Please keep in mind this story takes place prior to Cataclysm. Thank you for reading and being patient with me during these long periods of no updates. I'm hoping to finish up the story within the next week or two.

The frigid and bitter winds the winter season offered to Silvermoon City were harsh and cruel, their whipping air abusing the elven citizens that dared to walk in its path. The broad trees and potted plants swaying to and fro from the gusts, neither refused to relinquish their branches or leaves; the magic of arcane withstanding the strong winds. The guardians patrolling the stoned streets adorned themselves in thick wool cloaks, the shape of their sharpened weapons creating an outline through the fabric. Though the winter elements were chilly and cold, the bustle of the Sin'dorei capital city was still in full swing; the citizen's not quite ready to admit defeat to the freezing season change.

Pulling his own woolen cloak tighter around himself as a strong and cruel wind whipped past his face, Tharsis kept his gaze focused straight ahead. Swiftly making his way through the serene and prominent district that housed the Spire, the commander opened and closed his fists in anticipation, his palms clammy in eagerness. It'd been two days since Lena flew over the jungle lands of Stranglethorn Vale. And two days since she reported the exact coordinates of a possible camp concealed within the depths of the humid and dense jungle. Though Tharsis was in Silvermoon the day of the expedition, he was given hourly reports from Matheus and Warren, who personally oversaw the mission. However, due to the unfortunate fact that the Sin'dorei warrior was to remain uninvolved in the affairs, the reports he received were meager and short; a sentence or two hastily scribbled across a piece of parchment. But though the communication was brief and concise, it carried the good tidings Tharsis longed to hear. Lena had found the slave camp.

Increasing his pace as the looming and intimidating palace came into view, Tharsis felt his heartbeat increase its pumping as a sense of keenness overtook his being. Though he received a report from Warren stating the gnome located the camp, the last piece of communication from the human only said they were infiltrating and raiding the area, and to expect the blood elf slaves to be ported back to Silvermoon City. No specific names or numbers were given. Shaking his head as he began to make his way up the ramp leading to the entrance of the Spire, his eyes focused on the red rug with golden trim, Tharsis tried to quell the despair and dejection that screamed from a depth within him. While the news of nearly two dozen elves returning to Silvermoon quickly spread throughout the city that day, the commander couldn't shake the foreboding and sinister feelings that threatened to surface. Almost half the Sin'dorei initially taken had been returned to their rightful home; his son just had to be there.

Not bothering to acknowledge the formal line of guardians tilting their heads in respect to Tharsis, the commander hastily made his way into the Spire, quickly taking notice to the immediate increase in activity and noise upon entering it. The foyer to the palace was both awe-inspiring and menacing, its sheer size and magnitude causing anyone to feel diminutive. A large and intricately crafted chandelier hung in the center of the large room, while three hallways emerged from the area; the corridor to the left led to the healing and priest ward while the hall on the right led to the mage and portaling wing. While those hallways were open to the general public, the third corridor was not. Situated at the far end of the foyer, the entrance to the great passageway was patrolled by four guardians, their faces as sharp and severe as the weapons they armed themselves with. The hallway leading not only to the government and military sector but also the living quarters of the Magisters and head military operatives, including Brightwing and Lor'themar; such security and precautions was necessary.

Moving his eyes towards the hall resting on the left side of the room, Tharsis swept his eyes over the dozens of Sin'dorei littering the typically quiet and calm area. The occasional benches accented with gold resting against the walls were all occupied with elves, the inhabitants' faces clearly displaying worried and uneasy emotions. Pushing past a large group of Sin'dorei, quickly seeing two female elves with tears staining their faces share a long and heart-filled embrace, the commander futilely gave a hard and forced swallow; attempting to subdue the thoughts that threatened to voice themselves. The crowd flocked to the Spire for the same reason he was there; to see if their missing child was lucky enough to be brought home. His gaze darting around the numerous faces that held similar features to the two females, he had a sinking feeling that many were left with despairing news.

