running human. Though it seemed there was quite a few traders' pursuing him at his heels, the slave's driving force simply outran them. He barely reached one of the shabby huts they shamefully inhabited when the second movement caught Deimos' eye. Eyes widening in knowing horror, the paladin watched one of the troll traders give a rapid hand signal to the two waiting wolves at his side, the twin beasts eagerly following the order and running to catch the fleeing human with ease.
Feeling a pair of eyes on him, Deimos ripped his horrid filled gaze from the dire scene in front of him to where he felt the stare was originating from. Though the trader's barely gave the slaves adequate nutrients, they didn't hesitate when allowing the Sin'dorei to siphon mana from fel ore. It was a small reprise, but one that the paladin was quite thankful for, as the memories of withdrawal in Stormwind were still too fresh in his young mind. Straightening to his full height, Deimos locked eyes with the male human who issued the order to remove their clothes. He stood stationary, his arms still tightly crossed over his broad chest, though his face had lost the impatience on it. Instead, his head was tilted to the side, a small grin on his face, while he eyed the paladin with an arrogant and mocking glare. Narrowing his gaze in on the man, the young elf was in slight perplexity at the meaning of their silent battle.
Abruptly, several bloodcurdling and chilling screams echoed through the area, causing the slaves to freeze in horror while a flock of birds took flight from a nearby tree. Breaking eye contact to glance where the scream came from, Deimos was left mortified at what he saw. The human slave thrashed on the dirt ground while the two wolves nipped and ripped apart his flesh, the man futilely fighting against the brutal assault, while a handful of trader's stood idly watching. Ripping his stare from the revolting scene, the young elf unconsciously gazed back at the human trader; his arrogant look not wavering. However, a delicate brow slowly elevated itself, the grin on the man's face increasing its intensity. It was then that Deimos realized what the silent message the man was sending; he was daring the paladin to act.
Pursing his lips in silent anger, the paladin angrily turned his face away from the man as the screaming suddenly came to stop. Unable to bring his gaze to inspect what happened to the human slave, his stomach bile threatening to creep up his throat at knowing he was unable to aid, Deimos instead kept his eyes focused on the dirt ground before him. The meager provisions of stale bread from the morning threatened to creep up the paladin's throat at both the human's fate and his forced helplessness to offer any aid. The chilling touch of the metal collar fastened on his neck was a harsh and rough reminder at for his powerless and weak position; though the human trader seemed to bask in his hard situation.
"Bring him to first aid. We can still sell him."
The rough words echoing through the jungle air, Deimos gingerly lifted his head in curiosity at the meaning behind the order. The traverse human in command, his arms still crossed, made his way across the row of slaves, his steps having determination. Glancing just past the trader, the paladin watched in disgust as two other slaver's each retched a limp bloody arm from the mangled and prone human slave, his unconscious body coated in a thick layer of crimson blood. Swallowing back a line of crude curses, Deimos watched in repulsion as the flaccid body left pools and streaks of nearly black liquid on the dirt ground as he was roughly dragged away.
"You have a minute now! Anyone else want to join the human?"
Though the ruthless and nauseating assault on the human slave was most likely not in the trader's plan, it seemed to have a positive effect on the other slaves. Immediately, each slave in the row began to fumble with the buttons on their shirts or the buckle on their belts, fear and terror dictating their scrabbling and hurried actions. The stagnant and humid air was silent save for the sound of scuffling cloth and leather as random articles of clothing were tossed in front of the row of slaves.
Feeling a gaze inspecting him, Deimos reluctantly turned his head to the left as his hands began fingering the neck of his shirt. His curious yet still angered eyes making contact with wide and fear-filled green ones, the young elf was slightly surprised at the face looking back at him. Opening and closing his mouth, Elik's features easily radiated his frightened and anxious emotions, his white knuckled grip on the hem of his shirt alluding to as much. "What-what do we do, Deimos?"
