Straydog Saga

Flea 37: For Whom The Bell Tolls

Argent Confessor Paletress was quietly going over the expense reports for the Argent Tournament when a panicked, undead deathknight burst into her office. Though the act was not uncommon among the surly undead, the deathknight quickly apologized for the intrusion, which made the confessor's mind creep with worry.

"Lady Carter, is everything alright?" rhe silver-blond human dressed in modest gold and grey robes asked, standing to walk towards the stern-faced death knight.

"Confessor, one of my soldiers and his companion needs to see you immediately. I do not have all the details, but in accordance with protocol—"

"No need, dear. Please tell them to come in." Paletress motioned for the deathknight to fetch her subordinate and his charge. The orc was a familiar presence in the tournament grounds, but the newcomer was completely foreign in Confessor Paletress' aged but still sharp vision. Paletress nodded to the night elf, who wore priestly robes of Elune, eyes urging whoever had the ill news to speak. "Greeting, priestess. What news do you bring?" Paletress asked.

Orifiel, along with Steve's occasional story-enhancing interjections, told their account of the incident, sparing no details of the sinkhole or the ghastly clutch it exposed. The one thing neither of them mentioned was Orifiel's draconic transformation, though Orifiel never once threatened the deathknight nor explicitly asked him not to. Paletress' already pale visage seemed to go ghostly white at the news. She moved back and sank into her humble, wobbly seat.

"T-This is ill news indeed," Paletress spoke as if her lost breath would not return.

"Confessor, you may not know of me, but I do command a sizable force at Mydrassil. I also have a…relationship with the dragon flights. Your faire grounds will not go unprotected. But we, er you, will need to send the civilians home…"

"I know of you: Tirion has told me about the lady of the Mystic Tree. Lady Whitedeer, am I correct?"

"Yes, Confessor."

"Well then, Lady Whitedeer, I am hard-pressed to disregard the word of a fellow woman of the light cloth. I will do everything in my power to ensure the safety of the grounds but…we have stakeholders who may not wish to see operations interrupted," she sighed as she placed her wrinkled hand atop the mounting bills and reports.

"Your stakeholders would be hard-pressed to complain once the violet dragons make a move. We can only hope they reason the sinkhole was created by some wandering scourge. If they learn of our discovery, they will not sit idle."

"You're preaching to the choir, my Lady. I will send word to Lady Windrunner and Lord Fordring. If the violet flight does think the sinkhole was created by scourge, they will hopefully stay any action against us, for now. Gathering forces here would imply we DO know something," Paletress stressed behind bound blue eyes. Though her heart seemed to scream to listen to the night elf's words, her mind echoed her orders and the will of the tournament's backers.

"They do not operate that way. They will attack this place for good measure. Once I return to Mydrassil I will come back with my people. I can only hope your Tournament is not attacked before then."

"I hope the same. If that is all…" the confessor nodded in the direction of the exit as she moved to see her guests out of her office. Steve looked as if he was going to speak snide words to his employer, but Orifiel cut off any motion to do so. Once they were outside the main tent and earshot, Orifiel found she could not stop an angry hiss and a curse from her orc companion.

"What, so we wait here like sittin' ducks?" Steve growled.

"You forget; you answer to ME, soldier. She might not have the authority to do anything in her little group, but that doesn't mean that I don't. I'll send word to Acherus for reinforcements. We can only hope that they arrive in time if anything does come of this. In the mean time, I will call back scouts and patrols for the night, just in case," Commander Carter snorted seeming to bring Steve's usual grin back to his face. Steve gave a respect-filled salute to his superior as she returned the gesture before leaving for the mail center as Steve continued to follow the strange dragon priest.

"I will find my kin and send word to Mydrassil and Wyrmrest for their support. I know the people of Mydrassil will drop whatever they're doing and throw on their overcoats at my word. Hopefully the dragons will act sooner, as they're closer to the threat themselves,"

"But you're, um," Steve spoke, lowering his voice as they approached some of the cheering people about the tournament, "you're one of them, ain'tcha? Why wouldn't they listen to ya?"

"Erm, lets just say I'm about as out of place among them as an orc at a human family reunion."

"Nuff said," Steve shrugged with a knowing sigh as the pair continued to walk. Orifiel led the deathknight toward the inn, where she assumed her family would be waiting.