His boots echoing off the wide corridor walls as he made his way down the hall towards the healing wards, Tharsis mutely noticed the crowd only thicken, as well as the rivers of tears and cries of misery. Shaking his head in small dejection at the miserable scene, the warrior was resolved to keep his gaze focused steady and forward; though he was accustomed to ignoring such emotions around him, he had a trying time doing so in his current situation. Attempting yet again to swallow the lump in his throat that refused to dissipate, he felt his small and meager grasp of optimism slipping away between his very fingers. Less than half the captured Sin'dorei slaves had been returned to their respective homes; the chances of Deimos being amongst them carried good odds.

Having spent a considerable amount of time in the healing wards himself as well as seeing to his son only recently in the wing, Tharsis easily detected when he entered the main corridor. Even if he wasn't familiar with the area, the mere density of nervous and fretting elves would have eluded him as much. While he fully expected to treat the situation simply as a business or military assembly, he felt his self-resolve and forced façade slipping away nearly as fast as his strained hope. Blindly following only the evidence of his son's necklace, he commenced a wildcard and bold strategy in a sightless attempt to find his son on only a guess of his whereabouts. And though his senses and intuition guided him in those decisions, he felt the near opposite upon standing stationary in the midst of the bustling and loud corridor.

"Tharsis!"

The calling of his name pulling him from a deep reverie, the commander snapped to attention, turning to glance at the origination of the voice. "Aldrae."

Quickly approaching Tharsis, the priest looked severely worse for wear. His cropped blond hair standing up at random angles and ends, his features seemed strained and worn, the dark circles below his eyes and pale complexion enhancing the appearance. A thick file threatening to spill stacks of papers in his grasp, Aldrae swiftly sidestepped around a group of vexed and anxious elves, giving a hand motion for the commander to follow him. "Don't mind the mess. We've been like this all morning."

Falling into step behind the older elf, Tharsis lifted a curious brow as he easily matched the quick pace the priest assumed. "Is this all for-"

"The arrival of the elfings, yeah." Aldrae impatiently finished, methodically dropping the bursting file into a hanging container outside a silk-covered doorway. Immediately commencing his movement down the corridor at a similar brisk speed, he offered the commander at his heels an exasperated look. "Word traveled fast that some random battalion stationed in Stormwind just happen to know of a location where the elflings' could have been taken too. I assume this is your doing?"

"Something like that."

Coming to an abrupt halt in before a second doorway, the thick silks and strong enchants on the room impeding any outside wanderers from seeing the ongoings of the room, the priest hastily grabbed a bulky file resting in a mounted container beside the doorway. Shaking his head with an annoyed and frustrated sigh, Aldrae darted his eyes among the dozens of eager and anxious faces littering the corridor, hoping to avoid any unwanted interaction with them. "Yeah well, thanks for that. City ordinance told the family members to wait at home until a guardian contacted them. And you can obviously see how well that worked out."

Easily detecting the sarcasm and disdain dripping in his voice, Tharsis shifted his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. "You mean these people don't know if their elfling's here yet?"

Quickly taking note of the last name scribbled across the front, Aldrae heaved a deep sigh as he flipped open the file. The thick stack of pages before him consisting of the particular patients past medical records, the priest had a dull notion that though it would've been extensively helpful to read through, he knew based on the sheer mount of hours before him, it simply wasn't feasible. "We're not releasing any specific names until all statements are accounted for and the elflings are medically stable."

The response not pleasing him in the least, his own eagerness and increasingly growing impatience becoming overwhelming, the commander fought back a growl of rage. "And how long will that be, Aldrae?"

A small and tired smirk growing on the side of his mouth, the priest tore his focused and determined eyes off the pages before him to glance at the commander. Taking in the warrior's impatient and edgy stance, his arms tightly crossed in front of his chest, Aldrae breathed a small sigh. "I'm willing to make an exception."

His once hard and unforgiving stare yielding in the slightest, Tharsis blinked at the response as a question rolled off his tongue before he had time to consider it. "Is Deimos safe?"

