Ahahahahahaha! I win! I win! The next TCOP is ALREADY READY. I worked extra hard to get this out so that the entire story schedule would not get messed up! This chapter shall introduce the fifth, and last, main character for the story.
I apologize for killing people last chapter. Especially Elayne, I know you liked her.
The bad guy gets a very short section, you still don't know who he is. It's a he, ooooh, I revealed something, I'm so bad. Allow me to state that the magic paper has been neglected, it will get mentioned next chapter, that I promise you.
ON WITH THE SHOW
The gnome came striding up the steps, murmuring under her breath. Her blond hair was pulled into two buns on either side of her head, held with silver clasps. In truth, the form was only a meager disguise; the gnome was actually the bronze dragon Chronormu, although she was mostly known as Chromie. Beside her walked a lanky tall elf, glowing blue eyes, and long gold hair. She knew him as Itharius, a green dragon, and the two of them represented their respective Dragonflights as Ambassadors.
The third member of their group was a black dragon, normally taking the form of a dark haired female human, named Nalice. She was already present at the top of the ancient temple of Wyrmrest when Chromie and Itharius arrived, the Ambassador of the Black Dragonflight’s gaze was stony, and Chromie was sure she saw a trace of fear in Nalice’s eyes.
Situated at the southern end of the council chamber was the even form of the Dragon Queen, Alexstrasza, and beside the Life-Binder was her prime consort, Krasus. Itharius and Chromie barely got to their positions before Nalice blurted out.
“The Scourge has returned.”
Itharius turned his nose up at the black dragon and scoffed, “Impossible. After the events of the Wrathgate and the fall of Naxxramas the Scourge would not return...”
Nalice scowled at him, “But they have! Last night I received a message from Serinar, the Obsidian Dragonshrine has been overrun with Scourge once again! They killed him, Itharius, they killed him!”
Chromie looked from side to side, then sighed, “Itharius, don’t argue, what she says is true.”
Alexstrasza shook her head, “This is troubling. The Horde have gathered many more forces together in Agmar’s Hammer, and in response the Alliance are building an army at Wintergarde Keep. The two sides are preparing for all out war.”
“And what do we do about it, m’lady?” Itharius asked.
“I intend to quell this quarrel at all costs should a spark ignite it. Unfortunately, I believe the Scourge seek to take advantage of the situation. We must all be on our guard,” The Dragonqueen looked at Krasus, who had nothing else to add, and so she continued, “However; there are others who have arrived here on behalf of stopping the battles to come. They seek my council, yet they have been hindered.”
“In what way?” Nalice looked up.
“The ones of misguided paths have captured them.” Alexstrasza gestured to the southeast, “They must be rescued, but we, as the council, have duties to ensure the safety of Wyrmrest.”
Chromie giggled, her round face lighting up, “I know just the dragon for this job.”
---o---
“Continue working, necromancers, this dragon will be crucial to my plans.”
A ring of black robed figures stood around the bones of the dead wyrm, Serinar. Their master had forced the dragon out of his disguise in the last moments of his life, and the body was given to them to raise into service. Each necromancer wore a hood, shrouding their deathly pale skin from the light of the lava and flames that surrounded them.
“I wish for my new pet to be delivered as soon as it is properly enslaved.”
Without needing another word spoken to them, the necromancers lifted their hands and began channeling dark energies into the bones.
“Perfect... everything is coming together...”
---o---
Phoenix sat cross-legged in one of the cells located in the bottom of the barracks in New Hearthglen. He held a tiny mug, and brought it back and forth against the metal bars, causing hollow noises to echo throughout the entire basement. While he played with the bars of the jail, he whistled a lowly tune, something between a sorrowful elven lament and a nursing rhyme. In another cell, where the Scarlets had taken enough extra measure to chain her up, Anura sat and tried with futile effort to cover her ears.
“Cut that infuriating noise out!” The gnomish death knight screamed.
He dropped the mug as if on command, hesitantly crawling into the backs of his cell. Anura let out tired, heavy, almost panting, breaths as she attempted to loosen her tightened jaw. Jackal was sharing a cell with Aruna, and so he took the time to ask her a question.