It didn't take the paladin long to deduce why the young mage was filled with such confusion and terror; his own gaze slowly lingering on the still pooled puddles of blood in the distance. Shaking his head in slight defeat, Deimos gained a firmer grip on his shirt, allowing his stare to fall on the ground in front of him. "I don't know. Just do as you're told for now."
The words seemed to suffice Elik, the paladin seeing movement in the corner of his eye of the mage beginning to remove his shirt. Swallowing down his pride, Deimos hesitantly began pulling his own shirt over his head. The piece of clothing was spotted with dirt and debris, his sticky skin from the humid atmosphere somewhat thankful at the naked air. Tossing the shirt in front of him, the paladin took a deep and shaky breath as he knew leaving the rest of his clothing on wouldn't suffice. They wanted them completely disrobed.
Unbuckling his belt, the young elf's pointed ears picked up a stirring movement quickly approaching from the left. Sure enough, a tall undead with a stitched leather bag in his grasp approached each slave, demanding any pieces of jewelry be placed in the open sack. Shaking his head in an effort to stop the rude comments from forming, Deimos gained only a small consolation from knowing his heirloom necklace was hopefully safe in Silvermoon City; though even that thought was farfetched. Pulling the belt from the loopholes of his leather pants and tossing it unceremoniously on top of his discarded shirt, the paladin glanced up as the undead systematically approached him.
His gaunt eyes darting from Deimos' earring to the rings on his fingers, the undead jutted the bag into the Sin'dorei's chest. "Put all your jewelry in here."
Narrowing his eyes in discontent at the order, Deimos brought his fingers up to the golden hoop at the top of his pointed ear. It wasn't as if he couldn't obtain another earring; he had quite a few at home in Silvermoon as it were. Heeding to the trader's demands, ripping his belongings from him, was almost as bad as taking away his innate ability to rely on the Light. The trader's were slowly ripping apart his identity, only to leave him a faceless slave amongst the others.
Dropping the golden hoop in the bag, Deimos quickly pulled the khorium bands from his fingers only to relinquish those to the blackened sack as well. Lifting a brow at the trader, the paladin gestured to the jeweled metal collar on his neck. "You want to get this thing too? I think the jewels are worth quite a bit."
Not bothering to answer, the undead merely offered the boy a deep scowl in return, and shuffled over to the next slave in the line; who already filled the empty space where the human used to reside. Sighing to himself, Deimos was surprised to find that most movement in the line had ceased, the other slaves already standing naked with their piles of clothes in front of themselves. At the far left end of the line, the paladin picked up voices and small movements, though it was centralized. Quickly fumbling to remove his leather pants, the humid air causing the thick and unmoving material to stick to his skin, the elf successfully kicked them to land beside his other discarded clothes.
Shifting his weight from one foot to the other while the voices drew closer, Deimos was sure to keep his gaze straight forward and downcast. It wasn't as if he was self-conscious about being nude in front of other males; due to living a military life he was accustomed to it. Bathing while on a campaign with the battalion was a privilege, typically finding a stream or lake to clean in with large numbers going in at a time. Biting his lower lip in annoyance and fury, the paladin's current situation left him feeling vulnerable and at their mercy; a sensation he wasn't comfortable or familiar with.
"Ok, we've got a blood elf. Long black hair, approximately six feet and a few inches."
Snapping his head up at the words, Deimos glanced to the left at the familiar voice. Standing before Elik was the human who was barking out orders, accompanied by a troll with narrowing and scrunched eyes, and a goblin with a thick notebook in his grasp, his hand scribbling away on the pages. The human had his trademark impatient and edgy stance while he eyed Elik's downcast face, the young mage's eyes fastened on the ground in front of him.
The troll walked around the unmoving and rigid elf, his gaze inspecting his body. Stopping in front of Elik, the troll gave a small shake of his head. "He's very scrawny with little muscle. Bad posture and weak legs. I see no abnormalities or evidence of illness though."
