"It's done!"
The exultant cry from the High Tinker brought Asterius out of his meditation. The gnome king extracted himself from the tangled mess of wires and gears, covered in grime and oil but looking triumphant. The druid joined him at the Tram controls which had begun to blink and whir.
"The machine is fixed, you mean?" He asked, carefully committing every action the gnome made to memory, in case he would ever have to operate the Tram on his own some day. It never hurt to be cautious.
"Yep, we can head to Stormwind right away!" Mekkatorque replied in a cheerful voice.
Asterius nodded in approval before turning to the recent arrivals, who stood in one corner of the Tram station, huddled together in the shadows and conversing in murmurs that, try as he might, Asterius could not manage to overhear. Many different races were present, of both Horde and Alliance factions, which begged the question of what exactly brought these people together as one. They were a malevolent looking bunch, all cloaked with dark, heavy robes, possibly made with runecloth or some other unknown arcane fabric considering the magical aura emanating from them, with hoods obscuring any sort of discernable facial features. The brief glimpses of the flesh beneath the robes that Asterius did catch showed pale skin that was heavily tattooed or sometimes scarred as if by self mutilation. It was the eyes that disturbed the druid the most, though. Each had the same vibrant purple irises, dilated so large that the whites of their eyes barely showed. They were sunken into the face with dark rings, either natural from lack of sleep or artificial eyeshadow, encircling them that seemed to intensify their gaze; a gaze that moved fitfully, almost hungrily, from person to person.
Warlocks. It was not a way of life that the druid would ever agree with, but he was in no position to deny help from any quarter. He shrugged off his misgivings as the leader of the cabal approached; a tall, gorgeous elf distinguishable from the rest by the Rend Fate tabard worn loosely over her pitch black attire. She threw back her own hood as she neared the druid, pale white hair cascading unnoticed over one shoulder.
"Time to go?" Ayu said in her somewhat husky voice. Her fel-green eyes, surprisingly different from her warlock comrades, narrowed as she gave the druid a calculating glance. Asterius figured that she didn't quite know what to make of him, which made their positions fairly equal. She had appeared out of nowhere, with a rag-tag collection of questionable individuals who followed her every word like well-trained hounds, in that they looked to her not only longingly but also fearfully. Whatever power she held must be something to respect, Asterius understood immediately. Other than that, however, the druid knew nothing of her motives, abilities, or character.
He only nodded in reply, not bothering to mention any of this that was going through his mind. For his own part, he was an unknown conscript that had instantly gone from Scout to General, only to use his newfound position to march his troops straight into the heart of supposedly enemy territory. Even at this moment, he was chatting amicably with the highest remaining leader of an entire Alliance nation, moments away from assaulting the stronghold of the human race on his lonesome. Neither blood elf nor tauren knew the slightest thing about the other. The only thing that the two could trust was the tabards they shared.
At her command, the small gathering of sorcerers crowded quickly but orderly onto one of the Tram platforms. Ayu joined her followers while Asterius and Mekkatorque took the lead platform. The gnomish king fiddled once more with the controls and the machine shuddered to life. A short screech of grinding metal against metal, and the cars set off at a rapid pace down the dimly lit tunnel.
In no time at all, the Tram cars had covered the long distance between the two once great cities. Mekkatorque had stopped the cars a short distance away from the Stormwind station at the druid's suggestion. Leda had led a hostile force through this territory not long ago, so it was possible that the element of surprise had been lost; Stormwind might be expecting more visitors. True to his instincts, as he moved quietly along the tunnel, slipping from shadow to shadow with the grace of a being half his weight, Asterius recognized the sound of voices echoing from the cavernous passenger loading center ahead. He motioned for the warlocks to stay and then crept forward.
---------------------------------------------------
Report.
"N-no enemy movements detected, s-sir!" The human commander tried unsuccessful to keep his quaking voice from showing how frightened he felt, brought on by the hissing voice of the entity before him that seemed to speak into his very mind. The Syreen Strider didn't seem to mind the fear he caused in the company of the four dozen guardsmen that occupied the cramped confines of the Tram station. In fact, the shadowy fiend seemed to feed off of it, visibly growing more powerful from their mindless terror.
Not that he needed the feast these useless lumps of flesh were providing. He already possessed far greater strength than most anything this world could offer. As a Strider, one of only twelve, he had been granted limitless energy, a near invincible body, and unmatched strength. He was human in shape, but it was there that the similarities ended. He was far taller, with out-of-proportion arms that stretched down the ground and ended in elongated nails that scratched deep grooves into the solid stone below. His whole body was entirely engulfed in a light consuming darkness that was constantly swirling about, almost as if he was made of some insubstantial black smoke. He wore no armor, though he did carry a dagger in each hand, both made of the same inky substance that covered his body. He carried those daggers as if they were an extension of his body. He could move them faster than the eye could follow, striking and killing before a target could feel the first pinch of its skin being broken, of its head separating from its shoulders. He could grant this entire roomful of pitiful mortals a painless death within the space of a heartbeat, though he had no heart to measure such things. He wouldn't, though. His master had ordered him not to, and the master's orders were to be followed without question. Besides, there was no pleasure to be had in painless deaths.
"W-w-we have yet to receive any communications from the Ironforge assault army." It was talking again. There were no words to describe the disgust he felt for these humans. He was so much more than them. It was like carrying on a conversation with a particularly nasty roach. "It is possible that they are still hunting survivors from the city. After the recent attack, however, I believe we cannot ignore the possibility that they have been destroyed."
