AUTHOR NOTE: On September 20th, 2011, 'Straydog Saga' turned 1 year old! Can you believe a year has gone by already? I certainly can't. I would like to take this time to announce that, once this story is done, I will go back and edit out all the typos and errors and I will be sending it to Blizzard as a fan tribute to Warcraft. Why bother telling you this? Because I'd like to have an illustration at the start of each chapter for the submission. This is where you all come in. Did you have a favorite scene in the story? A favorite character? You could have your artwork featured in the Straydog Saga final document (with credit to the artist of course :) )! Just send me a private message if interested and I'll give you all further instructions.

Enjoy this extra long update :)

- Ori

Straydog Saga

Flea 36: A Horse with No Name

In a matter of minutes, the first of Lady Proudmore's ships would reach the magic-lit roots of Mydrassil, and Christoffel felt nothing but knots in his stomach in the midnight air. The strange letters from his father seemed to burn a hole in his side as their secretive contents licked at his mind. The first of the letters was dated a week in the future. The next letter was dated, 10 months and the next 15 years. Christoffel sloshed the thoughts of consequences in his mind like a dry wine.

As his finger lingered over the seal of the first letter, the waxy texture seemed like a beacon in the flickering candlelight.

"It's only a week…" Christoffel reasoned, his finger slowly cracking the side of the letter open. He felt a chill surround him, but his hand did not stop its action. In a breath, the letter was open and exposed in his sight. He felt himself exhale as his beating heart thundered within. His brow furrowed as he scanned the words on the page.

"Dear son,

I would like to take this moment to stress the importance of opening these letters on the date they are prescribed. Any sooner would endanger your time line, and despite what you may think, I DO value the preservation of destiny; YOUR destiny.

So please, do not open the next two letters until the time is right. I will, however, give you this: A man is never too far gone, no matter how far he falls, so long as he remembers how to feel joy. Keep your joy close and never forsake what is has to offer because you think yourself undeserving."

- Hollus Fenweaver."

Christoffel could not contain the amused smile that spread across his face. He folded the letter and placed it with the rest, curiosity sated and burning need seemingly forgotten. It was then the call went out from beyond his small closet of a cabin: the ship that carried him had arrived at his brother's domain.

Within half an hour he was escorted onto the dock by human guards to his brother, who stood with a puzzled look on his face in front of a bowing human and orc. They wore freshly sewn tabards of black, white, and gold. They readily answered his questions, explaining their newly formed faction and their assigned task of guarding the main entry dock. Hanariel smiled and asked the pair for their assistance in another task, as Hollus Fenweaver was brought onto the deck in slack chains.

Christoffel watched as his father passed, with a Shepherd guard to his left and right, into the darkened main entrance into the roots. Christoffel moved to follow, but Hanariel's hand blocked him. Hanariel shook his head.

"You can't follow, Narlyn. Make your way to the trunk and wait for me there. I will come to fetch you once…everything is done," Han insisted. Christoffel hesitated a moment before obeying with a nod. He turned and left for the trunk portals, finding very little of the carnage and debris left in the renewed space.

Despite the burden of loss, the people of Mydrassil busied themselves in their toils with a renewed sense of purpose. Tailors prepared lavish tabards and other precious robes with whatever cloth was spared from the attacks and whatever the Bilgewater agents were willing to sell for a reduced price. The rags were transformed into fine drapings for those who called themselves "Shepherds," and the Mydrassil tailors found more gold in their pockets than prior to the faction's formation.

Blacksmiths hammered endlessly to carry out the orders for armor, as their weaponsmith counterparts did their best to design and create weapons fit for their comrades. Their Horde and Alliance contacts, which were willing to help without intent of battling their hated enemies, helped bolster the orders and pumped much needed money into Mydrassil's forming economy.

The dragons in Mydrassil found themselves at a loss of things to do, other than patrol the skies, reinforce the weakened branches, or enjoy the company of their cheerful mortal allies. It was almost as if the attack never happened, but Christoffel could see the lingering hurt and pain behind several pairs of stalwart eyes.