Nodding his head in acknowledgement, the human shifted his weight, his eyes not leaving Elik's unresponsive face. "How old are you?"
A beat or two passed before Elik responded, his voice shaking with the words in Common, though his gaze never left the dirt ground. "Tw-Twenty two."
The humans frowning face lit up slightly at the response. "What are your professions or training?"
Blinking rapidly at the question, the young mage still refused to bring his eyes up to meet the trader's gaze. "I'm a-a student at the academy. I'm learning, um, arcane magic-"
"A mage?"
"And-and arithmetic, history, the fine arts-"
Waving his hand in the air impatiently, the human shook his head, the frown on his face deepening. "That's enough." Heaving a deep sigh, the trader glanced down at the goblin at his side, who continued writing furiously on the notebook. "He's young. What do you think? Could we push him to Camp D?"
Releasing a puff of air in disbelief, the goblin critically gazed at Elik with disdain and contempt. "He's thin and not attractive enough. We'd get squat from D. Keep him at Camp A. They've been looking for a mage."
Nodding, the human moved forward, pulling a stamp from a pouch attached to his belt. Roughly grasping Elik's thin and limp wrist, the mage not flailing or fighting in the least, the trader slammed the stamp down on his hand, leaving behind a red symbol on the elf's ashen skin.
Not allowing his gaze to leave the human's face, Deimos watched with silent and brooding fury as the trio of traders began to shuffle over to him, the human meeting his gaze with a firm stare. Upon making eye contact, the human allowed a half grin to dance across his features, his arms releasing from their tightly crossed position. Keeping his chin up, Deimos darted his stare from the human to the troll, watching with dissatisfaction at his eyes racking up and down his body in an examining fashion. Swallowing deeply as the troll began to circle him, the young elf's stomach turning sour at the visual assessment, he instead allowed his stare to fall back on the smiling human; though it took much of his self-control not to throw at a punch at the trader.
Sparing a quick glance down at the goblin beginning to write, the human tilted his head in amusement at the paladin. "Another blood elf. Short blond hair, six feet and couple inches. A paladin."
Pursing his lips together in anger at the mocking tone the human used, Deimos took a deep breath to control himself. Watching the troll come around the front him, the tall figure nodded in thought to himself before speaking, his eyes still roaming Deimos' body. "Exceptional muscle tone. Good posture. No abnormalities or illness."
Allowing the goblin to scribble a bit on the notebook, the human lifted a brow at Deimos. "How old are you?"
Deimos gave a sinister smirk in return. "Screw off."
His head whipping to the side at the backhand that slammed across his cheek, the young elf swallowed the metallic liquid from his split lip. Setting his jaw in anger, he stood up straight and upright, his unwavering glare deepening at the taller human standing only inches from his face.
His temper flaring, the human trader spun around to face the troll, who stood silently behind him. "How old is he?"
Brows together in thought as he again raked his eyes up and down Deimos' nearly shaking form from anger, the troll gingerly and hesitantly shrugged at the irritated human. "I can't tell for sure without a more thorough exam. He's definitely not any older than one hundred."
"That doesn't do us any good." Spinning around at impressive speed, the human roughly gripped Deimos' hair with one hand while the other grasped an object on his belt. The paladin's unbound hands immediately going up to the grip in his hair, he found himself pushed to the left towards Elik, the mage's already scared gaze widening. His thrashing and fighting stilling, Deimos sighed at the familiar sensation of cold steel against his throat.
Lifting his brows while he pressed the dagger into the paladin's neck, the human addressed the frightened mage. "How old is he?"
Darting his wide eyes between Deimos' darkened face and the human's impatient and rage-filled features, Elik took a shaky breath. "Tw-twenty."