Failure.
"They snuck in during the night shift, sir, when we had minimal amounts of troops on guard duty! We were not expecting any enemy presence so soon after we had sent a full army through!"
Excuses.
"Y-yes, sir. I apologize, sir. It won't happen again. The invading force has been cornered and their escape has been cut off. We are about to send out an armed patrol to determine what happened to the routing force in the dwarven capital. I personally guarantee, sir, that there will be no more surpris..."
The solder trailed off as four spherical objects bounced across the tightly fitted stone floor. One of the objects rolled to a stop less than an inch from his foot. It was a pinecone, he recognized with growing curiosity. Dropping to one knee, the human bent to pick it up from the floor.
It was the last thing he ever saw.
The pinecone exploded. Its woody scales shot out like bullets, speed and size making them deadly, needle-like missiles. Not far away, the other three pinecones had likewise burst into a shower of razor-sharp fragments. The station was instantly filled with the screams of the dying as the all-natural grenades took their toll; scales punched through hardened steel armor, tearing into yielding flesh on an unstoppable path. Some scales pierced the bodies of four or more humans, armor and all, before digging a pin-sized hole into steel walls or stone floor. Only a moment had passed, but that was all that had been needed. Lifeless bodies dropped to the floor, riddled with bloody puncture marks where the unassuming conifer seeds had impaled them through and through. The only sound now was the clattering of a helmet that had fallen from its owner. The polished silver gleamed in what little light was available as it rolled away from the carnage and fell into the pit housing the Tram rails.
"...Well," Mekkatorque muttered, struggling to hold in what little breakfast he had eaten. He picked up the helm, holding it between himself and the druid. Asterius was easily visible through the two fist-sized holes that had been cut into both sides of the metal like it had been made of paper. The gnomish king imagined that the head this helmet belonged to less than a minute ago also probably resembled swiss cheese by now. He caught a glimpse of something vaguely purplish splattered on the inside of the helm and immediately dropped it with a shudder. "That was certainly... uh, interesting. I'll never look at a pine tree the same way again."
"Never take the Earthmother lightly, little king... Like all living beings, she's survived this long by being tough." Asterius heaved himself out of the Tram railway, surveying the pile of corpses for a moment to check for survivors. No movement caught his eye, so he turned to extend a hand to the others. The warlocks, he noted curiously as he pulled them up, had an icy grasp that held all of the warmth of a dead body.
"We're inside... so what's the plan?" Ayu didn't seem the least bit bothered by the horribly grotesque scene of blood and gore. If anything, she looked slightly excited, almost eager, to join in. In response, Asterius gestured across the pile of bodies to the doorway leading into the city proper.
"If my soldiers are following the strategy I left them, they should be fortified within the Stockades. Our goal is to breach the walls and make contact with the rest of my forces." He tried not to be repulsed as the warlock cabal took to stripping the bodies of the dead for who-knows-what purpose. Looting the dead for supplies had its uses, but Asterius couldn't see any reason for it to be necessary in these circumstances, especially when the 'supplies' appropriated by the opportunists turned out to be bits of blood and flesh. He tried not to think of what they would do with such items. He turned away to hide his disgust, which was probably what saved his life.
A long, obsidian black dagger flew through the air, slicing the druid's face as it whizzed by, leaving a centimeter deep cut that grazed a line across his cheek and just barely avoided putting out an eye. Had he remained motionless for only a moment longer, the tip of that dagger would be imbedded firmly within his skull right now. Before the first drop of his blood had fallen, Asterius had already drawn his sword and batted away two more of the throwing knives out of the air. His eyes locked onto the shadow-filled corner that had spawned the projectiles and he shouted at the others to be ready.
Or, at least, he tried to shout. A curiously numbing pain was spreading across his body, arching out from the small of his back where it had originated. Somehow, even as the daggers were still in flight, the thrower had moved behind Asterius, digging one of those assassin-favored blades into the druid's unprotected flank. The attacker withdrew his blade and Asterius fell, as if the dagger had been the only thing holding him upright.
"We're under attack!" The flurry of movement had happened so quickly, but Mekkatorque hadn't become the High Tinker for being slow. He dove for cover in the only place he could think of, among the piles of the human dead, drawing his high-tech, high-powered pistol from its holster. The weapon was custom made by the king, himself. Its most impressive feature was a clip of a dozen metallic slugs that would melt after leaving the barrel to burn holes through armor rather than trying to puncture it. It was an innovation that Gelbin was quite proud of, and one that led him to call his little toy Spitfire. Considering the speed and ease with which Asterius had been dispatched, the little gnome hoped he would at least get a chance to use Spitfire.
A gurgling came from behind him. Mekkatorque whirled around and saw one of the warlocks, gasping for breath from a slit throat that spurted blood like a fountain. There was no sign of the assailant. He seemed to fade in and out of the shadows at will, killing indiscriminately as if it was just a game to him.