Christoffel felt himself sinking into his thoughts as he walked through the crowd, occasionally bumping into someone and uttering quick apologies under his breath. It wasn't until he felt himself bump into something tall, purple, and plate-armored did an annoyed tone finally break through his foggy state.

"Watch where you're goin…" the night elf barked, voice robbed from her gaping lips as the sight of the rogue came into full view. Green eyes met star-like vision as a jolt of warmth ran through them both. Time seemed to slow for a moment as all the activity around them seemed to go silent. Christoffel felt all that he had held within begin to slip forward, nearly knocking him onto his knees.

At once, the sound and motion returned as another happy voice pulled the pair from the brink of becoming emotional statues.

"Master Chris, you're back!" Ima chirped as she felt a firm tug on her robe-skirt. Her cheerful voice was cut short by F-bomb's shaking head. The realization struck the troll as the scene grew tense and unsure.

"Ohhh," she whispered as her eyes went wide for a moment. A mischievous smile came to her tusked mouth as F-bomb motioned for her to follow. Lumi, seemingly oblivious of the scene, was pulled from her charge's side by Maiev, who spoke words of explanation as they traveled far from the pair, who lingered in silence. Shandori coughed a little and spoke.

"It's…it's really good to see you're safe, demon-sucker," Shandori smiled, hoping the action would defuse the wave of hurt and shame radiating from the rogue. The fog that surrounded his mind left his consciousness raw and exposed. He struggled to breathe as the form before him still breathed, mind begging it to be real. He reached out but recoiled in case he would find nothing but air at his fingertips.

"Dori…I-I thought. I'm-" Chris clinched his eyes shut and avoided her gaze. His heart seemed to want to punch a hole in his chest as Shandori looked on. She quickly placed her hands on his shoulders. Christoffel felt his heart explode as a warm feeling spread to the very tips of his toes.

"Chris, it wasn't your fault. You d-didn't let go! I was pulled down," Shandori spoke as quickly as her shaking voice would allow. Images of his lament-filled eyes and desperate screams echoed in her mind. She felt his hands reach for hers, warm appendages finding that what was taking place was not an illusion.

"Pulled?"

"Yeah, pulled. A branch caught my leg and pulled me down. I landed on a dragon; it was crazy. I'll tell you all about it, but let's go somewhere else. Is that alright with you?" Shandori felt the words escape her as she was pulled forward into a tight, relieved embrace. Christoffel did not seem to concern himself with the potential injury of embracing someone in full plate armor as the hug grew tight. With a smile and a small laugh, Shandori reached and returned the gesture; no glares or verbal disgust could reach them.

Hollus Fenweaver sat in the center of a large bundle of woven branches and roots. Two others dwelled with him within the central safe room, located deep within the center trunk. Hanariel meditated some distance away, surrounded by sungrass and a phantom breeze. Keesha circled the failed mage like a black cat, eyeing the fel energy that still had him in its lurid grasp.

"So you're the troublemaker, huh? Pity we have to unravel you, you're kinda cute for an old man," Keesha snorted as she turned to see Han cringe for a moment before steadying himself again.

"A little late for such flattery, young lady," Hollus softly smiled. Keesha shook her head.

"Who's flattering? What can I say, I have a soft spot for my own kind," Keesha shrugged.

"There is nothing good about what we do, Mystic. Be glad you had an out from the demonic path," Hollus spoke causing Keesha to give a small cackle.

"Guess even the all seeing, can't see it all."

"…surely you're joking. You're mated to a former priest, for sunwell's sake!"

"That's none of your business, fail-boat. Just because some people are STUPID and let themselves become dreadlord-slaves doesn't mean the rest of us need to suffer. No, Han knows about my…hobbies, and I know all about his. But you won't need to worry about that much longer, will you?" Keesha crossed her arms and closed her eyes as a small, poignant smile came to her crimson lips. "Actually, I think there's someone you should see again, before you go."

"Hmm?"

"Han?" Keesha turned and called, causing him to grunt through his meditation. "Can I summon something really fast, pretty please?"

"…why do you think I'm warding?"