Rolling his eyes in exasperation at the mage's immediate defeat and inability to grow a backbone, Deimos heaved an angry growl while the human pushed him back to his spot in the line with a grin. Putting the dagger back to its concealed place on his hip, the trader allowed his grin to grow at the paladin's sour and bitter face. "There now, that wasn't so hard." Pausing to spare a quick look at the goblin, the human and goblin made eye contact. "Well? Think he's a good fit for Camp D?"
His burrowed and scrunched face in contemplation, the goblin offered a small nod of his head. "An attractive elfling with military training. He's the perfect slave for it."
One hand pulling a stamp from his belt while the other swiftly gripped one of Deimos' wrists, the human chuckled at the paladin's stubbornness. Immediately drawing his arm back towards his body, the young elf wasn't surprised to see the looming troll take a hostile step forward, threatening to take action should the need arise. Growling in frustration, the Sin'dorei knew, yet again, his futile actions of rebellion and revolt would be in vain. Turning his head in anger, he spitefully gave in to the tugging on his wrist, the human reveling in what he felt was a win. Slamming the stamp down on Deimos' hand, the paladin didn't even bother glancing down to acknowledge the action.
The trio of trader's moving on to the next slave in the line, the troll conducting a similar visual inspection, Deimos heard a bit of movement originating from the left of him. Leaning forward slightly and turning his head, the paladin was surprised and somewhat thankful to see a dwarf trader moving down the line, tossing pairs of shorts at each of the slaves as well as collecting their discarded clothes from the ground. At least the trader's had the decency to allow the slaves to retain some of dignity. Sending a side glance at Elik, who still had his eyes trained on the ground in front of him, it was painfully obvious the mage was not the least bit comfortable in their current situation.
Gingerly raising his hand to inspect his newly given mark, Deimos narrowed his eyes on the crimson symbol. It wasn't in any written language he was familiar with, but it seemed brief enough. It consisted of merely one symbol, the dark red ink contrasting sharply on his pale and flaxen skin. Running a finger over the dried ink, the paladin heaved a trounced and irritated sigh. The diminutive and meager window for escape was shutting at a vast speed; each minute he was forced to subdue and flatten any notion of escape hurting his chance of leaving. The thick collar around his neck and the bold red symbol on his hand was evidence enough of how small his actual chance for escape seemed. While he did leave his necklace in Murder Row in hopes of someone finding it, he had high doubts that it would allude to his current location and situation. And more doubts that someone would be able to figure out where he was or, even worse, where he was headed.
"And what happens after that?"
Running a hand over the clammy skin on the nape of his neck, Matheus shook his head while attempting to hold the firm and intense eye contact with Tharsis. Standing only a few feet from the sitting rogue, the commander refused to tear his gaze off the human while he told his account. "Well, after classification, the slaves are sent to where they're going to be put up at auction. The locations are all different."
Though the details of the classification routine were disheartening, the information ignited a great spark of optimism in Brightwing. Sparing a glance at Tharsis, taking in his stern and unyielding features, he hoped the same could be said about the commander. "How long is it between being classified and sold?"
Scrambling his brain, Matheus mutedly wished he was able to take handwritten notes during the assignment; it would have aided him much more reliably. "I can't remember if there was a distinct time frame but I do remember it wasn't very consistent. It all depends on which ring they're in and when the auctions are scheduled for."
Shaking his head at the circular logic they seemed to trap themselves in, Warren narrowed his eyes at the sitting rogue. "So without knowing what ring he's in we can't go looking for him?"
"I mean, we could look. But like I said, there're countless rings and they're spread out; Winterspring, Badlands, Tanaris, some in Outland-"
"Ok, ok, we get it," Tharsis rapidly interjected, his small sliver of patience at sitting idly for such a prolonged time quickly diminishing. They had spent the past hour hearing and interrogating the rogue for the details of the classification system, though it seemed it brought them back to where they were prior. Without the knowledge of which ring Deimos was placed in, they had very little to work with. A thought coming to mind, Tharsis keenly shifted his weight. "Where does the classification take place?"