Forcing himself to hold and retain the imploring eye contact with the warrior, Aldrae wet his lips as his spirits plummeted further into a deep recess in his being; a feat he felt was trying in his systematic and orderly mental wellbeing. His stomach twisting into guilt-ridden knots, the priest gave a gloomy and disheartening shake of his head. "I'm sorry, Tharsis. Deimos isn't here."

The words bringing the once loud and bustling room to a silencing halt, the only sound filling his ears his own heart pumping wildly, the commander narrowed his gaze on the priest. "Are you sure? You must have not-"

"Tharsis," the priest began, his voice assuming a crisp edge to match the elevating tone of the other elf. "I personally checked for him. Elik was returned but Deimos isn't here. I'm sorry, I really am."

Taking in a shaky and unsteady breath slowly to subdue his racking nerves, the commander tore his eyes off the sympathetic gaze staring back at him. It disgusted him. Though he wrangled to keep his innate emotions and reactions in proper check, the commander was slightly startled to find himself not experiencing a more profound retort in response to the news. While his being swirled with a mixture of frustration, anger, and misery at running into yet another road block, a small and quiet part of him had prepared himself for such. Upon walking into the Spire, he intuitively knew his son wasn't there.

"Tharsis?"

Snapping his head to the inquiring and curious voice, Tharsis spared the priest a brief glance with a blank and passive face. "If you'd excuse me."

Not bothering to see or wait for a response from the older elf, which would no doubt consist of meaningless and empty words of counterfeit encouragement, the commander spun on his heels with resolve and fortitude. Immediately assuming a hurried and quick pace, his large strides easily making it through the crowded healing corridor, he didn't dare look back at the priest or glance at the anxious faces surrounding him. His mind was muddled yet spinning a mile a minute, scenarios and possibilities of future endeavors to find his son consuming his thoughts. Though the young elf failed to present himself in this first plan, perhaps the second idea would prove successful at locating him. The whole notion of searching for the boy in Stranglethorn was farfetched and a gamble as it were; he should have been prepared for such a downcast.

Making his way out of the healing ward, Tharsis shook his head in slight dismay. Though he was determined to keep his feelings occupied with such ideas of grandeur and hope, he couldn't quite repress the quickly growing misery that was bubbling up within him. Elves that were taken before his son were safely in their respected home city, while the young paladin was still helplessly lost to the world. And while Tharsis frowned upon those who dwelled on feelings of unfairness and inequality, he couldn't stop the thoughts of ill-tidings to the Light and fate. How could an elfling that was captured with Deimos be returned while his son remained gone. The ominous and disgusting words the explained the rings of slavery ruthlessly circulating in his head, especially the assumption of which Deimos would fall under, Tharsis angrily squeezed his fists into balls.

His mind and body preoccupied with an inner turmoil, the commander hardly reacted accordingly when he harshly collided with another body. Involuntarily recoiling back from the impact, his shoulder barely registering the collision, Tharsis curiously blinked several times as he glanced at the other elf. A hand gingerly rubbing his own shoulder, Rommath's usual and familiar scowl was apparent on his features, his glare boring into the commander.

While he typically harbored aggressive feelings to the Grand Magister, though rarely voiced or acted upon such emotions, Tharsis couldn't quite suppress the growing intensity of slurs and insults his mind was conjuring. His gaze doing a quick glance over of the elf, the commander found nearly everything about him undeniably despicable and vile; from the style of his long ebony hair to his finely crafted robes. Gritting his teeth and forcing a deep swallow, Tharsis willed his body to withhold any invective language to the Magister; an action he was accustomed to after years of proper conditioning. Offering Rommath one last long glance, the commander turned his attention back to promptly exiting the grand palace.

"I'm going to check on my son. Was Deimos brought back as well?"

His strides only bringing him a mere feet distance past the Magister, Tharsis closed his eyes and heaved a deep sigh of frustration at the words directed at him. While he had the ability to simply continue on his way, pretending to not notice the sneering comment addressing him, he knew it would have reprimands in the future. Slowly turning around, the commander utilized majority of his willpower and self-control to not react to the mocking and derisive set of eyes staring back him. "No, Deimos isn't here."