"Love yoooou," Keesha sweetly spoke, blowing a kiss to her permissive mate. A strange air surrounded the High Mystic of the Root as she began to concentrate. An unholy rune bathed with a strange, neutral golden light appeared beneath her and within a matter of moments, a strange demonic being appeared at her side.

Golden runes bound the tall, once-powerful succubus as the mystic-yellow glow in her eyes betrayed the empty smile on her black lips. Keesha roughly pulled her forward and forced the demon, known to her victims as Anomed, onto her knees before a trembling Hollus.

"Bow, bitch," Keesha commanded, causing Anomed to wordlessly bring her horned head down. Keesha's golden gaze rested on Hollus, who felt no air coming in and out of his shallow lungs.

"H-How?"

"She has total power over mortal men; well I'm not a man and won't take her shit. The golden runes you see are my mark, and her will is mine now," Keesha shrugged. Hollus did not move as his tired eyes scanned the pathetic demon. The face that had tortured him and drove him to depravity seemed little more than an empty mask, eyes long ravaged by mystical magic. Hollus recoiled and looked away.

"Send her away."

"No."

"No?"

"You take a good long look, at her. You're getting off light, and from what Han has told me and I've seen in The Ether, you don't deserve to keep on existing. If you do ANYTHING to upset the timeline again, I'll come for you." Keesha stopped speaking as she felt a warm, gentle hand on her shoulder.

"That won't be necessary: he understands his place," Han assured with a serene smile, "Please put your toy away, we need to begin soon."

"Oh, alright," Keesha smiled, and with a snap of her fingers and a demon's pained scream, Anomed was banished to the twisting nether once more. The twin mystics stood at Hollus's sides as they readied their minds for the task at hand. Hollus felt his shoulders relax as a golden light began to radiate from the two High Mystics.

"Hollus Fenweaver, your crimes against time itself are evident. Your tampering has irreversibly damaged the destiny of this world, and while your regret for some of your sins is visible, you show no remorse for changing time at your own whims. Though I and many others owe our continued breath to you and your methods, the story of this world is forever damaged," Hanariel sighed as his mind traveled to the day he should have died in Northrend, but the golden light that preserved him was a thread pulled in time by Hollus' own brazen mind. It was then Keesha's booming, Ethereal voice came to his mental hearing.

"Because of your tampering and the massive holes tore in time, the Infinite Flight have tried time and again to sabotage destiny. Though my honey-bug is alive because of this, many others have had to mitigate your wrong-doing by entering the Caverns of Time and taking the fight to them. Your actions have also hindered the Aspect of Time and contributed to his constant illness. We find you guilty of what you're accused of, and you will be made to truly fix what you've broken," Keesha strongly added.

At once, the safe room became like a night sky. The black void was punctuated by an infinite number of blinking stars and planets as the Mystics began to loose their familiar forms, replaced by woven bundles of pure energy.

Hollus looked to them as a strange wind began to swirl around him. He felt the voice of Hanariel enter his mind from unmoving lips.

"Your time as a bundled consciousness has come to an end, Hollus Fenweaver. Do you have anything to say?" The echoing voice of Hanariel asked. Hollus bowed his head and gave a light chuckle.

"Try as one might, one cannot avoid his destiny, or so it would seem. I regret nothing. Do what you feel must be done," Hollus shrugged with little protest. The wind that swirled around him began to nip at his mortal flesh. The force scraped against his form like sand paper as he felt his body begin to falter. Golden strands began to pull from his woven form as he uttered a surprised gasp. Thread after golden thread of consciousness began to unravel until all that remained of the former mage was loose, astral thread.

Eight of nine black tears in The Ether appeared around them, pulled in by the High Mystics' influence. As a golden film began to glow in the wake of his un-threaded form, the loose strands began to adhere to the holes, slowly but deftly patching them shut.

When eight of the nine holes were patched, the space where Hollus Fenweaver stood was empty. The last sound uttered from the broken man sounded like a relieved sigh echoing in the strange ether.

The High Mystics looked to their work and smiled, despite the looming final hole. As they brought them back to the physical realm, Hanariel took Keesha's hand in his.