Sure enough, the three dragons were enjoying a simple, if not tasty meal of imported Rhino tartar and bread. A flash of a smile came to Setharion's face at the sight of his seemingly uplifted mate, but as soon as the bad news escaped her lips, he felt himself settle back into his usual scowling expression. Kat nearly choked on her supper as Trenton let out an annoyed sigh.

"These dragons are like weeds. Will we ever be rid of them?" Trenton spoke as he folded his hands behind his head and looked to the ceiling. Orifiel shook her head and turned her attention to the distressed-looking red dragon.

"Kat, please head back to Wyrmrest and inform the Dragon Queen of this news. Trenton, you head back to Mydrassil and let Keesha and Han know about this. Steve's commander is already sending word to the Highlord and, if he allows it, we'll have a legion of deathnights here as well," Orifiel paused, motioning to the deathknight beside her in silent introduction. He waved to the other dragon-mortals with his constant, friendly-tusked grin and they nodded in kind. "If we can gather a large enough force, we may be able to get rid of these 'weeds' once and for all."

Imajin the troll mage walked about the bustling halls of Mydrassil's trunk unusually alone. The others seemed to feel a collective rumble in their stomachs while she could only rub the occasional knot in hers. Since the influx of new people began pouring into Mydrassil's renewed branches, she found herself ducking behind corners and hiding among her friends every time a familiar form in Dalaran student robes appeared.

Though she stood far taller than the gnomish persona they knew from their classes or from the ice cream shop she worked part time, something about the way they stared made her shoulders tense. She didn't see the faces of her roommates, nor the other close friends she had made the semester before. Images of their horrified faces and harsh words flashed through her mind as she wondered what would happen if they learned the truth.

She clinched her eyes shut and quickly shook her orange-puff head with a sigh. In her muddled state, Ima did not notice the large body in her path. She quickly apologized after bumping shoulders with the surprised shaman, who did a double take at the troll's use of masterful common. Ima blushed for a moment before coughing into her three-fingered fist.

"I mean, sorry bout dat," Ima spoke in her native dialect. The troll shook his head.

"Nah mon, I understood what cha said. Just not used to it comin from one of us, ya know? 'Specially when ya speak it like a human," the troll shaman smiled.

"Oh well, thanks I s'pose. I had to learn it so well ta study wit dem in Dalaran," Ima's eyes went wide as the words escaped her tusked mouth. She quickly clamped her lips as the shaman raised a brow.

"A troll studyin in Dalaran, eh? Tink I woulda hearda dat…" the troll shaman spoke with incredulousness in his voice. Ima sighed, though in the back of her mind a small voice screamed at her to be silent, and explained her strange story of gnomish transformation and infiltration into the exclusive Dalaran school system. Her forward thoughts reasoned that no human, gnome, or high elf would believe the words of one of her kind, if he was inclined to reveal her secret to the world. As her tale progressed a frown formed on the shaman's face. Ima found her words evaporate in his negative gaze.

"W-Wat be wrong?" she asked.

"Nutin, just sounds kinda wrong, don't cha tink?"

"Why's it wrong?"

"Having to hide like dat's got to be more work dan it's wert, ya know? Look I don't even know ya, so you can't fret about my opinion, miss?"

"I-Imajin," Ima spoke with questioning eyes as the shaman's eyes suddenly went wide.

"I know dat name! You fought with Vol'jin and his crew against da sea witch, didn't cha?"

"Er, yeah. I didn't do as much as da rest dough. I tink it be kinda silly I get da 'jin' on my name for it. Kinda makes me sound like a boy, right?" Ima nervously laughed.

"Don't say dat. I know a few who died in dat battle. My good friend Zuni, rest his bones, be one of dem. I hear he died trying to save da udders…dat be true?" the shaman asked with hopeful eyes. Ima sadly smiled and nodded.

"He was da bravest of all. He used to go on and on bout how he was gunna be da greatest hero in da world. I tink he woulda been too," Ima paused as her words started flowing on to another subject, "I'm sorry, mon. Didn't getchur name."

"Jango of Flowin' Waters, at'chur service," Jango smiled and gave a small bow of introduction. Ima's ear's perked at the name for a moment as she gave a small laugh.