Leaning back against the cushions, Matheus allowed his mind a second to recall. "Well, five years ago, there were two base camps where slaves were first taken; Isle of Kezan and Stranglethorn Vale."
Shaking his head in dismay and anger, Tharsis felt his blood beginning to boil with each bit of information from the rogue; more uncertainties. "And how do we know which one he's at?"
A small shrug rolling off his shoulders, Matheus felt a bit of apprehension beginning to swell in his chest at the commander's crisp tone. "Honestly, we really can't tell for sure." Seeing the darkened frown on Tharsis' face deepen menacingly, the rogue was quick to continue. "But, seeing as how he was taken from Silvermoon, I highly doubt they'd bring him to Kezan. It seems too much traveling for one slave."
Digesting the response, the sour taste in his mouth slowly dispersing, Tharsis offered a small nod while he mind was running laps. "Ok, then we'll search in Stranglethorn. Where do they keep the slaves?"
Brows together at the harsh and stern command, though he was tempted to heed to it strictly from years of conditioning, Matheus opened and closed his mouth at a loss of words. "Stranglethorn? By the time we get down there, he'll probably be gone; assuming he's finished his classification."
Standing to his feet, Warren sent a side glance at Tharsis' determined and firm face. "I agree with Tharsis. We have to search somewhere and Stranglethorn looks to be the best lead we've got. Not to mention, Theramore was raided by Horde a couple days ago. Only portals out are allowed, so getting to Kezan would take some time."
Darting his eyes between the two standing commander's in surprise, Matheus gave a reluctant and hesitant nod; though his eyes clearly showed his uncertainty. "Their camp will be in the middle of the jungle, and heavily guarded. We can't just ride around looking for it. We'll have to search from the sky."
Tilting his head to the side at the resolute answer, Tharsis crossed his arms over his chest dejectfully. "I doubt goblins will lend us a blimp. So other than hijacking a Horde zeppelin, do you have any other bright ideas?"
Allowing a smirk to go across his features at the voice dripping with disdain and sarcasm, Matheus finally let his posture relax considerably. While he felt the idea of commencing their search for Deimos in Stranglethorn seemed a bit farfetched and belated, it was indeed a move in the right direction. As the only source having considerable knowledge and familiarity with the inner workings of the slave trade, the rogue felt an immense weight be dropped on his shoulders from the older men, especially Tharsis. Though he only had the pleasure of formally meeting the Sin'dorei commander a handful of occasions, which he felt were one too many meetings as it were, he longed to escape and wiggle free of the stern and unyielding stare of the blood elf. Growing up with parents who were pleasantly bemused and naïve when it came to the daily ongoings of their son, he couldn't fathom living each day with such a dominating and overbearing father.
Moving his softened gaze from Tharsis' impatient stance, to Brightwing's waiting stare, and finally Warren's questioning look, Matheus gave a strong and determined shake of his head. "We're not going to ask the goblins, we'll ask the gnomes."
The smart response not pleasing him in the least, Tharsis lifted a delicate brow in confusion, his voice displaying his growing intolerance with a crisp edge to it. "Gnomes? I was unaware they manufacture zeppelins."
Understanding dawning on him, Warren's face lit up with perception. Turning a lively and eager face to Tharsis, the human gave a small shake of his head while he promptly ignored the harsh stare bearing into him. "Better. They make flying machines. It's smaller, faster, and shouldn't be detected as easily. It's used a lot to spy on Horde activity; which is probably why you don't know about it."
Immediately sensing and physically seeing Tharsis tense up and narrow his eyes at Warren, Brightwing sprang to his feet with a clap of his hands. The turmoil and strained relationship between the two commanders no secret, the ranger-general knew it would only be a matter of time before the two began squabbling. "Great. Then we've got a plan. Where do we find a pilot and a machine?"