"We have done all we can. The rest is up to her now…"

The crowd cheered as metal struck crumpled buckler. The fearsome Darnassian Panther roared in defiance as it spun to face its mortal enemy: the fluffy, reddish-pink hawkstrider bearing a green-eyed burden. The panther licked its lips as its rider firmly kicked at its sides. It charged again, nimble paws keeping it steady on the wet, snowy gravel as charged forward. With a grunt and a flash of flamboyance, the blood elf was thrown from his mount, defeated but still breathing on the tournament ground.

Orifiel smiled and weakly clapped at the triumphant distraction as a familiar black form took his seat beside her. He passed her a fruity, warm drink and a small purple supporter's flag for the Darnassian team.

"Did I miss anything good?" Setharion gently asked before taking a large, hungry bite of a large strider leg. Orifiel gave an uplifted nod and took a sip of her drink, waving her small flag with shallow cheer.

"Maulgarian won again, he's on fire today. I think this win puts him in the jousting final," Orifiel spoke with a weak smile. She cast her mate a look of apology as they sat on the frigid benches of the expanded Argent Festival. Since the Lich King's defeat, the grounds flourished as a favored tourist spot and side destination for those visiting Dalaran. In Orifiel's aching flight, the grounds were a beacon of cheer and mortal revelry in her teary eyes.

"It will be interesting to see how he fairs against Tigermother in the final later. She's favored to win Horde side, or so I heard in line," Seth spoke between savory bites, "How are you feeling?"

"Much better. Sorry I got all blubbery back there," Orifiel sighed at her weakness.

"Don't apologize for that," Seth coughed, hurrying to swallow in order to speak, "What happened to you was…I can't even think of a good enough word for it."

"What now, though? Han and Keesha will be taking over for us at Mydrassil and, to be honest, I'd rather not be there anymore. Not after this slap in the face. I'm not really sure where we'll end up…"

"Let's not worry about that right now. We'll figure things out, we always do," Seth assured with a voice that did not seemed as solid as the shifting snow.

"Yeah, I know. Just, still in shock I guess. I think I want to go for a walk." Orifiel sighed, taking a small sip of her warm drink.

"Alone?"

"Y-Yes, is that fine with you?"

"Don't worry about me, I'll find something to do. Just feel better," Seth softly commanded, giving his mate a gentle squeeze of the arm and a soft kiss on her wintered lips. Orifiel returned the soft kiss before standing and leaving the spectator area. Seth idly continued to watch the mock-battles with a stewing anger swirling in his chest. The red aspect had promised so much, or so his sharp mind remembered. He inwardly scolded himself for placing any measure of trust in the red-scaled dragons and their aspect.

He gave a long sigh and turned his head to sniff the air around him. His sensing organ confirmed the perfumed musk of a familiar form nearby.

"You may stop hiding, I will not harm you, Kat," Seth flatly spoke, turning again to view the joust. From beneath the bleachers came a cloaked figure that appeared to be shivering in the Icecrown air. "Did she send you to spy on us?

"N-No, I came of my own accord. Please do not blame the queen," Kat spoke with caution and a hint of fear in her eyes. Seth gazed at her, soaking in the emotion like a weed in the sun.

"I blame her for much, but if it makes you feel any better, I will leave that off the list. What is it you want? Where is Terronian?" Seth sneered, picking the last of the meat from the bone before swallowing it whole.

"Terronian is here-we flew together- but I think he's watching the Draenei belly dancers at the moment. You and the Lady Whitedeer aren't going to leave Mydrassil now, are you? Please tell me you'll be returning…"

"What does it matter to you? I surmise your queen will be taking over any time now and make your prince the ruler there," Seth snarled and crossed his arms. Kat quickly shook her head.

"No, she will honor Lady Whitedeer's intent for the tree to go to the mortals, I know it. Is that why she wants to leave, I-I mean aside from recent events?"

"Again, why do you care?" Seth asked with a bit more force and volume. Kat looked at her knees and folded her hands in her lap. A slight blush came to her face as she let out a long sigh.