Ayu must have wanted to play, too. A blazing orange fire spread from her palms to the rest of her body, until she was little more than a humanoid torch. Flicks from her wrist sent out tendrils of flames like living serpents that hungrily lapped at the walls in search of prey. Her cabal of followers joined in. One sketched a circle of runes at his feet in borrowed blood from a human guardsman's corpse. The blood glowed an eerie violet hue as the gateway was finished, and a beast with the general form of a hound, though it had wicked looking horns that sprouted from its body along with hideous tentacles and far too many teeth, clawed its way from the ground and howled as it began to hunt. Another warlock opened his jaw to an impossible degree, releasing a virulent cloud, made of pale green vapor that would devour skin from bones at the slightest touch, that dispersed itself into the far corners of the room like a living entity. The rest of the group had begun to chant in demonic, siphoning their own power to feed the others.
Amused.
None of it made the least amount of difference. The flames found nothing to feed upon. The felhunter minion hissed in confusion, its heightened senses useless. The toxic cloud faded away without even a hint of success. Their foe laughed, its thoughts echoing in their minds, and struck again. This time, Mekkatorque was ready. A dagger sprouted from the chest of a nearby dwarven warlock, slick with blood. Rolling to his feet, the gnomish would-be marksman let fly with Spitfire. Three shots of molten fire sizzled through the air around to rapidly dying dwarven spellcaster. All three hit nothing, impacting with the far wall and leaving only glowing, overheated stone where the bullets dug into the wall. The murderer had vanished again without a trace.
"What sort of horror are we fighting here?" Ayu muttered. Those still breathing had bunched together, their backs to one another in a desperate bid for survival.
"We're fighting it?" Mekkatorque replied in a harsh whisper. "Seems like we're standing still and it's cutting us down one after another!"
"It's fast... and near invisible. I can't kill it if I can't catch it." The blood elf caught a glimpse of movement in the corner of her eye and flung a fireball at it, but again came up empty. She hissed in frustration, but Mekkatorque simply nodded.
"Right, then. I catch it, you kill it. Sounds like a plan." Without waiting any longer, the gnome king took off running, leaving the imagined safety of the warlock circle and dashing toward the exit to Stormwind, leaping over bodies in his way like a professional athlete.
His plan was simple; he was too frightened to think of anything more complicated. In his hands, he held a vial containing a mixture of his own invention. It was a quick-drying adhesive that he'd created long ago after a flock of mallards had landed in his own personal garden back in the small village on the outskirts of Gnomeregan. Fed up with having his garden used as a fowl refueling post, the much-younger Mekkatorque had strung several strips of tape smeared with this glue directly over his modest patch of land. His Duck Tape had worked wonders, snagging dozens of the pesky birds and providing quite the feast for that evening. It didn't catch on as a marketable item, but he couldn't count the number of uses he'd found for the adhesive in the long years since then. With a little good fortune, today he might be able to snag something a little larger than a duck.
He had started counting under his breath when he'd begun this mad scramble for fresh air. When he reached around nine, he leapt, turning in mid air and flinging the small vial onto the stone floor less than a step behind him. The crystal vial shattered, spreading its sticky contents across a good five square feet of ground. Sure enough, Mekkatorque had been a breath away from being the next victim to fall to the attacker's flashing daggers. The humanoid pretender seemed to appear out of thin air with weapons already arching along a deadly curve toward the gnomish king who had tumbled to a stop and now huddled quaking in a heap on the floor. The blade sliced open the back of Mekkatorque's mottled grey camouflage jacket but stopped just short of breaking the skin.
Confusion.
The little being was still alive. He had attacked and it still breathed. Why did it still breath? It was just out of reach. He struggled to slice it, to shred it, to feel its fear and blood as he had with so many others, but he couldn't. Why wouldn't his legs move?
"Now!" Mekkatorque cried in gnomish, forgetting to speak in common in his haste though his meaning carried over to the warlocks easily enough. As one, they formed a magical fire within their cupped palms. The High Tinker's eyes widened as he saw the growing wall of flames being conjured by the warlocks. They weren't taking any chances. With a squeal, he dove for a nearby bench normally used by waiting Tram passengers. At Ayu's command, the warlocks released their bound flames, which surged forward like a tidal wave toward the bound entity.
Pain!
He had never before felt this kind of agony. The flames engulfed him, charring his skin into ash. His beloved daggers melted into his hands, metal and flesh fusing in unbearable, torturous heat. He had to escape! Escape the fire, escape the pain!
Mekkatorque coughed. Acrid smoke filled the Tram station, along with the gagging stench of overcooked meat coming from the roasted bodies of the fallen. He stumbled out from behind the safety of the metal bench, now melted beyond recognition, and turned to look at the body of what had almost become his killer. It wasn't there. The fires had burned away the adhesive, and the creature had somehow escaped.
"We're in trouble!"
Vengeance.
They would pay. They had ruined his body. They had made him feel pain! They would all die. He was one with the shadows again, though their cold embrace made his tortured body cry out once more. He would bear it to see these insects destroyed. First to die would be the ones of fire. He appeared behind the tallest one, with the long, silvery hair. He would cut that scalp off her. He would make her feel all of the pain that he felt! The dagger raised, ready to fall and make the first cut. He would torture her until she couldn't cry out anymore! The blade fell, lancing toward her unprotected back to separate skin from bone. He would- ...something was wrong. He was frozen in place again, but it wasn't just his legs this time. His arm hung suspended, an inch away from his target. Though he screamed at it to move, his arm could only shake limply. The fiery one was turning now. He was exposed... helpless! A voice came from behind him, and his pain was replaced by something entirely new.
Fear.