"I used'ta know a Jango waaaaay back when I was liddle. We lived in da same village but, uh, it was burned down when I was a few years old," Ima spoke as her expression turned sad, "I hated him so much, he used ta tease me from sun up to sun down. Dunno if he made it, I know his mama didn't," Ima closed her eyes and shuddered at the long buried memory of that day, which resurfaced during the battle with Mizuon in Mydrassil's roots.

Jango felt his stomach tense as he squinted for a moment. His red vision quickly scanned the soft-looking but wart-kissed face, slightly drooping body that, in a few years, would sag in all the right ways, and styled but slightly wild orange hair as a spark went off in his memory. A sinister smile came to his mammoth-tusked mouth.

"Nah, ya can't be 'elf-face' you're too pretty, if ya don't mind me sayin so," Jango offered. His smiled widened as the troll in front of him went bright purple from the tips of her pointed ears to the base of her neck. Ima sputtered for a moment as the name that was the bane of her existence for most of her early life inflamed her senses. Memories of the green haired child who lead the others in their teasing brought renewed fury to her otherwise sweet demeanor.

Though they were both in their late teens, Jango's crooked smile and playful eyes returned her to that far away place and the furious temper that lay in mental dust in the back of her mind.

"You…y-you…YOU JERK!" Ima screeched, causing several people nearby to stop what they were doing and look. A roaring flame formed between her hands for a moment as Jango let out an oddly satisfied laugh. He dropped a healing totem from his side-pouch and readied a cooling water spell. But just as the temper and fire spell came, it was quickly replaced by a flowing stream of tears.

"G-Gogo! I can't believe it!" Ima sniveled and moved to ensnare the chuckling shaman in a tight, bear-hug. "W-Where have ya been all dis time? Why didn't yer family come to Sen'jin after da fires?" Ima asked through her trembling tears. Jango pried his arms free, loosely wrapped them among the crying mage, and sighed.

"My family didn't go to Senjin 'cause I was da only one who made it ta shore," Jango gave a sweet smile before gently patting the sniffling mage on the back, "It was dark'n I got lost in da desert. The scorpions and boars nearly had an easy snack of lil'Gogo but a wandering orc picked me up'n took me in. Rest is history, mon now stop yer cryin' elf-face. People are startin ta-" Jango winced with a playful cough as he felt a fist strike his side.

"Stop callin' me dat. It's not like I can call ya 'tiny-tusk' anymore and I'm not an elf-face," Ima growled as she began wiping her tears away. "I-I still can't believe it, Gogo. I'm glad yer alive. We got lots to catch up on, yeah?"

"S'pose we do, yeah…" Jango paused for a moment as he heard his name called from a pair of familiar lips. Ima could see the wide-eyed dwarf running up just behind her old friend as she stopped to bend over and place her trembling hands on her shaking knees. All friendly emotion, sad, joyous, or otherwise seemed to drain from the scene.

"Telma, what be wrong?"

"It's, it's 'THEL-ma damnit. And we just got word from Northrend. Lord Redmane and the High Mystics are going to make the announcement soon," Thelma panted, moving closer to the trolls and leaning forward to whisper, "They found a huge nest of Twilight dragons up there or something. They're going to call for volunteers to go up there n' fight them, or so the letters said. I only got to skim them. Thrall told me to round up the Earthen Ringers and have a meeting about it."

"Twilight dragons in Northrend? I've traveled around there recently, where could they have been hiding?" Ima spoke in her usual perfect Common, causing a small snort to break through Jango's serious expression. Ima cast him a bemused look before returning her attention to the dwarf.

"From what I heard, the clutch was found in an old Nerubian scourge city, underground. My guess is they killed off whatever was left after the Lichking fell and moved in. I don't know about you, but I'd love a new pair of dragon-scale boots," Thelma asserted.

"How soon will the rest of us get any information about it? Do you know, Miss Thelma?"

"I'm not sure, but I doubt they'll be waiting long on this. You're Lord Redmane's student, aren't you, girl?" Thelma asked, as her memory brought images of the young, often weeping troll mage who sometimes appeared at Lord Redmane's side.

"Y-Yes."

"Well then you can come too if you like. The more the merrier." Thelma motioned for the two trolls to follow. The dwarf shaman hastily lead them from the bustling trunk to the main meeting room where Mydrassil's leaders, their allies, and direct subordinates waited to discuss who would stay and continue to rebuild the Mystic Tree and who would journey to the frozen wastes to take the fight to their old enemies.