"Ah, a pity," Rommath began, his brows brought together in feigned concern and thought while a beat of silence passed by. "Well, we can't expect for everything to fall into place. Thankfully two dozen elflings were returned."

Feeling his cheeks flush from a muted and stirring anger at the scornful tone, Tharsis set his jaw in rage. "Thankfully."

"Indeed." Pausing, the Grand Magister offered the unmoving and rigid commander a curious and puzzled look, a strange twinkle in his eye putting Tharsis in slight unease. "It's bizarre how such a random assortment of humans were able to find the trader's camp. Especially considering majority of the slaves were Sin'dorei, and the situation was highly classified."

Sure to keep his gaze even and passive, Tharsis offered the Magister a small tilt of his head; conscious to steadily sidestep the verbal trap laid. "Perhaps you should've reiterated the importance of classification to the officer who replaced me on the mission."

The corners of his mouth twitching into a sardonic smirk, the glint in his eye still very much present, Rommath offered the solemn commander a mere nod of his head. "I would do wise not to misjudge certain officers in the future. Perhaps we can continue this conversation at a later time."

Not allowing his facial features give away his true angered and loathing emotions towards the other elf, his years of political and diplomatic dialectics dictating much of the conversation, Tharsis nodded his head. "Of course. Until then."

Unable to force himself to properly wait for the Grand Magister to give a farewell response signaling the rightful end of the conversation, the warrior briskly turned on his heels and began his fast strides toward the open entrance to the outside and frigid world. Though he could feel an eerie stare boring into his back, no doubt originating from Rommath, he couldn't bring himself to heed to several alarms sounding in his head. Born and raised in Silvermoon City, he knew the proper and suitable behaviors that were required when interacting with the group of magi; such ideals he failed to heed nor gave much consideration.

"He's definitely gone through classification."

"Meaning what exactly?"

"Meaning it's going to be hell finding him."

Growling dejectedly at the words that echoed off the bookshelves, Tharsis gave a frustrated shake of his head. Sitting at the long table in the library was Matheus and Warren on one side, with the blood elf commander resting opposite them. Upon leaving the Spire crestfallen and defeated, his spirits and optimism falling to a lower notch, Tharsis was quick to contact the two human's who aided him in the process thus far. Swallowing not only the greater part of his pride but also swelling pessimism, he sent word via a mage in Stormwind, hailing the commander and rogue to reconvene in Silvermoon for further brainstorming.

The sun threatening to dip below the horizon, the day moved without much success in locating a definite and thriving lead. Holing themselves up in the looming library, scatters of reports and maps decorated with scribbles covering the once pristine table top, the three men spent the greater portion of the day bouncing ideas and thoughts off one another. Time sincerely crunched and already dwindling, agitations with each other were elevated; the two commanders sending crisp retorts and insults across the library. And while it pained Tharsis deeply to be forced to utilize their help, a small and nearly diminutive part of him was grateful for the aid. Though he was innately suspicious and wary of the human race, past memories of treason and betrayal still fresh in his mind, the blood elf somehow found the willpower to disregard such thoughts. His son's life depended on it.

Running a tired hand over his face, his digits grazing over the stubble that developed on his chin over the past several days, he scanned his eyes over the sketched map of Azeroth. "We know he's not in Stranglethorn anymore. What are some other possibilities?"

Shaking his head in a disconsolate fashion, the lingering question a theme that dominated the entirety of the day's discussions, Matheus darted his tired and strained gaze from Warren to Tharsis. "That's only one area we knocked off the list," pausing to give a sweeping arm gesture to the map before him, the rogue continued, unable to subdue the edginess from his voice. "There're slave rings all over Azeroth to consider. And that's not even taking into account Outlands and Northrend. And we're assuming he hasn't been bought yet."

Sighing in frustration, the commander sneered at the young human's stressed response. "You think I don't know that, rogue?"

Gingerly lifting a hand in an effort to quell any further retorts from a blustered Matheus, Warren offered Tharsis a small nod of his head. Indeed, the Sin'dorei's fatigued and worn features weren't lost from a look over from the human. His face looked haggard and tired, his hair pulled back with several stands of blond hair hanging loosely from the tie. "We're back at square one. Only this time we've got less time on our side."