"You thought you were the only one who knew how to hide?" Asterius said, his voice a broken growl in his feral state. It had been child's play to avoid attention when this thing had thought him dead. When he had seen it escape the flames, the druid had made his move. As it stalked Ayu, the savannah lion had prowled closer, delivering a stunning pounce just moments before it had begun its attack on the blood elf warlock. At the sound of his voice, Ayu whirled around in surprise and beheld the gleaming dagger that was about to end her life.
"May I?" She asked politely, gesturing at the quivering, shadowy form that had fallen to the floor and was now struggling to rise. The druid nodded and Ayu placed her palm upon approximately where the creature's forehead would be. It convulsed at her touch and tried to pull away, but the warlock would not relent. Its voiceless scream echoed within their minds as its body began to disintegrate, life force being siphoned away by the warlock's corruptive magic. Its limbs lost all form, crumbling into dust that drifted away into the stale underground air. Its head lasted longest under Ayu's draining touch, but even its expressionless face faded away, leaving only a bleached white skull behind, with features made of bone that seemed eternally locked into a scream of pain. The being's mental barrage had long since stopped, though. It was well and truly dead.
It had been a long time since Asterius had seen a soul absorbed by dark arts. He repressed a shudder, hoping that it would be longer still until he saw the unsightly act again. However, he had to let the warlock finish off this enemy. It had been a necessary learning experience for him, though it brought more questions than answers.
"We have to get out of here. Someone is sure to have heard that commotion." The druid said, releasing his feline form.
"Right... I'm surprised that you're alright, General... I had thought you dead after that first blow." Ayu replied, chucking the skull over her shoulder. Asterius shrugged, rubbing the still healing patch of skin that had taken the dagger, but the High Tinker answered for him.
"If only that old cow would die so easily!" Mekkatorque chuckled, giddy to still be alive. "What was that thing, anyway?"
"Apparently, it was once human," Asterius said, gesturing to the discarded skull. "What it ended up as... well, I imagine we shall soon find out. The Syreen infest this world, and this city in particular. It's time to put an end to it."
"And save Bronzebeard!" The gnome king added. He ran down the passageway to Stormwind, calling over his shoulder. "C'mon, the Dwarven District is just ahead! I have a little place we can hide out in for the moment, if we can just get to it."
"One moment, please. We must dispose of our dead." Ayu and her cabal had gathered the two corpses of the warlocks who had fallen to the Syreen assassin. Asterius grimaced at the wait, but nodded anyway.
"You have one minute. Time is of the essence." He left them to their own devices, not caring to think of exactly what they were doing with the bodies. He rejoined Mekkatorque, who had taken up a stealthy position at the mouth of the passageway and was currently fiddling with some sort of electronic panel on the wall. The High Tinker didn't look up as Asterius approached, but he did start talking in a low whisper.
"There is a gate here that can close to block all traffic into the Tram. I think I can bypass the security and close down the passage so that Ironforge will stay safe."
"Good news," grunted the druid. He cast a quick glance back at the warlocks. "Can you activate it now?"
Mekkatorque put down his wrench and caught Asterius with a shrewd glare. "I thought they were on your side. Why don't you seem to trust them?"
"Hmm... remember Kharanos? When I told you the vileness of what I had felt there?" At the gnome's acknowledging nod, Asterius continued. "That whole group reeks of it. The same awful... wrongness. I can't explain it. There's just something that doesn't sit well with me about them."
"Is that why you had that elf deal the final blow?" Asterius had to give the gnome credit. He caught on quick. "You wanted to see how it felt when they killed something."
"It proves nothing, but I'll be keeping my eye on them." Mekkatorque shrugged. There didn't seem to be anything more to say, so he turned back to his work on the control panel. Not long after, the warlock cabal, now down two members, approached the Stormwind entrance.
"We are ready," Ayu said, speaking for the group. Asterius gestured to the High Tinker, who flipped a switch. The faint sounds of chains and gears moving filtered from somewhere above the steel and copper ceiling. With a clang, a heavy metal gate fell from the rafters and shut out the view of the Tram station completely. The way back was blocked. The only path now was forward.
"Let's get this over with. Lead the way, little king."
-------------------------------------------------
Security was tight in the Dwarven District. Armed patrols walked the streets, making sure that no citizen of this portion of town even considered the word 'riot'. Asterius could guess that martial law was probably in effect, and anyone doing anything even remotely considered suspicious would be instantly imprisoned or worse. It made his job here just that much more interesting.
The small group of king, druid, and warlocks made it to shelter with no apparent problems. The safehouse Mekkatorque had promised them was an old blacksmith's shop, dwarven in design and abandoned for some time, judging by the boarded up windows and rampant weeds.
"It's just a disguise," Mekkatorque had explained in a low voice as he guided the group to a hidden entrance in the back, built cleverly into a stack of enormous barrels. "Allies we may be, but gnomes have a reputation for being intelligent. We get that intelligence from certain... unreported activities."
"You mean spying." Asterius had to crawl to fit into the hidden doorway. Inside, however, it was surprisingly pleasant. After he had crawled his way through the passageway, which seemed to have angled down enough for the druid to guess they were in the basement of the 'smithy', the building opened up into what looked to be fairly spacious and cozy living quarters. Asterius wondered if all spies had it this good.
"We prefer to think of it as being well informed." Mekkatorque led the way up a small, winding staircase. Here was a small, windowless storage area, packed with food and equipment. Asterius judged them to be on the first floor and he pointed to the east wall.