"It's not fair what happened. I could tell Her Highness knows; she really wanted to tell Lady Whitedeer, she did. Something's not right. Lady Whitedeer is a hero; I was raised on her story and yours too. Many younglings know about the pale hero and her dark knight. I was so happy to meet you both and work on the project. Despite everything…they will not accept her? It doesn't make any sense at all. And…the last person I want to see in any sort of place of power is Romulus."

Setharion leaned back, wide-eyed, wondering if he had misheard the red female's words, but the resentment and fire behind her glaring vision confirmed that the words were true.

"Ex-Excuse me? I think I've finally gone senile…"

"You haven't." Kat gave a bitter laugh and leaned forward, moving her arms beyond her lap and over her knees. "I've…observed you and the Lady together: an elder dragon prince treating a younger commoner of an unknown flight like an equal? I haven't seen you with any consorts or other females in general. I know she was raised by mortals, and having one mate is prevalent in their cultures, but when I see you and how you treat her, I just get so…angry. I'm just…jealous. Plain jealous," Kat admitted, her usually calm voice seemingly rattled in the festive air.

"I'm really not the person you should be telling this to."

"I know you're not a fan of my kind…I'm very sorry for forgetting my place."

"NO! No, I mean you shouldn't be telling ME this; the things I could DO with this information…" Seth spoke, a sinister smile creeping into a terrifying grin as images of ruthlessly taunting his nemesis brought a childish glee into his usually sober heart. The look made Kat jump a little, but brought an amused look to her face.

"To be honest, Romulus could use the tormenting. He thinks, and I quote: "irrational females need the guidance of strong, even-tempered males in order to be happy." Well if that's the case, why am I so miserable when I'm around him?"

Setharion could barely contain an evil-sounding giggle brewing the in the back of his throat. He coughed into his closed fist for a moment to compose himself before turning to the shining-eyed dragon with a smiling sigh.

"Well, it sounds as if you've realized even a young, bright-eyed female can be miserable with prince 'charming.'" Seth snorted. Kat smiled despite the tears welling in her eyes.

"I guess. I didn't really come here to complain to you. I-I want to help you and Lady Whitedeer. I asked my queen and she said if you'd accept me, I can stay with you two and Terronian…A-At least until we can finally help her find her flight; then you can be rid of me if you will it," Kat proposed, bowing her head. She felt a playful hand swat at the back of her long, red curls. When Kat looked up, she found Terronian's smirking face in her sight.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"I felt like it," Terronian shrugged as he moved to sit on the bleacher just above Kat and just below his brow-raised father. "What's going on, where did mother go?"

"For a walk. Kat and I were just talking."

"About what?" Terronian looked to his father and then to a shying Kat with questioning eyes. Seth cleared his throat.

"About how the four of us are going to proceed once Mydrassil is fully entrusted to the mortals," Seth smiled as Kat looked to him with shock-filled beaming eyes. Terronian looked to his father with a hint of pinkness in his cheeks.

"O-Oh Kat's staying with us?" Terronian asked, his carefully crafted persona slightly crackling at the thought.

"For a time, yes. There are…other things that your mother and I need to figure out. Someone with Kat's skill at life-energy and binding may be able to help us with the task if she's willing but that's a discussion for another time. Besides, it looks like Maulgarian is about to take the field again. I'm sure your mother will want to know the results of the final," Seth deftly steered as the two whelps in his sight turned their curious attention to the joust. His night gaze turned to the path Orifiel had taken away from the jousting arena as he felt a small thread of worry worm its way through his chest.

The melancholy pale dragon walked past the training stables, causing the more alert animals to uncomfortably shift. Orifiel longingly sighed at the creatures that sensed her true nature, but whose limited consciousness caused nothing but fear and trepidation within.

Ever since she was a child, Orifiel brightly smiled at the sight of majestic hippogryphs as they preened their pristine feathers, but she had not once been able to experience their fanciful flight for the same reasons that caused the panthers, horses, and other mounts in the stable grounds to shift and uncomfortably snort.