Orifiel woke to the sound of a tremendous explosion. The sun had set hours before, and the moon found itself at its highest point when the swarm came. A moment later, the sound of pained screams became evident in her groggy head as flickering flashes shone in her inn-room's window.

"S-Seth!" she hissed as loudly as her sleep-dry throat would allow as her elder mate slowly came out of a comfortable dream.

"W-Wuh?" He groaned as another, closer explosion brought him fully into the waking word. What awaited them beyond their comfortable room would make the strongest warriors shiver in fear despite the conflagration quickly forming on the icy ground. The two dragons quickly conjured battle robes on their mortal disguises and left the inn to witness the carnage.

The majority of the slain were Silver Covenant soldiers and deathknights. Though Confessor Paletress did not give official orders to leave, the remains of warning notices floated in the burning air around the Tournament grounds. Sure enough, violet scales glistened in their burning breath as dragons of all ages loosed their fury.

"We need to find a place to change and get in the air," Seth growled, looking to the embattled mortals with a curse. Ori nodded and quickly looked for a place for the pair to transform without being noticed, despite the majority of the mortals' attention being drawn by their attackers.

"Damn it there isn't time!"

"We can't just change here!" Seth shouted as a roaring ball of fire came just between the pair, sending both leaping to the ground, "They'll see and you'll have compromised everything."

"People are dying," Orifiel shouted, conjuring a spell of bold light between her fingers. With a roar of frustration, she sent the smiting light slashing into a nearby violet dragonspawn, nearly halving the creature as it fell to the ground in a bloodied heap. Seth smiled in approval as he grasped his mate by the wrist and pulled her in the direction of the stables where the gruesome sight of dead and burning mounts assaulted them.

Finding no living or un-living beings still conscious there, the pair of dragons shed their mortal guise, swelling into two massive creatures in the violet dragons' sight. A few of the younger drakes shivered at the sight of the elder black dragon's scar-marred form, while others simply continued their master's work.

A few even seemed to flee upon seeing the visage that resembled their dead former master. Setharion snarled as his massive wings allowed him passage into the smoky air with his mate at his tail. She closed her eyes a moment and summoned golden strings to her claws, allowing their light-bathed touch to spread to the black dragon in front of her. As the violet dragons turned their attention to the newcomers, the golden light seemed to give Setharion thicker scales as what might have been lacerating strikes fell like weak scratches on his form.

The violet dragons unfortunate enough to fall within biting distance were crunched nearly in two by an old but solid maw. The violet dragonspawn that terrorized the mortals below found their usually nimble feet slowed. Some of Orifiel's golden threads reached the ground below, snaring their steps and allowing the injured to flee to relative safety.

As the violet numbers began to dwindle, a dark spot on the horizon came like a malignant cloud. Setharion smelled something foul on the wind that well overtook the horrific sent of draconic carnage. His glowing golden eyes strained to see the specter, but as it neared, he felt the blood in his veins run cold.

The dragon, surrounded by its servants, consorts, and elder children seemed to be drenched by thick clouds. His face sparked a panicked memory in the back of Setharion's mind as the terrifying visage came into full view.

"I-It cannot be…"

"What is it?" Orifiel marveled at the dark creature, which seemed to be made of clouds and energy rather than flesh and bone. Setharion tore a young drake from his path and broke its neck before replying.

"D-Dargonax."

"A Devourer?" Orifiel asked, translating the draconic word to one her mind could better understand. The creature slowed his approach, motioning to his entourage to be still.

"So the rumors were true then: the great Setharion the exile has returned to Azeroth from his respite in Draenor?" the deep-voiced Dargonax calmly asked with no hint of mockery in his voice. Setharion did not reply. Dargonax turned his deadly gaze to the pale dragon, nodding to her with a continuously cool smile.

"And the pale lady is here as well, I've heard much about you both from my children. I am glad we could meet before what must be done is done. I have much to thank you both for, of course…"

"Thank us? You have a strange way of showing it." Orifiel interrupted, causing the cloud-dragon's smile to widen.

"It is not my fault you and your mate insist on lowering yourselves to defend mortals and lesser dragons. But that doesn't matter. When my flight is through, the land and sea will know only our touch. In gratitude for facilitating my second coming, you both are more than welcome to join us in this endeavor. This will be your only chance to do so, of course," he calmly informed.