"This building is adjacent to the city walls, correct?"
"Yes, but- ...what are you doing?" Mekkatorque looked on with a raised eyebrow as Asterius began punching holes through the heavy oak walls, revealing the closely set stone blocks that composed the fortress walls that guarded the city perimeter. Asterius answered while still smashing through the building.
"There should be punch a good sized punch army hidden in the forests surrounding the city." Asterius had a fairly large makeshift doorway made by now. "All we need to do is contact them and tell them when to attack."
"And how do we do that?"
"Do you have a knife, Ayu?" From the folds of her robes, she produced an intricately designed dagger, with silver blade and pommel. A large ruby was set into the hilt, which had been forged to look like a skeletal hand gripping the gem. She offered the masterpiece to the tauren general, who admired the craftsmanship before slicing open his wrist with the blade.
"You aren't, by any chance, trying to commit suicide, are you?" Asterius only snorted in reply, coating the silver blade of the dagger with his blood. The flow of blood had already slowed to a trickle. By the time he returned the warlock's blade to her, the only sign of his wound was a splatter of dark red on the floor.
"As you can see, it's unfortunately not that easy. However, my blood has some useful features."
"Such as?" Ayu wiped her weapon clean on Mekkatorque's camouflage jacket, ignoring his sputtering protest. Asterius replied by closing his eyes and concentrating. The silver metal lit up like a torch, bathing the supply room in a soothing green light. The glow faded after a moment and Ayu returned her blade to its hidden sheath. "Oh... how pretty."
"Indeed. I ask that you and your followers make your way into the forest and find my men. The tabard you hold should be all the authority you require. I will remain within the walls to find a way to disrupt their defenses. When I judge the time to be right, I will cause that dagger to glow once more. That will be your cue to assault the city. I leave my armies in your command, warlock."
"Very well... good luck, druid." Ayu approached the stone wall and placed her palm on it. The rock sizzled and hissed at her touch, growing red hot. Molten rock dripped onto the floor below as the heat intensified. After about three minutes, she had burnt a hole clear through to the other side of the wall. Another minute was all it took to make the opening large enough to pass through. She and her cabal slipped through the new exit and disappeared from sight.
"I don't understand you, beast." Mekkatorque said as the last warlock faded from view. "You claim not to trust her, but you just put her in charge of an entire army?"
"You should know by now, oh ye of little hair, that there is reason to everything I do. First off, the lieutenants I left in charge of those legions are intelligent, responsible soldiers. They wouldn't do anything I wouldn't do."
"Sounds like the chain of command doesn't mean much in your little clique."
"I respect talent, not how many stars a man can pin to his suit. Sometimes, the two are mutually exclusive. If a General gives a stupid order, only a stupid soldier should follow."
"Mm-hmm... and?" The High Tinker sensed something else that the druid had yet to mention.
"...and there's another reason for the dagger. If my suspicions turn out to be correct, I should be able to track her using my blood."
"You're just full of surprises, aren't you? What about me? Are you watching your shoulderblades every minute to make sure I don't stick a knife between them?"
Asterius sighed, clearly upset by this slight failing of his ability to read another being. "The warlock is an unknown. My every instinct and my every experience tells me that she's dangerous. That her motives are not to be trusted. You... my instincts tell me that you are devious, self-centered, and deceiving. However, I can understand you. If I use my talents, I can see what drives your actions, whereas the warlock's state of mind is about as clear as muddy water."
"You can't read the elf's mind, so she's clearly evil. But you know for sure that I could lie through my teeth at you, yet you still trust me?
"About as far as I can throw you, which counts for quite a bit, I'd say. Now come on. We have a strict time limit here. Let's go cause some mayhem."
-----------------------------------------
The duo crept through the dimly lit, smoky streets of the dwarven district. Mekkatorque's bug-eyed goggles glowed a dull green in the darkness, his sight mechanically enhanced to pierce through the shadows. Asterius did not rely on his eyes at all, focusing his power into his second sight to keep aware of the roving patrols.
"Where are we going?" Hissed Mekkatorque as he crouched behind a vibrantly colored shop sign, depicting some sort of prancing horse. The druid glided across the vacant street, his steps soundless in his feral form.
"We need allies," He replied in a gruff growl, sniffing at the air with disdain. "I sense a familiar presence in the air. It's coming from the south."
"The Old Town, then. A friend of yours?"
"In this town? Surely you jest... no, she's more of an enemy I haven't killed yet. Regardless, loathed as I am to admit it, we're going to need all the help we can get."
"Ah... well, that just makes me feel loads better."
The pair continued in silence as they escaped the dwarven district. Asterius thought back to his information gathering in the Emerald Dream, mentally mapping a route that would allow the greatest chance of success. Ignoring the well lighted bridges, Asterius sunk into the chill, murky waters of the canal, crossing over to the city's most ramshackle district. Old Town had once been an outlying village of the previous Stormwind City, a haven for individuals who had outgrown the capital. The village had been hastily built out of any materials found on hand to support the booming population of the poor and the unwanted who had been unable to secure lodgings within Stormwind's walls. After the first city's destruction, Old Town had been incorporated into the newly built Stormwind City, though it retained much of its shabby and lawless nature. It was a mess of cramped, serpentine alleys and smoke-filled taverns. Only the presence of the nearby guards' quarters kept the streets reasonably safe to travel at night, and even then it was a risky gamble. It was the sole location of where all of the scum of the city came to rest. Asterius almost laughed. How fitting of a location.