Though many other dragons did not have this issue, Orifiel seemingly hadn't mastered the true art of concealment, other than from the imperceptive mortals that never seemed to link the animal's strange behavior to her.

There were plenty of shows, demonstrations, and shops to occupy her time as the sparkling wares did manage to catch her fancy. There was even a booth selling rare companion pets, but like their larger mount counterparts, the little creatures screeched and howled when she came near.

The goblin merchant was frantic to get his merchandise to be quiet, shushing off the blushing night elf with a snarling face and thick-nailed fingers. Orifiel did not use her station as a shield, but quickly did as she was told, moving on to more sedentary wares with a sigh. She moved about the fair until she came to a darkened cluster of tents. The energy that surrounded them was dark, frigid, and reeked of death.

Orifiel found the dark tents and black iron structures to be from the early Archerus period, just when the first of the Lich King's death nights were brought from their holy resting places and horrible turned into frozen, un-living soldiers of the scourge. She spied a small sign at the entrance to the cluster that read: 'Guided Tours of Historic Icecrown' with a curious, if not incredulous raised brow. As she walked into the cluster of tents, several black-armored figures emerged.

They looked to her with icy vision, a few missing the otherwise essential organs as the once human undead among them turned back to their business. Orifiel approached the stall where the supposed tours were and noticed something different about the scene. The ice-bound steeds did not shift or shutter in her presence. Instead, they contented themselves with idly shifting the snow beneath their blazing-ice hooves.

"Can I help you miss?" a death knight of orcish origin asked in a strange, twangy Common dialect. His once-green skin was several shades bluer than it was in life, though his pale Mohawk and tusky grin belayed any seriousness his condition may have conveyed.

"Just curious, why are the knights of Archerus giving guided tours of Icecrown? Isn't that inherently dangerous to take civilians for fun tours in scourge territory?" Orifiel asked. The death knight chuckled and shrugged.

"Oh we've cleaned up this place a lot since Arth-ass kicked it. There's still a little bit of Scourge around the citadel, but Icecrown's no more dangerous than any other place in Azeroth. The only thing that'll bite ya now is the frost if yer not careful. Plus, it's something to do aside from our Scourge patrolin' duties, and we can earn a little gold on the side ta'boot. We choose to think of is as killing two birds with one stone, so to speak," he grinned. Orifiel smiled at his unusually chipper persona and gave an acknowledging nod.

"It makes sense, if not a little dangerous; you don't seem so bothered by it, though. In fact, if you don't mind me saying so, you're the first death knight I've met that didn't have a permanent scowl on his face."

"Not at all, ma'am. Shit happens. Some get over it quicker'n others I s'pose."

"Well I must say it's a pleasure to meet such a well-spoken orc as yourself Mr…"

"Name's Steve."

"S-Steve, really?"

"Yup, Steve Cashus as your service."

"Isn't that a…"

"Human name? Yes ma'am. I was raised by, um, same as Thrall, though my parents were a bit less prejudiced than Thrall's "human masters." No, my mam and pap were simple farming folk didn't see the horrors some of the soldiers did, so they were a bit more acceptin' of an orc orphan like me," Steve shrugged.

"Wow, what an amazing story. Why haven't I heard it before? I mean Thrall's is so famous…"

"It is because Thrall's story is convenient propaganda for the Horde. No one wishes to hear about an orc being raised by loving humans," another, hissing voice interjected. Orifiel turned her vision to an undead priest who's grey and damaged features were bathed in a thick purple haze. Steve rolled his frigid eyes at the new comer and sighed.

"Ma'am, this is my booky brother, Sue Cashus."

"My name is NOT SUE, damn it!"

"His name's Sue. After my mam and pap found me, mam really wanted a little girl so their named their next kid…"

"MY NAME IS NOT SUE!" the undead shouted with great audible frustration, "I am J. Rupert Cashus, madam, unfortunate sibling of this oafish green beast," Rupert sighed. Orifiel felt a light, bubbly feeling welling in her throat. She could not hold back the sound as an honest laugh escaped her purple lips.