Dargonax could not hold back his amused laughter at the sight of their confused faces. He motioned for his entourage to get into position. Setharion assessed the circling dragons, but in his sight, their small, weak forms were no cause for him or his mate to move.

"What are you talking about?" Orifiel demanded.

"Oh…you are unaware? Why it was your brazen disregard for your own craft that allowed myself and my mother to escape the finality of death. Just as the void was to claim us both, we felt the golden threads of time pull us through; threads pulled and set in motion when you altered the fate of one who was supposed to die. Though the red flight and their filthy mortal minions dispatched poor mother, I knew better than waste my chance on an insane aspect's half-baked plans. You should be happy, delivering me back into this diseased world in such desperate need of cleansing. Will you join me and my children in this effort, or shall I do the timeline a service and correct the error that allowed my coming?" Dargonax calmly asked as if inquiring if the two would like one lump or two with their tea.

Setharion wordlessly answered with a vicious fire blast to the left, severely burning the young drakes and sending them to the scorched ground. Orifiel bound the drakes and dragons to their right, slowing their wing beats until they sank like violet stones.

Dargonax closed his eyes and nodded a moment before opening them wide and slipping into a purely incorporeal state. His gaze fixated on the pair, perceptive vision seeking out weaknesses in their physical form. Orifiel's form bore old scars, well healed and not easily exploitable in her current state. His children's fresh damage on Setharion's scaled hide, however, made Dargonax's eyes squint with glee.

He lunged forward, seeping into the black night like a venomous shadow, and moved to strike. Setharion deftly avoided the blow but found his bones were beginning to ache in the frigid air. The younger, magically aged Dargonax seemed fresh, and his movements were seemingly uninhibited by his environment.

What Setharion lacked in youth and stamina he made up for in his mate's ability to heal his dull aches and minor wounds. But the incorporeal dragon deftly dodged Setharion's blows, teasingly allowing his form to fade in an out of sight as they fought. All the while, Orifiel was looking for the Twilight dragon's great weakness: a portal to the phase his physical form dwelled in the magical plane. Despite having enhanced night vision, she could not see the hallmark purple portal.

A sense of urgency began to overtake her, as she felt her claws begin to ache and her wings falter from the rate of her casting. Her golden healing threads soon began to diminish as a dull pain began to wrack her.

"What is the matter? Getting too old for this are we?" Dargonax calmly laughed as Setharion's strikes seemed to grow erratically guided by anger, rather than finesse. Suddenly, all good humor and poise left the violet prototype. Setharion's fresh scars began to glow in Dargonax's vision, and the scent of fresh power became intoxicating.

Dargonax lunged with stabbing claws as his talons dug deep into Setharion's sensitive scars. With both talons imbedded in Setharion's neck and shoulder, Dargonax began to feed. He let his form go lax, into a flowing cloud of death and corruption as he putrefied the black dragon's insides with his dark poisons and began to drink. Setharion screeched in a pain so intense he could nothing more than thrash around like a tortured animal. The energy, in its altered form, caused the violet dragon to swell, taking on aspects of his victim, and even as Setharion's wings failed him, Dargonax exerted little effort to keep them both in the air.

Orifiel roared, and summoning all of her remaining strength, forced her golden threads deep into Setharion. Her brow began to tremble as her energy coursed through the black dragon as it did the day they met in outland. Orifiel's determination shown in her eyes as the reach of her energy finally met the horrible corruptive wounds.

"Pathetic!" Dargonax chuckled as he forced his energy further, taking more of Setharion's liquid flesh-energy and causing a pain so profound it brought the elder dragon to the brink of madness. Orifiel pushed with all her might, golden energy and violet corruption in a tug of war for Setharion's life. Orifiel's heart screamed as she felt her power loosing ground. She found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on staying in the air and defending her mate.

Orifiel felt a claw digging into her back as some of the dragons still playing with their mortal chew-toys left their play and joined their master in his. As a vicious maw snapped at her throat, her grip on her beloved was lost.

She desperately clawed at the newcomer, a red-violet drake, swiping and slicing to remove the enemy from her. Setharion's pained screams seemed to cause a viciousness to rise within his mate as Orifiel's usually healing claws turned to the slaughter. She dug her claws close together within her enemy and pulled, spilling its entrails to the ground bellow.