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Hurried footsteps echoed down the deserted alleyway, lit only by the pale glow of the moons. Rats scurried out of sight, diving into the piles of refuse that littered her path. She took a panicked look over her shoulder at her pursuers; a fatal mistake. Slipping on the wet cobblestones, the human lady fell with a shriek, collapsing in a shivering heap. In a pained crawl, she struggled to get away, to find any sort of escape, but the narrow lane came to an abrupt end. Behind her, the lewd chuckles of her pursuers grew louder as they surrounded her.
"Well, well, well... look what we 'ave here... a li'l bird, in'nit?" The nearest ruffian said, grinning with crooked, yellow teeth as he eyed tonight's catch. 'Business' had been bad as of late. With the Syreen occupation, any fellow with the least bit of sense was staying safely indoors. Tonight, however, these thieves' luck had changed. They had caught themselves a lady, whose finery and manner gave the impression of being very well off. Her hair was styled in the latest fashions favored by the court, and her dress was of the finest silk, though ripped due to her frantic pace while trying to escape. The thief drooled at the bit of skin shown from the rents in the fabric, and he chortled disgustingly as he joked to his associate. "Whaddya think, Scrag? Business first or pleasure?"
"I think... neither." The thief frowned. Scrag's voice had never been that loud or comprehensible before. In fact, Scrag had never been able to speak in complete sentences. He turned around in suspicion and was greeted by the flat of a sword to his face. The steel crumpled his nose into a pulp and dropped the unfortunate felon to the hard stone, his head cracking sickeningly against the ground. Asterius could feel that the poor brute was still alive, but he briefly wondered what sort of a headache the human would wake up with. He didn't have time to give it any more thought, turning his attention to the distressed damsel. The lady unsteadily got to her feet, gazing at the tauren in pure terror.
"W-w-who are you?" She held back a sob, tears in her eyes as tried to limp away from Asterius. "Why is a t-tauren here in the capital? Why did you rescue me?"
Asterius couldn't hold it in any longer. He snorted in barely contained laughter. "Rescue? If I rescued anybody, it was those two fools."
"What do you mean, beast? I'll have you know, I'm Lady Prestor, advisor to Ki-" Asterius cut her off, switching from the common tongue into a language far more guttural, a mix between cultured speaking and animalistic growling. A humanoid throat would never have naturally been able to form the words he spoke now. At least, not without a terrible accent.
"Ashjraka." He spat out the draconic insult. Instantly, the helpless female facade dropped from the 'humanoid' woman. Undisguised hatred replaced stark terror. The frail weaknesses that made up her disguise vanished. All that remained was a being who radiated a sense of power... and evil.
"What are you, a dragonsworn? Or one of the kin?" She hissed in the same language, regarding her painted nails with disinterest. "No matter. I'll kill you, whatever you are. Who sent you? Was it those damned blues again? No matter how many of their kind I send back to them in pieces, they never seem to take the hint."
"I answer to no flight," Asterius replied, his voice mirroring the disparaging tone of her own. "Surely, you of all people would know that... honored clutchmother."
That response really seemed to surprise her. The Lady Prestor turned to regard the tauren with renewed curiosity. It took only a glance at his familiar, rage filled, emerald green eyes for the recognition to suddenly hit her and she howled with laughter.
"It is you! Who'd have thought they'd be stupid enough to let you out of your cage, my little backstabber," she chortled as Asterius clenched his teeth. She leaned forward with a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Tell me, how is that dear daughter of mine?"
"Dead. Just like you should be." Lady Prestor feigned sorrow, brushing away imagined tears with a dainty handkerchief. Asterius grimaced at the overly dramatic pose. "Quite an actor you've become, Onyxia."
"Of course! It's just so much fun to meddle with these pathetic beings... to walk among them, guide their every move like the puppets they are, without the moronic chimps having even the slightest clue... I'm like a goddess here!"
"Hmm... I've never seen a goddess skulking around the trash bins searching for scraps to eat, like a homeless bum." Asterius gestured to the two unconscious thieves that would have soon been a late night snack. "That's what you're doing, isn't it? Feeding off of the scum of the city?"
Now it was the Lady Prestor's turn to scowl and Asterius' turn to laugh. She hissed at him, her voice lowering to a fearsome whisper. "Now, as always, you live only because you amuse me... a freak of nature, a traitor to your kind. But you're entering dangerous territory, and my patience is wearing thin."
"I'm the one in dangerous territory? It seems you're confused, clutchmother." Asterius didn't back down an inch. He drew himself to his full height and continued mercilessly. "It seems to me that you were playing with your toys in this city, for what purpose I know not and care not. Something, however, seems to have interrupted your fun. Something has you taking your meals in the dead of night, feeding off of the rubbish of the city. You're hiding scared, and these new arrivals are the reason!"
"I fear nothing!" She countered with an inhuman growl. "Not dragons, not humans, and certainly not these puny Syreen! I could annihilate them at any time. They exist only because they intrigue me."
Asterius shook his head slowly. "You forget how well I know you. Onyxia, the greatest broodmother of the black dragonflight, would not sit idly by as her carefully laid plans were ruined by an outsider. If you could have disposed of these pests, you would have already. Drop the act, 'Lady Prestor'. Gods know why, but I'm here to help you."
