Alone in the Dark Pt. 1

The battle had been long and difficult, but nothing out of the ordinary in the Arathi Highlands. As usual, little ground had been gained for either side, the Keepers left for Stromgarde Keep, and the Blacktooth Grin had left for Hammerfall. Not long afterwards, scouts from each side returned to the site and tallied the dead. Though the Keepers found all of their missing soldiers, the Grin was missing one, a Tauren, a healer, someone very important...but where was she?

---

Felora woke to the feeling of something trickling down the back of her head; it might have been sweat or blood, for all she knew. Her eyes fluttered open to find a group of human men standing over her, all wearing various grim expressions - save for perhaps the warrior and warlock, who looked more eager and excited. Each wore a red and white tabard blazoned with the banner of Stromgarde. Felora's eyes grew wide and she coughed slightly, craning her neck to look beyond the group of men to a faint source of light. A hard slap to the side of her face brought her attention back to the warrior in front of her.

---

Aeldon had seen this one before, if only briefly. She rarely left the Chieftain's side but to heal the wounded. With her in the Keepers' custody, the Blacktooth Grin was short a healer. Aeldon thought of the situation, wondering what the capture of such an important person would do to the zeal of the Grin.

The druidess cried out in pain as Hifazat attacked her with a Curse of Agony. As pain washed through her body, he sighed suddenly.

"Even Faquarl was a harder one than this. Look at how she withers. She should be easy to crack."

Felora's ears perked at Faquarl's name. She proceeded to scowl at Hifazat as though she had understood what he'd said.

"Ah, you may have struck a nerve there, Hifazat. See how she stares at you," Jerome remarked.

Hifazat scoffed. "The Grin are little more than animals. This one is no different."

"Animals or not, they need to pay for their assault on Danath."

"Ah, but I think this one is different. This one," Rexor spoke up, out of breath from the beating he was giving, "is very close to their leader. She has information that we need, she must."

Hifazat sighed at Rexor. "Of course, but how are we going to get it out of her?"

Aeldon let out a large cloud of smoke from his pipe as he watched on. "Carefully. She can't talk if she's dead."

Rexor gave Felora another punch to the head. "Carefully? That doesn't have to mean gently..."

Aeldon approached Felora, stopping Rexor from delivering another hit, and leaning down to face her.

"Talk," he said in broken Orcish, "Talk...we stop. Talk...no...end life."

Felora blinked to hear the gutteral sounds coming from the throat of a human, then bit back with an angry and distressed stream of Orcish. Aeldon could make out very little, save for something asking 'why'.

He stood and whispered something to Rexor, avoiding Hifazat, and stepping back into the darkness of the room. Keeping his eyes locked on Felora, he made a slight grin.

"At least we know that she can say something other than 'moo'."

Everyone in the room let out a bark of laughter, and continued with the interrogation...

---

The rope worried at her bare wrists as she twisted in an effort to relieve some of the pressure on her shoulders. She'd been tied for days now, while the humans moved her around the Keep in attempts to ward off the threat of the Grin finding her before they were ready to mount a defense. Her whole body ached and her throat was parched. They were keeping her alive, but she wasn't sure what they wanted - they never said anything specific. Felora sighed. What would Ashenrock think of her - she'd been so stupid, letting herself be caught like this. Hopefully the clan would be looking for her. If anyone came searching, it would be the rogues - the Grin had rogues coming out their ears. All she had to do was wait, and endure.

---

Mortael crept along the grounds of Stromgarde, carefully avoiding the multitude of humans wearing the colors of the Grin's long and favored enemy. They had been combing Arathi for weeks and there was still no sign of the chieftain's Seer. He was beginning to worry that when they did find her, she wouldn't be breathing. Arahin stalked behind him a few yards away, and Mortael watched as the fellow rogue quickly and silently incapacitated one of the guards. The two Dreadstalkers made their way toward the hall where Galen Trollbane held audience with his ilk. Arahin glanced at him.

"You think…?" he whispered.

Mortael shook his head. "Of course not. I'm going to check the crypt. Take the other side - leave Trollbane be."

The blood elf nodded an affirmative and moved away. Mortael slipped past another patrol of guards and down into the crypt where Thoras Trollbane lay.