Blinking several times in an effort to shake his pent up rage from his being, the blood elf knew the human was right; and it killed him to admit it. Deimos had been gone for longer than anticipated and hoped, the possibility of him winding up at an auction becoming more of a reality. The mere prospect of seeing the young paladin again was a thought that seemed to be slipping through his weak grasp, the gods having other plans for them. Tharsis' heart felt heavy, his breathing seemed thick, and his mind was muddled. A decorated warrior from serving both the Horde and Alliance, he had countless ribbons and medals to showcase his triumphs and battlefield achievements. Defeat was a concept that sounded not only alien but erroneous; however it was becoming all the more apparent in the current situation.

Massaging the bridge of his nose, Tharsis released a puff of hot breath. "Do you know where all the major slave rings are located?"

Taking a minute for the question to digest, Matheus rolled his shoulders into a shrug while he racked his brain. Leaning over the map to gain a better look, he darted his eyes around the painted leather. "I wish it was that easy. My information is five years old too so it might be outdated."

"Humor me."

Scratching his messy brown mass of hair, the human slowly and reluctantly took a handful of colorful darts resting atop the map. Placing nearly a dozen between the two continents, the rogue hesitantly glanced up to see Tharsis silently inspecting the newly placed darts. "And like I said, that's not even considering Outlands and Northrend."

His green eyes solemn and somber, the blood elf moved his gaze from the numerous spread out colorful marks adorning the map, the vast distance and sheer number seeming to mock him. Shaking his head, the commander crossed his arms over his chest tightly. "Are these all the slave rings?"

"The most popular ones, yeah."

"Based on Deimos' characteristics, where is he most likely to end up?"

The question not novel or new, having been asked it days prior from the commander, Matheus still shifted his feet uncomfortably at the question. Wetting his chapped lips in anticipation, he heaved a deep and dismayed breath through his lips. "It'd be a shot in the dark, and we don't have time to take guesses anymore. We need a more definite lead."

"We don't have that luxury anymore!"

His own wits beginning to grow tired and worn of the bickering and endless discussions, the distinct lack of progress hindering his hopes for success greatly, Warren turned his glare to Tharsis' angered face. "We can't run off to some part of Azeroth hoping to find him, Tharsis. We need to think about this rationally but we need to be quick."

Opening his mouth to unleash a harsh reply, the blood elf was interrupted from a loud bang echoing through the house. The three men turning their heads curiously to the origination of the sound, the front door from the entry one room away, Tharsis lifted a curious yet irritated brow. Not expecting a visitor, nor even caring to entertain one, the mere prospect of someone seeking his audience was severely ill-timed and unwanted. The day dying into nightfall, the blind and wild chase to find his son's location couldn't spare the time for other duties. Shaking his head, the commander was about to simply forget the presence when another, more robust bang resonated through the dwelling.

Half sighing and half growling in rage and agitation, the Sin'dorei pushed the chair out from under him and swiftly made his way across the library. Pushing the layers of silk in the doorway to the foyer to the side with haste and annoyance, he quickly made his way to the front door. Mentally preparing an onslaught of crude insults to the visitor waiting on the other side of the door, Tharsis undid the locks and pulled open the thick front door with ferocity. Momentarily stunned at the familiar face staring back at him, Tharsis clamped his mouth shut in surprise.

A thick wool cloak wrapped around his thin and frail form, Elik stood wearily before Tharsis. The commander blinked several times at the boy, taking in his pale and gaunt features as well as the fatigue and exhaustion that swirled in the young mage's eyes. His long black hair styled in a similar fashion of his fathers, the typically well groomed locks seemed to lack the usual upkeep. Instead, the blood elf hastily had his hair tucked behind his pointed ears, several strands snarled and tangled.

"Elik," Tharsis began, shifting his weight at the peculiar visitor, "how can I help you?"