"Pathetic green, full of your own self-importance. This Syreen Lord's eyes are everywhere. His hand keeps the young king out of my grasp. His soldiers keep the city locked tight. His thrice damned frost wyrm keeps me from even taking flight to escape! I, in all my power, am trapped here. What possible use can you be?"
"By myself, I can do nothing. With the right amount of help, I will bring this organization to its knees."
"Hmm? ...All right, pet, you've got my interest... it'll be just like old times! Don't expect me to tackle that wyrm, though... I could slaughter the ugly thing, but it would occupy me long enough for their swarms of little bug soldiers to crawl all over my precious hide. I've no desire to feel the bite of those fleas."
"Like I said, clutchmother, I know you all too well. There is no need for you to risk your own life."
Lady Prestor gave him a flippant wave of her manicured hand. "As if I would ever be in any danger, but speak your feeble plan."
"You have a clutch of eggs hidden in the city somewhere, am I right?" She didn't disagree, so Asterius continued. "We both know how little you care for the lives of your young. What I need is a distraction... All I ask is that you release your spawn into the city streets. Let the hatchlings loose and watch the chaos that follows. The whelplings would most likely be slaughtered, but not a scale on your hide would be tarnished."
"Ooh, you impress me, little green! Such bloodshed... Such disregard for life! Nothing like the puny softshell I remember. My little Asterius is all grown up."
Asterius turned away from the disguised dragoness in revulsion and walked swiftly down the alley. "Try not to get killed anytime soon, Onyxia. I want that honor all to myself."
"How venomous!" She regarded his threat as if it was the adorable first words of a favored child. "You would have made a fine son-in-law, Asterius!"
His hands shook from the effort it took to rein in his emotions, repeating a litany of soothing phrases in a whispered mumble under his breath. "May the Tranquility of peace be my companion along my travels, so that my mind shall be free from conflict."
The calming prayer of the Living Path didn't have quite the impact he would have hoped. Asterius hadn't seen peace in a long time. He tried desperately to push aside thoughts of revenge, as well as sorrowful memories. It wouldn't do to have his mind cluttered with such trivial matters now. Not with the dawn fast approaching, and with it a battle that would test him to the core. Asterius took a cautious look back, but could only see the first rays of light beginning to break over the horizon. Lady Prestor was gone.
No matter. He would see her again. But first, he had to live through this next day. Asterius sighed and headed back to meet up with High Tinker Mekkatorque.
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"Are we in business?" Gelbin asked as he heaved himself out of the bucket that had been his hiding spot.
"Yeah... the distraction's been set. Now all we need is to find a place to wait until this tinderbox explodes." Asterius peered down the streets, searching for a suitable building. He pointed to an inn on the far side of the district. "There. That building looks solid, and it's near to the Trade District, so we'll have access to the gates once all hell breaks loose."
Twilight was fast approaching. The streets were no longer safe. Druid and king took to the back paths, behind buildings where refuse was commonly dumped. They scurried as quickly as they could toward the inn, passing by wretched beings who were half starved with flies circling their filth-ridden rags, probably not even noticing as a tauren passed right by. Asterius finally reached the heavy oak door to the rear of the inn. It was locked, but oddly enough the tauren couldn't budge it. The door had been made as solidly as the rest of the foundation.
"Open this, twinky." He stepped aside, pushing the gnome king to the door.
"Me? Has the steak sauce finally reached your brain? Why me?!"
"Because," Asterius explained in a slow, patient voice, as if talking to a child. "Gnomes are only good at three things. Number one is technology. Number two is magic. Number three is blowing stuff up with numbers one and two. Torch the lock, melt the hinges, bust a hole through the wall. I don't care how you do it, just get us in there!"
"Barbarian!" The High Tinker didn't quite have anything of that nature in his voluminous pockets, but he did produce a set of lockpicks from his belt. "Never use brute force when intellect will do. Just give me a moment and watch out for enemies or something."
The gnomish king set his picks to the lock, but before he had a chance to ply his skill the door swung inward. Three rifles, half a dozen swords, and one very menacing looking battle-axe pointed at Gelbin's bulbous nose.
"Look out," Asterius called out dryly, raising his hands in surrender. "Enemies."
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Asterius soon found himself in a sparsely lit basement, with no embellishing furniture save for a single wooden table. He didn't like the looks of the implements that lay upon it, and the stale air of the basement tasted faintly of dried blood. Loose straw was strewn across the cold stone floor, clumping in places where a crimson splash of color was just barely visible. The druid had definitely picked the wrong inn to break into. This was a torture room.
Asterius gave the massive steel manacles binding his wrists a brief inspection. Carved into the doubly reinforced chains were runes of power, preventing all magic from entering this place. The druid had no doubt that neither strength of body nor arcane skill would break those bonds. Thankfully, he had other strengths. Persuasion came to mind.
"You really don't want to be doing that, human." He said in perfect Common to his jailor, who showed no sense of surprise at the druid's cultured tone. Oddly enough, the human didn't seem to show any emotion at all. His expression was grimly determined but strictly business. That was a bad sign. He'd done this kind of thing before.
"So, you speak our language... that will make this much easier, indeed." A new voice came from the creaking steps that led to the main floor. The newcomer closed a hatch after him, throwing the room into near darkness. Asterius hazarded a guess that the heavy door was soundproof. The newcomer walked into the dim light of the torches. He was an aging human with jet black hair and a trimmed beard to match. He wore unassuming clothing that seemed fit for a commoner, with a dark leather patch covering his right eye.