"I-I'm sorry. I don't mean to laugh. Its just such an odd situation, I do apologize," Ori sighed, wiping a thin, laughter- induced tear from her eye.

"You have no idea," Rupert grumbled turning to his brother and motioning to the deathchargers, "It's nearly time for your patrol."

"Already? Damn…ma'am did you wanna come out with us for a tour? We can get you set up with a frostsaber right quick," Steve asked, giving Orifiel pause. She sighed and shook her head.

"I'm afraid I've never been able to ride mounts. Something about me always frightens them. M-Must be the way I smell or something," Orifiel shrugged with a slight blush. Rupert pursed his gray lips for a moment.

"Well, figure it out quickly. I'm sick of catching flack from your commander when I don't even answer to her, for Dark Lady's sake…" Rupert spoke, voice directed to his brother. Steve looked to the sad-faced elf and to the deathchargers with a raised brow.

"Steeds freak out near you, you say? They don't seem to have an issue. Let me check something out real fast, be right back. Sue, try and be nice to the lady while I'm gone, alright?" Steve cackled as he ran off, just out of range of Rupert's forming shadow spell.

"Of all the…" Rupert sighed turning his sight to the white-robed priestess. He scowled as his glowing, dead eyes fully took in the sight of her. Orifiel leaned her head in question, causing Rupert to look away. A few moments later, Steve returned with a little more excitement behind his frosty blue eyes.

"I got good news, ma'am. You can't use our standard-issue mounts: they're for the knights only. But we did manage to snag a few mounts from Icecrown Citadel a while back that ARE user friendly for yer kind. It'll be a bit extra, but we can take you around some of the extra spots we don't usually go, if you're up to it. Sound good?" Steve offered. Orifiel's heart skipped a beat. A mount that could carry her swiftly through the frozen wastes was a truly rare thing, in her mind, and before she could stop herself, her hand moved to untie her coin purse.

"I'd like that. I have some…field experience dealing with demons as well as scourge so, it shouldn't be too dangerous, right?"

"The scourge ain't got balls or teeth anymore. You don't have a thing to worry about, lady," Steve spoke with eyes seemingly asking for her name.

"Um, I'm Ori," Orifiel informed, passing half the gold in her coin purse to the grinning death knight. He held it for a moment before placing the shining material in his own secure bags and motioning for the priest to follow. Steve led his new charge to the stables where, sure enough, the living animals nearby began to whine and shift in Orifiel's presence. There was one among them that did not budge. The great steed stood, looking very similar to the other deathknight steeds, only it was head and shoulders taller than the rest with blood-red armor.

As Steve and Orifiel approached, the most the creature did was cast a curious look to the pair before returning to its previous position, seemingly deep in thought.

"He's amazing!" Orifiel smiled, reaching out a slow hand to stroke what little exposed flesh there was along its neck. The creature did not move to bite or kick the inexperienced dragon-elf, but did not seem to notice the friendly gesture.

"He's a Crimson Deathcharger. The others have all been sold or given as personal gifts from the Highlord. Mostly gifts though, the price tags on these things are damn horrendous," Steve cringed, "Do you need any help saddling up?"

"Oh…all I can get," Orifiel nervously laughed. Though she was not wearing the ideal clothing for riding, her tough, double-stitched pants were more than durable for a pleasure ride through the frozen wastes. Steve went over the basics of steering, leading, stopping, and the other essentials to riding while he guided Orifiel's steed out of the stables. Within moments, the pair joined the other death knights and others who paid for a fanciful tour as they prepared to leave.

The ride started simply enough. The group traveled through the sights where the Scourge and the cult of the damned used to wander, but all was silent. The massive glaciers and frozen mountains held a less sinister shine, and their majesty brought a sparkle to the new comers' imaginations. Orifiel, having never ridden a mount before, felt her legs burn from half-squatting whenever the group moved to a gallop, fearing the alternative of a sore bottom.

Her steed seemed to sense her novice's touch and moved with his fellow mounts in an orderly manner. Steve looked back to Orifiel for a moment before turning to ask the group's main guide a question. The guide looked back to the decorated priestess then back to Steve with a slow but visible nod. Steve brought his death charger around to ride along side Orifiel with his ever-present smile plastered on his frozen face.