A half grin spreading on his face, the once despair and anguish feelings in Warren began to, albeit slowly, dissipate from his chest as each second ticked by. Though Deimos was lost somewhere, hopefully in the endless jungles of Stranglethorn, a once sketchy and shoddy plan was quickly coming together. The once sinking feeling of loss was beginning to be replaced with a meager yet strong flame of hope. "I know a pilot."
"You know how to fly? You're a reputable pilot?"
"My dexterity in aeronautics is quite capacious and comprehensive. Prior to educating myself as a mage, I was a chief technician of internal turbine mechanics and operations as well as an evaluation pilot."
Blinking hard in utter confusion as his mind slowly replayed the words the small gnome said, Tharsis shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Standing before the majestic Sin'dorei table in Warren's house, the blood elf commander narrowed his eyes at what he could see of the gnome. Sitting on the opposite end of the table was Lena, the tall table only allowing her eyes to be seen from those across from her. Sitting before Tharsis was Brightwing, Warren, and Matheus, each of them staring at the pink haired gnome with as much perplexity as Tharsis did. If the small mage took notice of their confusion, she didn't show it, her trademark cheerful and jovial attitude burning bright through the room.
Sending an annoyed sideways glance at Warren, somewhat harboring ill-content towards the human commander for tracking down the gnome, Tharsis heaved a deep sigh and directed his attention back to Lena. Having only a minimal amount of exposure to the interesting race, Lena in particular, he knew enough of the girl to have knowledge of the strong friendship Deimos and she had. Though her big blue eyes initially filled with water upon hearing of Deimos' capture, the gnome did a rapid flip in emotions when learning of their plan. It seemed even with the smallest of hope the mage was able to swell with optimism; a notion that left Tharsis in slight bemusement.
His mind still chewing her lighthearted words, the Sin'dorei commander narrowed his gaze on her innocent eyes. "Can you fly in Stranglethorn Vale?"
Nodding her head furiously, her pink ponytail whipping up and down, Lena face lit up with eagerness. "Of course I can. I may have to recalibrate my vertical stabilizer as well as the cold compressor in the turbine to take in account the increase in density altitude from the humidity. But a quick calculation using the atmospheric pressure and static air febricity should give the accurate exposition."
The lingering patience for the girl and her usage of words dwindling like the time, Tharsis heaved a deep and frustrated sigh. Though her face never lost its boisterous and optimistic features, the men in the room seemed to be losing their own wits with her. It seemed, to the commander, obtaining a straight answer that he would be able to comprehend would prove to be trying. Turning annoyed and irritated eyes to Warren, the human commander met his even gaze with a similar and understanding look.
Understanding passing between the two commanders, Warren deduced it was his turn to take a try at talking to the mage. With Lena in his battalion for a few years, the human had the most experience with the gnome yet still didn't feel proficient or nearly as intelligent enough to communicate effectively. "Ok Lena, you know how to fly then. Do you have a machine?"
The lively and animated nod of her head responded him. "Well, my parental units own a craft in Ironforge. Obtaining it won't be a vexation."
Nodding his head at the words, slightly uplifted at comprehending her speech, Warren turned his attention to Tharsis' impatient and keen being. "We've got everything we need. When do you want her to leave?"
Moving his green eyes over Warren's waiting and calm face, taking in his aged lines on his forehead, Tharsis allowed a beat or two to pass by in contemplation. Having known the human commander years prior on the harsh battlefields, the Sin'dorei was slightly startled at Warren's willingness to heed his orders and seek his answers. Their bickering and quarrelling having picked itself up upon meeting each other again weeks ago, it seemed Warren had the ability to see past their turmoil past for a common goal; an attribute Tharsis found himself admiring in the human.
Though he was slightly elated at the prospect of the plan commencing and moving closer to finding his son, the commander didn't expose such. Turning away from the quiet table of waiting faces, Tharsis glanced at the night sky out of the fogged window. "I'll send a regiment of soldiers to Stranglethorn tonight so they should get there by day break. In the meantime, the gnome will get the flying machine. She'll fly at dawn."