There were no guards, just a few old humans in robes. Certainly no tauren here, he thought. He turned to go, but something in a corner caught his eye. Moving toward it for a closer look, he was rewarded with a dust-covered purple hat, splotched here and there with the dark stains of what could only be blood. Mortael frowned and made his way quickly back to the surface, where he found Arahin waiting beneath the arbor. The elf's face was grim as he saw what Mortael held. The two rogues quickly made their way back to the road outside the Keep. A small contingent of Grin met them.

"Deady Mort, you find anything?" Crunck asked.

"Well, no Keeper presence," Mortael answered.

Crunck looked disappointed.

"That, however, isn't the exact answer. I have found something....Warlord," he said, turning to Yagyu. "I need your ear when you get a moment. And I suggest that you get that moment fast."

Yagyu's brow furrowed.

"What is it Mort?" he asked.

"I've found what is likely a trace of Felora, sir. I didn't see her there. But her hat was wedged in a corner of the crypt."

He held up the slightly misshapen hat to show Yagyu. "Looks like we know where she went..."

"Damn Keepers!" Yagyu bellowed. "I knew they had somethin' ta do with her disappearance."

"Get in there! Find Felfel! We smash them!" Crunck burst out.

Mortael sighed.

"She's not here, Crunck...at least not now. Arahin, with me, if you don't mind. Let's leave the Keepers a message."

Arahin grinned at him. "No problem."

As the rogues moved back toward Stromgarde Keep, Yagyu clenched his jaw and turned to the rest of the Grin standing behind him.

"Move it, Grin! Form up! I want this place full searched out!" he yelled. "Everyone look for clues to Felora!"

As the grots scrambled to obey, Yagyu stood at the edge of the road and stared at the great Keep. The Chieftain would not be pleased.

---

Ashenrock sat quietly on his bed, the worry on his face seemed permanently etched there. Too many bad things had happened to him and his family as of late…and now this. Felora was missing and presumed to be captured by the Keepers. Some in the Grin had worried that she might be dead, but Ashenrock was positive that she was alive…and he was going to find her. His fondness for the Tauren female was always evident. She was the first one in the guild that he had really connected with. She seemed to understand him, and she was his pillar to lean on when he couldn't stand on his own two hooves. She was grounded. Anytime Rock would overreact…she was there to bring him back down and put things in their proper perspective.

Someone started knocking on his door. Without even looking away from his window, the Warchief said, "Enter."

The door slowly opened and Mortael appeared. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Ashenrock didn't move. He didn't look at Mortael or even bother to stand up and return Mortael's crisp salute. He simply floated the words, "Find Felora, Mortael." Like a good soldier, Mortael didn't question the order.

"Yes, sir, I will not fail."

Suddenly Ashenrock rose upon hearing those words, seeming to snap out of whatever daydream he was in. He turned and faced Mortael, his brow furrowing.

"I know," he said firmly, and saluted the rogue.

Mortael returned the salute. "Sir, should I do this alone?"

Ashenrock looked back out the window, searching for something that he would never find. "No one should be alone, Mort."

Mortael wasn't sure if that was directed at him or if it were a simple statement, but then Ashenrock added, "Take anyone, and anything that you need. But Mortael…don't try to free her yourselves, it's far too dangerous. Just get her a message."

Ashenrock turned away from the window, gazing back at Mortael with an angry determination and seemingly renewed self-awareness. "You tell her that we're coming for her." Mortael conceded a wry smile and nodded to the Warchief informally.

"Yes, sir," he said. He then turned away and shut the door behind him.

Rock then grabbed his pack and headed for the door. Just as he was pulling it open, the ceremonial dagger that Gorfrunch had given him caught his eye. He walked over to it, picked it up, and sheathed it by his side. Perhaps it was time to ask Yagyu to show him how a Warrior wielded it.

---

Aeldon was sure to follow the prisoner wherever she was taken. He was one of the few Keepers who could understand Orcish, and one of a smaller minority willing to speak to the Tauren. He disliked being present at the interrogation, it reminded him of what happened to him years before, but he knew it had to be done; at least, that was what he kept telling himself. Being present was only aggravated by the fact he held little hatred for Tauren, they were one of the few species he felt he could get along with, despite their alliance with the Orcs.

Through the dim light of the chamber, he could see Felora, bleeding from both magically and physically inflicted wounds, strung to the ceiling like a cow ready for slaughter. He smoked his pipe and paced around the prisoner, watching each blow that was landed upon her by the 'interrogators.' It had gone on for hours, the punishment stopping only long enough for a new interrogator to replace the old one. At a point, he grew tired of the noises.