"I got the all clear to take you along the crawling path, lots of history on that road. Interested?"

"Sure," Orifiel gave an awkward smile as Steve reached for her reigns, gently pulling the Crimson Deathcharger's attention from the pack. The pair broke off and headed in the direction of southeastern Icecrown, where tall, sinister ziggurats still stood in the distance. As they approached the eerie place, frozen webs and insectoid carcasses still littered the ground from battles old. Orifiel felt a shiver run through her that went far deeper than glacial chill.

"This place is…creepy."

"It's an old Nerubian city, Scourge-allied Nerubian city. Do you know the history behind it?"

"Yes, the old Argent encampments are just beyond that mountain isn't it? I think I flew over it when I came up."

"Thought you said you couldn't do mounts…"

"Gnomish copter," Orifiel quickly fibbed.

"Ah, gotcha" The pair continued through the old scourge city, all the while Orifiel felt something prick her mind. At first, she attributed the feeling to all the death and possible ghosts that may have lingered, but as they approached an open spot where one of the massive Nerubian beetles used to thunder, the horses began to back-trod, and the feeling turned to something far more real than specters of the past. The air began to reek of foul magic, a distorted, evil feeling that no brainless zombie could ever hope to wield. Orifiel instinctively stroked her steed's neck, and the action seemed to cause the slightly shaking mount to steady.

"The hell?" Steve grunted as he tried to urge his mount forward.

"Something's wrong here…"

"The scourge is gone from here though,"

"It's not the scourge…something else," Orifiel's words trailed off as she coaxed the horse foreword onto the large patch of iceless, blighted land. With much reluctance, Steve's mount finally followed. "It's almost…it can't be!" Ori whispered as a crackling sound came to her long, perked ears. She gasped as the ground quickly crumbled beneath her steed's scrambling hooves as the large patch of land fell, forming what seemed like a large sinkhole. Steve pulled back and lead his mount away just in time to reach the edge of what was a crater the size of one of the surrounding ziggurats.

"Ori!" Steve shouted over the roar of crumbling earth. When the dust and debris finally settled, the deathknight peered over the edge to see something that looked like a patch of shimmering stones in the darkness. "Ori are you alright?"

"I-I'm fine. The horse needs some healing though!" Ori coughed as she dusted herself off for a moment, ensuring she herself did not suffer any broken bones before moving to the Crimson Deathcharger. Its rear leg was bent in a manner it shouldn't have been, and its frigid eyes seemed wide with pain.

Orifiel concentrated on the broken leg as golden threads surrounded it. Within moments, the injury became rendered as if it never happened. The horse, seemingly surprised by the speedy heal, stood again. The light from its hooves shown against the strange, violet stones that surrounded them in the thousands. Orifiel felt her heart drop. Her own glowing vision took in the sight. What looked like stones were actually eggs, thousands of violet, pulsing dragon eggs that stretched endlessly in the small underground cavern.

"Oh…my…Goddess…" Ori whispered as the Crimson Deathcharger nudged her shoulder, as if motioning to be petted on its frosty snout. Orifiel obliged, comforting them both. While she could easily crush the small, slumbering unborn, the thought repulsed her far more than the thought of fighting them in fair combat as adults. Aside from her repulsion, any harm that came to the eggs might trip an alarm or send protectors to that remote section of the caverns.

"I'll send for help, hold tight!"

"That won't be necessary," Orifiel sighed and allowed her elfish form to slack. Steve watched as a small white spot at the bottom of the sinkhole began to swell until a shining, pale dragon filled his vision. The slight breeze in the exposed cavern was just enough for Orifiel to find lift. With the squirming steed in her firm grasp, Orifiel the pale dragon rose from the hole to find a slack-jawed death knight gaping at her. Orifiel set the Crimson Deathcharger down before returning to her night elf persona.

"You, you're a…"

"I'll explain it to you later; we need to get back to the Argent Tournament. There is a massive clutch beneath our feet. The Twilight Dragonflight is here."