A sudden worried and anxious expression swept over the younger elf's face, yet his eyes were set in sheer determination and resolve. "I need to talk with you. It's about Deimos."

Not expecting the words or hard tone from the boy, Tharsis involuntarily straightened to his full height, his attention solely focused on the elf. "Deimos? Do you know something?"

Nodding his head solemnly in reply, Elik took an uneasy swallow. "I think I have some information that may help you."

Not hesitating to push the door open further, Tharsis gestured for the boy to enter the dwelling. Satisfied when the mage cleared the doorway, he gave a glance into the dusk covered city curiously before pushing the door shut. Moving towards the library, Elik closely at his heels, the commander lifted a curious brow. "Where's your father?"

His eyes momentarily flashing with anger, the mage followed Tharsis through the doorway to the library. "He doesn't know I'm here."

While the responsible and conditioned part of him felt obligated to give the youth a lecture on the importance of honesty and obedience to one's parent, the greater part of him dictated otherwise. Whatever information the mage wished to convey to him apparently needed to be done so off the Grand Magister's radar. An interesting notion, but one that he didn't have time to dwell on.

Meeting the watchful and inquisitive eyes of the two humans slowly rising to their feet in uncertainty at the new presence, Tharsis was quick to gesture to them. "Elik, this is Commander Warren Steele and Matheus Williams. They helped find the camp in Stranglethorn."

Nodding his head in quick respect and thanks to the two humans watching him, the mage turned his gaze back towards Tharsis, sure to switch his words to Common for the humans. "They took Deimos and a couple others the day before we were liberated."

Understanding dawning one him at the importance of the new blood elf, Warren felt his shoulders tense in anticipation. "Do you know where?"

Darting his gaze over to the human, Elik gave him a quick look over before answering with a grave shake of his head. "They didn't say. We were all separated into groups."

Swallowing in an effort to return moisture to his lips, Matheus nodded his head in thought. "You were already classified." Pausing in consideration, a hundred questions wanting to be voiced all at once, the rogue chose the one of most importance. "Did you get a number or a tag from the traders? Anything from them?"

His face not breaking the serious and sober expression, Elik gave a brisk nod of his head to the human. "They gave us stamps."

The three older men sharing looks of stimulation, their spirits seeming to elate at the prospect of a victorious lead, Tharsis narrowed his eager eyes on the boy. "Do you happen to remember what the stamp on Deimos looked like?"

Nodding while moving towards the table, the mage hastily grabbed a quill resting amongst the stacks of paper. Resting the tip on a frilled corner of the leather map, he paused for a moment before his hand began to move. The three other men inhabiting the room leaning closer to the table, their impatient bodies nearly shook from eagerness at the silence the enveloped the room. Their breath came in short, the only sound moving through the room came from the steel point of the quill etching across the leather.

Satisfied, Elik placed the utensil back on the table and stood back to inspect his work; the other three narrowing their eyes on the small drawing as well. An intricate inked symbol adorned the leather, the black ink freshly shining from wetness. Taking a step closer to the table, Tharsis darted his eyes around the novel and unfamiliar symbol the mage drew, his mind reeling at the possibilities.

Shaking his head in annoyance and frustration at both himself and the alien looking mark, Tharsis set his jaw as he glanced at Matheus. "I don't understand that. What does it mean?"

His heart beginning to pound more menacingly at the cruel gaze boring into him, the rogue darted his wide and anxious eyes to the black symbol, clearly at a loss of words. "I-I don't know. I've never seen it."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Warren cocked his head to the side and considered the small symbol with elaborate curves. "It's possible they have an internal language mechanism. That would ensure-"

"It's Eredun."

The small and unexpected voice tearing through the room with ferocity, the three men whipped their heads towards the origination. Their gazes staring at Elik in sheer curiosity and inquisitiveness, it was Tharsis that found his voice first. "Eredun?"

"It's the language of demons. I speak it fluently."