"Listen, I'm not really in the mood to be poked and prodded right now. I've got a job to do." Asterius sighed as the man with the patch inspected the tools of his trade. He selected a fine, paper thin needle about a hands-length across and turned to his bound captive.
Except for the fact that his captive was no longer bound. Asterius' limbs melted away like wax and the chains lost their grip, clattering onto the floor. The runes may have warded away magic, but a druid's shapeshifting ability could not be silenced.
Asterius had to give them credit; his captors reacted fast. With the well-honed instincts of a career killer, both humans had unsheathed their blades. The patch-man had even flung his set of needles with pin-point accuracy at their tauren prisoner. Asterius had to raise a hand to keep the razor-sharp needles from penetrating his eyes and heart. The thin metal projectiles firmly imbedded themselves in his palms and he regarded their bloody tips in dismay.
"Ouch. You know, that really wasn't necessary." Both men were warily advancing, but Asterius paid them no heed. The magical barriers kept him from drawing at the power of the earth, which meant his rapid recuperation wouldn't avail him here. He had his doubts that he could take on two fully armed and obviously skilled enemies with just the needles stuck in his hands. That meant he would have to bluff his way out. He held his former chains with distaste, as if he would have to wash his hands after touching the vile things. "I didn't say I wouldn't talk. Just don't insult me with these crude things."
Both men remained silent. They weren't fools. The one on the left lunged forward with his blade. Asterius caught the thrust with the chains in his grip, forcing the deadly edge of the weapon upward. The second man came from the right with a swipe at the tauren's unprotected back. This was it. It was time to take the gamble. Asterius caught the blade with his hand. The steel sword sliced through flesh, but the druid clamped down harder on its edge. Blood dripped down the groove running along the flat of the blade. Now was his chance. He had only a split second to make an impression before the two humans struck again.
"Here are the rules;" he said in a low voice, neither menacing nor fearful. He locked the pain away in a distant corner of his mind and prayed it wouldn't show. "You ask a question, I answer it. I ask a question, you answer it. Then I leave this place and I go do your job for you."
"What do you know of my job, beast?" The patch-man hissed. He tried to pull his blade away, but Asterius kept a firm hold on it despite the blood that was both making the blade slick and sapping at his strength.
"I know that, all appearances aside, you are not my enemy in this place." He couldn't hold it any longer. The chain slipped from one man's sword and his hand dropped from the other's. He made the movement look natural, though, as if he had decided to let go. "Each of you have a soul. The Syreen do not. Thus, you are not my enemies. If you are not Syreen, and you are obviously militarily organized, that would make you some sort of resistance movement. That would make your purpose and mine coincide. That is what I know of your job."
The patch-man's blade didn't lower an inch, but he hadn't struck the druid down yet. Asterius' words had hit a chord. "Who are you?"
"Those aren't the rules. Now it's my turn. Where is Mekkatorque? I assume that the High Tinker of the gnomish nation wouldn't be thrown in a place like this, regardless of the company he keeps."
"So that really is him and not an imposter... with Ironforge's destruction and its King in captivity, the gnome royalty was assumed dead. Having that very same gnome show up on our doorstep undoubtedly aroused our suspicions, especially standing side-by-side with an enemy shapeshifter."
"I've said before that we aren't enemies, and I can assure you that he is genuine. Contrary to popular belief, Ironforge is alive and well. However, the Syreen and Stormwind forced the city to choose sides. They chose to oppose the Syreen. Like you, Ironforge is not my enemy. Rather, we are allies in a common cause, and the plight of its King only hardens the city's resolve, especially that of its High Tinker. Again, where is Mekkatorque?"
"He is upstairs under careful surveillance until we decide what to do with him." The patch-man had yet to lower his weapon, but Asterius could see in his eyes that the human was now viewing him as something more than a captive. "You said you were going to do my job for me. How exactly were you planning to do that?"
This was the deciding moment. Now, Asterius was not just gambling his own life, but the lives of everyone under his command. He had to convince these rebels to side with him and not against him. "By destroying the Syreen. More immediate and far more pressing, however, is a little problem I am going to solve for you."
"Not long ago, a good man spoke to me of how the Syreen manipulated Stormwind into this war. Before he died, his last words were to lament that, even should the people of the city wish to turn away from their bargain, they could not due to the hand of the Syreen perched dangerously close to their beloved King."
"Thus, I'm offering you this bargain; I will rescue this King of yours. In return, you commit whatever forces you have to the upcoming struggle against the Syreen. You fight for your city. That is all I ask."
The human's look was somewhat skeptical. "What makes you so confident that you'll succeed where we cannot?"
"Every step I have taken on this continent has been earned in blood. I have fought my way from the northernmost reaches of this war down to its very heart. It is that heart that I now intend to rip out. I will stop at nothing to end this conflict. No being will stand in my path. No obstacle will slow me down. The Syreen's legacy of death ends here, in this city, by my hand."
Asterius radiated supreme confidence. His visage was that of a messenger of destiny. "I am Asterius, General of the armies of Rend Fate. I will... not... fail."
That seemed more than enough to convince the human. A glance at his companion and they both sheathed their swords. "...I am Elling Trias, leader of the Patriots. Perhaps we can help each other, after all."