"Enough," he said, raising his hand to the chosen torturer, "Leave us. Its time to ask her some questions."

"With all due respect, sir," he began, "I don’t think she's had enough yet."

Aeldon grabbed the man’s fist before he could land another hit and pulled him away, saying, "And with all due respect, what thought in that pathetic head of yours thinks your disobedience wont be repaid with a dagger in your back? Now, leave."

The interrogator grumbled, but left. With a wave of his hand, the guards left as well, leaving Aeldon alone with the prisoner. He placed his pipe down on a nearby table and grabbed the key to the chains. He dragged a chair from the table to Felora, and, oddly, unlocked the chains holding her to the ceiling, allowing her to fall onto the chair behind her. He locked the chains to a loop on the floor and went back to the table, returning to Felora with a large bowl filled with cool water. She looked up at him angrily, but he sighed.

"You haven't had anything to drink in days, and the loss of blood is not helping much..."

He realized he had been speaking in Common, but could not figure how to easily translate it. He took a drink from the bowl, smiled, and then place the bowl before Felora. A smile crossed his face. She sniffed at the water, then began drinking it greedily. When the bowl was emptied, he returned to the table and went back to the prisoner with his pipe.

"Now..." he began in common, but switched to Orcish, "...you will talk."

She looked up and returned his order with a glare.

"Me don’t...want...to hurt you. Me stop them, you must talk, or they hurt more you."

Something seemed to cross her face, fear, or terror perhaps, or it could have been the flickering shadows from the torch light. Aeldon too his pipe and began smoking again, thinking of what to start asking her, and how to say it.

"Let...we....start...."

And so, the true interrogation began.

---

The fire crackled and hissed as burning logs spit out blobs of sap with sharp popping noises. The Warlord peered intently at the map illuminated by the fire. The outlines of the Eastern Kingdoms were clear to the Warchief who stood looking over his shoulder.

Yagyu pointed at marks on the map in the section marked ‘Arathi.’

“Here Chief. Yew can see it better if’n ya look at it as a whole picture. The Keepers hit us here,” he pointed to the location of Hammerfall then continued, “Felora comes up missin’…then they hit us again at Stonard. We find evidence of supplies at Menethil and Mortael finds evidence of Felora in the Keep.” He paused as he scratched his topknot in thought.

“I can’t make heads ner tails of it, Boss. All I know is they needed war supplies for movement and taking Felora indicates they need information. But fer whut?”

It was clear to Yagyu that Ashenrock was similarly befuddled as he said nothing but simply peered at the map. He looked at the Warchief’s belt and saw the glinting ceremonial dagger affixed there. It was the first time he had seen the Warchief wearing a blade and although the dagger hung loosely from its leather strap, the gesture spoke volumes to the orc. He could see the seriousness on the tauren’s face and he knew that the time for action was drawing near. Ashenrock must have felt Yagyu’s eyes on the blade as he looked down at the dagger and smiled thinly.

“First things first Chief…ifn’ yer gunna wear that in battle, better make sure it won’t come off.” With that he tugged at the leather strap and adjusted the blades position, edge up so that the Warchief could draw and cut in one smooth motion. With a smile, he looked approvingly at the now secured blade and the determined druid who wore it.

---

Stonemug paced the floor for the umpteenth time, pausing only a moment to wonder if the groove in the floor was only his imagination, or truly the work of his boot's constant wandering. A pained half-grin crossed his face; how easy it was to take the hunter, who could sit unflinching hours in the tall grass, waiting for the perfect shot, and reduce him to this twitching, just by telling him to wait in a stone building. The nervous edge had started at the moment this operation had begun, and hadn't ceased even here, within the walls of Honor Hold.

Breathing deeply, as he did to steady his nerves before the hunt, the dwarf strode the length of the floor purposefully, seeking the boot flask of Sweet Amber on the desk in his barracks. The burning liquid brought its own sharp focus, forced his mind to quicken enough to pull disparate memories together into a single flowing picture.

---

The Prince's instructions had been simple, if somewhat lacking in concrete details - gather a contingent of Keepers and deliver them to reinforce Danath Trollbane's forces at Honor Hold. See to the defenses, and await further instructions. Only one small problem - such a regiment would need supplies, as the storehouses of Honor Hold were already at subsistence level, thanks to years of fighting the Burning Legion. Similarly, the intense fighting in the Arathi Basin meant that supplies were equally scarce at Stromgarde. The force would need to secure its own food and ammunition on the trip.