Lifting a curious and skeptical brow, the Sin'dorei commander regarded the young mage with a dubious and inquiring gaze. Having heard Rommath's bragging of Elik and his success in his academics, Tharsis had enough knowledge to know the boy was studying the art of arcane. For a mage to recognize the demonic language was both curious and alarming. The Grand Magister often proud of his son's possible future as a great mage and magister, perhaps Elik's ability to recognize the language was the reason for his father's absence.

Breaking the hard and questioning stare from the older Sin'dorei, Elik pointed a finger at the symbol, his digit outlining the intricate curved ink. "It doesn't translate into a word but rather letters. ' S-W-P'."

Brows up in curiosity and puzzlement, Warren sent the blood elf a perplexed gaze. "S-W-P? What does that mean?"

"I don't know. Mine said 'S-V'."

An enveloping silence sweeping over the room, the inhabitants each sat quiet and still, the recent words and news slowly digesting in their minds. Rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, Tharsis felt his mind become over taken with resolve and fortitude, the young mage's insight and information fueling his once dwindling fire of optimism and hope of finding Deimos. Though the boy offered them more enigmas and mysteries, the group had a lead nonetheless. While the last hopeful lead failed to bring Deimos home safely, it did locate nearly half the elves that'd gone missing from Silvermoon; and consequently led to a further clue towards the paladin's whereabouts. Glancing at the worn and tired younger blood elf, Tharsis had to question the ideals that fueled Elik's intentions at helping find Deimos. The two young Sin'dorei never seeing eye to eye or harboring a decent relationship, their constant bickering notorious amongst officers and Magisters, it seemed the mage wasted little time to disclose his inside information. Going as far to sneak behind his father's back, the commander could only ponder what would lead to Elik to divulge his information for the benefit of Deimos. Either he had an ulterior motive or the two elves relationship wasn't as strained as he thought.

Eyes wide, Matheus sprang to life as a thought suddenly entered his meditative and brooding mind. The other three in the room turning their heads in attention at the hasty and swift movements, the rogue leaned over the edge of the table as he began to furiously yank the darts out of the map.

Narrowing his eyes at the colorful markers that were tossed unceremoniously on the table, Warren spared a curious glance with Tharsis. "Matheus, what are you doing?"

"'S-W-P'," he replied, finishing pulling out the pins with a sigh, "It makes sense, based on which ring we thought he'd be in."

Watching in bewilderment and growing frustration as the rogue took a step back from the map, obviously satisfied with his handiwork, Tharsis focused his gaze on him. "What makes sense?"

Outstretching his arm before him, the rogue's finger pointed to the sole red dart left protruding from the leather map. The Eastern Kingdoms was free of any markers, the southern region of Kalmindor housing the only dart on the map and the area Matheus' finger pointed at. "S-W-P. It's Steamwheedle Port. Deimos is in Tanaris."

His eyes wide at the realization of the rogue's words, Tharsis darted his gaze between the still somber faced Elik and Matheus' cocky grin. Had it been a different situation or day, he wouldn't waste a second backhanding the arrogant smirk off the human's face, but his mind was reeling too fast for him to consider such an action. His eyes focusing on the marker resting in the middle of the desert land of Tanaris, he forced a strong swallow down his throat. Though the fates were throwing obstacles and difficulties in his path, the notion of Deimos returning home safely was becoming closer to a reality.

"Tanaris?" Warren questioned the rogue uncertainly. "Are you sure the acronym can't stand for anything else? We can't afford to get this wrong."

Head shaking, the rogue's egotistical grin didn't waver in its intensity. "It's got to be Tanaris. Steamwheedle Port is goblin run and part of the trade coalition. The gladiator and sex slave ring is located there too."

Nodding his head as he digested the information, his stomach tightening at the last of the human's words, Tharsis rested his even and serious expression on Elik, who continued to remain silent. "Do you know if the portals to Theramore are open?"

Feeling the gazes of the other men focused on him, the young mage kept his eyes rested on Tharsis' beseeching face. "Not yet. I think they're opening it up next week."

"We don't have that much time." Turning his attention to Warren, the human's frowning face demonstrating his discontent at the situation as much the Sin'dorei, Tharsis' stern and grave gaze bore into him. "We need a plan."