She turned her vision back to her mate, whose usually red blood was falling to the ground in black, putrid blobs. His screams came less and less as the seconds ticked by. Before Orifiel could send her energy back into him, a beam of blue light flew into Dargonax's back, evoking a roar of surprise.

He turned to see a flock of newcomers flying into the fray: dragons with azure scales and an affinity for magic. Though the younger dragons knew nothing about fighting his kind when portals were unavailable, the one who struck him bore a familiar face. With a sneer, Dargonax turned from his victim and withdrew, sending Setharion hurtling towards the ground. Orifiel moved to catch him, but only served to slow his decent.

Her heart lurched at his injuries: massive gashes along his neck, chest, and arm that reeked of rot and corruption. She wasted no time in applying her healing techniques. Despite her fatigue, she was able to undo a great deal of the physical damage done, but when her usual rendering was complete, deep, glowing purple scars of corruption remained.

She used the rest of her reserves to bring him back to his night elf form; providing a smaller target for a passing violet dragon should they pursue them. The still dragon-formed Orifiel picked the unconscious elf-dragon and held him close as her vision turned to the battle above. She could see the blue flight in action, deftly dispatching their enemies as the mortals below began to clean up the remaining violet dragonspawn.

Only one among the blue dragon force seemed to have any affect on Dargonax himself. The new aspect of magic, Kalecgos, had fought alongside Krasus, Rhonin, and their allies long ago, when the creature before them was first spawned. In the bleak night, the blue aspect called forth energies from the same plane in which Dargonax's physical form dwelled, rendering his incorporeal form vulnerable.

Orifiel watched as Dargonax fought with her mate's own talents. Fireballs only an elder could produce flew from his lips, striking their target and beating the blue aspect back long enough for the beast to make his escape, abandoning his forces to their fate. Kalecgos roared for his consorts and subordinates to pursue Dargonax, and several turned from battle to obey.

But after a few miles of pursuit, the wily twilight lord used the cloudy night to his advantage, blending into the dark landscape and loosing the blue dragons in the night.

Orifiel turned her vision back to her unconscious mate. Without concern for what mortals might see, she returned to her night elf guise. She placed a soft hand on his chest. His heartbeats were rapid, his breathing was shallow, and he was unnaturally pallid. She pulled him further from the flames and the carnage as the blue dragons finished the remainder of the violet dragons and their minions.

"Seth, Seth, please wake up, please!" Orifiel whispered with a quiet panic and fear evident in her voice as she stroked his cheek. She held him close and put her face close to his. No matter how much more healing light she sent into him, his condition did not seem to improve. She shook her head as mortal forms began emerging through the flames.

Orifiel looked up with tear-filled eyes to see the battle-marked forms Steve, Rupert, and Commander Carter looking down to her. The two undead stared at the revealed dragons with a mixture of fear and disbelief in their vision while Steve's grin was replaced by a look of grave concern.

"S-Steve, he won't wake up." Orifiel spoke with helplessness in her voice. The two undead looked to the orc with wide eye-sockets as he quickly came to Seth's side. He shook his head.

"He needs help quick, or he ain't ever wakin' up," Steve asserted, glancing over Orifiel's panicked form with a sigh, "You're in no state to be transformin' or flying nowhere. We got a lotta work to do here, but you tell me where we need to take him to get better, and I'll see he gets there, alright darlin'? Don't cry…" Steve calmly spoke as he placed a hand on Orifiel's shaking shoulder. Orifiel did her best to stop the icy feeling in her chest as Steve effortlessly lifted the ailing night elf and cradled his form.

"My-Mydrassil. The tree might be able to heal him more than I can." Orifiel spoke with hope and certainty in her voice.

"H-He won't make it that far, he'll die before we can get him there…wouldn't Dragonblight be more appropriate?" Rupert suggested, earning him an angry look from Orifiel.

"That won't be necessary," a strong yet sympathetic voice spoke as its owner descended from his high place in the sky. The massive form of Kalecgos landed in the jousting arena before he himself took a smaller, human form. He closed his eyes in concentration, and a few moments later, a large portal with an image of the Mystic Tree within appeared.

"Orifiel, take the portal to Mydrassil. My flight will assist the mortals here, and we'll brief the others later; go now," Kalecgos insisted. Orifiel thanked the blue aspect before looking to Steve, who in turn looked to his commander for approval. She reluctantly nodded. With that, the three traveled through the portal and to Setharion's only hope for survival.