A solution had quickly presented itself to the hunter. The city of Hammerfall would have its own supplies for the Horde operating in the Basin. Might not the Keepers gain the necessary sundries and strike a blow at their enemy simultaneously? The scouts were certain Hammerfall was hard pressed and a determined attack would meet little resistance. A large force attacking forward, and perhaps a smaller group sneaking in the rear, could steal the supplies and get out handily, with little threat of retaliation.

Stonemug's brow wrinkled in frustration - it should have been that easy. The contingent sent to attack Hammerfall was smaller than the hunter would have liked, but the opposition should have been equally small. He remembered the numbing ache when the advanced scouts returned, bearing news that an unexpected standard had been sighted on the palisades as the Keepers approached.

The cursed banner of the Blacktooth Grin.

Every report had placed the band in Stonard, still grieving for their lost leader or something. By the time the report had been received, the second raiding party had already approached the city, and Stonemug had pushed the attack, without knowing the number or disposition of the new enemy. The crushing wave that met the valiant warriors of Stromgarde as they approached the city was far larger than any of the commanders had expected.

A tear welled up in the dwarf's eye at the memory. Fine young lads, new to the tabard of the Keep, struck down by the arrows and swords of the Grin - hewn to pieces by vicious Yagyu's fury and Ashenrock's mighty spells. The banners of Stromgarde had rushed, then stumbled, and then faltered before the onslaught, until they were forced back into the rocks of Arathi. Barely a cartload of supplies had been pilfered before the retreat was sounded, not nearly enough for the Prince's command.

Stonemug pressed the flask to his lips, drinking in another mouthful of the fiery brew, and his thoughts turned to the prisoner. A flash of true pain assailed his senses - the Tauren would be with Rexor and Hifazat now, a thought that sent a shudder up the hunter's spine. He had no great love for any of the Horde, but that demon Hifazat....no, the thought was too much to bear. Better a single clean axe stroke - if the situations were reversed, that would be all the hunter would ask.

---

The decision to attack Stonard was, like Hammerfall, merely a matter of convenience. Situated on the road to Nethergarde, the Keepers would have to subdue it, or risk any later supply trains on the way to the Dark Portal. Attacking the camp of the Grin would mean heavy casualties, even more than at Hammerfall, and the dwarf had no illusions of a lucky strike or surprise attack. The swamp would give clues the enemy could easily read - a frightened bird, or the splashing of the water as the river was crossed. Scouts from the fort would be back to Stonard well before the front lines could be drawn up.

The Keepers had covered a great distance in relative stealth - having abandoned the long road across Thandol Span after the failed raid on Hammerfall, Stonemug devised a plan with the help of his Draenei wife, Aurhia. The shaman amongst the newcomers worked magic on the waters south of Stromgarde, allowing the Keepers and their supply train to literally run across its surface, moving the entire detachment atop the waves to Menethil Harbor without a single track to mark them. From the Harbor, the group had used the gryphons to haul their soldiers and equipment to the forests of Darkshire. Some supplies had to be left behind at Menethil, with promises by the local lords to move them along as soon as the gryphons could again be spared. The hunter had acquiesced only when it was obvious that further delay would mean missing the gathering of allies in time for the assault to go forward as planned.

In Darkshire, the news was grim indeed. The Knights of the Light, who had given oaths to join the Keepers in the attack, failed to arrive. No news came of their approach, and whispers amongst the soldiers indicated that they had, perhaps, been ambushed en route. Thankfully, many members of the Brethren had also answered the call, along with other scattered folk, mostly stout warriors whom individual Keepers had battled with side by side on earlier sorties. Such was the troop that rode forth through Deadwind Pass and into the Swamp of Sorrows.