“Why did your sister get so angry when Phoenix was playing with the mug?” The human glanced down at the pink haired gnome, who was tinkering with some odd invention she had managed to grab from her bag before the Crusaders took it away.
“She hates sound when there’s no action. If there’s conversation, a battle, any activity, noise won’t bother her in the least. When nothing is going on, like right now, she’ll just go mad if there’s an ambient sound.” Aruna never looked up from her invention when she replied, but from what Jackal could tell, the gnome was all too happy with what she said.
Jackal looked thoughtful for a moment, “Why do you think that happens to her?”
Aruna gave him an indifferent look, “I couldn’t tell you facts, she won’t tell me,” the gnome looked through the bars to see her sister’s glowing blue eyes piercing through the darkness. She looked back to Jackal and lowered her voice, “I believe it’s because of something that happened before the death knights became free from the Lich King.”
The rogue would have asked more, but the gnome gave him a look that he understood to be that she had no more answers on the subject, so Jackal left it there.
---o---
Silver snow crunched beneath her feet as she trudged through the endless winter lands. Biting winds whipped against her face and caused her tan skin to begin gaining a pink hue in her cheeks. Yet even though the elements of Northrend battled against her, she pressed on, and looked less than phased by the cold weather.
What she wore could not be considered proper for the climate that surrounded her. A black bodice laced with bronze rope covered her chest up until her shoulders, where the sandy colored shirt that lay beneath came billowing out into sleeves. The cuffs were embroidered with shimmering gold thread. Her pants clashed against the white of the world, pure black silk, except for down the outer sides of her legs, where in more gold thread, was designed a dragon. Each dragon’s tail was lost beneath her boots, which were laced with more bronze rope just below her knees. Wrapped tightly around her shoulders was deep scarlet cloak that trailed behind her.
She raised an arm to her forehead to block the snowflakes that drifted into her line of vision while she scanned the area in front of her. Her eyes were something odd, a muddled, metallic yellow color that never seemed to catch the light just right. Flowing in the harsh winds that pushed against her, a long braid of golden-blond strands of hair was held in place by silver bands. Before her stood the gates of a white and red town, its dirty and tattered banners of allegiance whipped back and forth.
She heard the howling of the wind, and looked over her shoulder. With no other looks behind, she glanced at the guards stationed in front of the place. A slight jerk of her hand pulled the scarlet hood over her head, and a flick of her wrist cast a spell of masquerading. Unnoticed she slipped past the guards that gave her not a glance, and further into their town of slaughter did she waltz with quick and near perfect-footsteps.
The barracks before her, the chapel to the left, and with a pause for thinking, she danced her forward. To those around her she was nothing out of the ordinary, she looked like one of them, a soldier, and a comrade in goals. How easy it was to slip past them without them even suspecting a thing. Patrols walked past, crimson dogs ferociously biting towards her, yet the masters held them back with an odd glance, and they did not question.
Delicate steps took her down the staircase into the depths of their barracks. They had set up cells for those they would capture in war for no reason other than for sadistic torture or interrogation. Oh how her heart went out for those who never had aid in escaping such a cruel and inevitably deathly fate. She hit the last step and her boots clicked against the stone tile of the dark basement. The soldier set up on guard duty believed his shift was done when she arrived, and hurriedly left by escaping up the stairs.
There were fifteen of them in those cells, she quickly counted. Most of them were sailors, deckhands, there only because of unfortunate circumstance and a foolish girl’s trade. She looked them over once more, four of them she was to ensure the ultimate safety of. As she walked, she looked, she searched, and through the shadows she saw two flickering blue lights and illuminated wisps of smoke. The lights vanished as her boots began to click louder as she hurried her pace, the last cell held the death knight, that she knew.
To the side she saw the flicker of sparked flames, a mage, and on the other side she saw the outlines of two other figures, one shorter than the other. She had found who she was looking for, but she was certain one of them was aware of her presence.
“What are you doing over here, guard?” The taller figure in the third cell asked, a man, the rogue.
She smiled, and she knew what was happening, her disguise was flickering, the magic fading. The four looked on with surprised eyes until her normal human figure was seen. To them, she glowed, like her very skin was alive with light. Her smile was warm, comforting, and when she spoke it was soft, but firm.
“I am Aridormi, yet you may call me Arin.”
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