---

The battle at Stonard seemed a terrifying memory of earlier Hammerfall. The Grin, secure in their superior numbers, poured out of the front gates of the fort, forsaking the easier defense of the walls. Even Stonemug had to appreciate their tactics - the group had sent out a team of assassins and rogues, laying in wait to attack the healers behind the Keepers lines after the main force went forward. Trapped between the powerful force at the gate and the highly efficient killers to the rear, the Keepers’ line quickly fell into disorder and faltered. Axes and swords fell upon heavy armor, men screamed their death wails, and the fetid swamp drank deep of blood. Seeing little hope of salvaging the attack, the order was given to retreat to Nethergarde, but as the Keepers placed volunteers at the rear of the column to fight a desperate rear guard, the Brethren rallied their wounded and turned instead back to the west, racing full speed towards the gap of Deadwind. Seeing their alliance broken and the strength separated, the survivors of Stromgarde routed, racing by individual paths into the dusty wasteland beyond the swamp, seeking refuge behind the stone wall of Nethergarde.

---

What happened after Stonard, Stonemug could scarce remember. There was a battle, or at least the start of one - of that he was certain. The Grin had been gathered below the hill, ready to charge up. Their vanguard had pushed even to the gates. But then there was darkness and a fog. Stonemug looked to the boot flask in his hand. Perhaps even a dwarf could drink too much....

But when the new day had dawned, the Grin had departed the field. The Keepers stayed a few days in Nethergarde, healing those who could be healed, and sending back the bodies to Stromgarde who could not be healed, to be placed in the crypt as honored heros. Some small excess of goods were garned at great price from the defenders of Nethergarde to supply the troop as it traversed the last steps to the Dark Portal. And from there to Honor Hold, to await the Prince's next command....

So Stonemug waited, and wondered, and prepared....

---

A stream of profanities in a mixture of languages rolled softly through the hallway outside the room that Felora was in. The voice was soft, mellifluous, belying the crudeness of the cursing.

The door opened with a sibilant creak, torchlight splitting the darkness like a hangover.

A tall figure crept in, her horns casting dagger-like shadows on the wall behind her in the light of the brand as Aurhia looked around. Settling the torch in a sconce, she turned back to the door, blowing on and shaking her hand and still quietly cursing.

A few seconds later she returned, and closed the door behind her. She carried a bag, both shoulder straps in one hand, and had two small cushions tucked under her arm.

She crossed quickly to where the Felora was chained to the floor, shaking her head and muttering darkly in Draenei. She stopped about a foot short of the farthest that the other woman could reach and set down both pillows and the backpack. She stood there, waiting for a moment, to get Felora’s attention. She stared back at her with something approaching pity, then held out both arms to show that there were no weapons for Felora to lunge for, nothing she could take from the shaman that would help her escape.

"Healer," she said in Common, pointing to herself. "Healer," she said clearly, pointing at Felora.

"No one," Aurhia whispered in Draenei, mostly to herself, "ordered me not to feed you or see to it your wounds aren't infected." She picked up both cushions and advanced cautiously, still keeping up a litany of soothing speech but ready for any attempt to harm her. "I am not disobeying anyone above me by offering you a moment of the dignity inherent in all creatures and spirits." She towered over Felora. "I have lost much respect for many I trusted, because of you." She dropped the cushions on the floor and turned back to snag her bag.

"I would kill you if they would let me," she continued, "a clean death. This lingering poisons the spirit. Not," she dropped onto one of the cushions and pointed from Felora to the other one, "that I give a damn about your soul. But you poison the spirits of my friends. No." She sighed and pulled out some cheese and a small haunch of deer or talbuk, wincing as her hand barked against something in the bag. "No, it is not you, as you, but what you represent. The longer this goes on, the harder they become. What they are doing to you, is killing what makes them the men I trusted." She looked frankly at Felora as she unwrapped the food and set it on the ground, not waiting to see if Felora responded or not. "And I hate you for it."

Aurhia pulled out a small corked bottle and opened it; a smell that Felora was familiar with quickly filled the room. When she held out the jar to demonstrate the contents, Felora could see a fresh burn across her left hand, welted with ugly blue blisters. Aurhia ignored it and dipped her fingers into the bottle. "I cannot heal you. They will just start over and it will be worse." She reached out and began putting the salve on the worst of the scratches and abrasions that she can see, especially around Felora’s wrists. "This won't help the pain. It might even sting. But you won't get gangrene and suffer from within. I can at least give you that. As long as you are under my care you will only suffer from without." She grimaced. "Even this will be a problem. But they can't get any information from you if you die of infection or starvation, I will say. I will be hard as earth to them, as they are to themselves."

Finished, she climbed to her feet, only then applying some of the mixture to her own burned hand. Both cushions disappeared into the bag, along with the bottle. Whatever was left of the food remained. She stared blankly down at Felora for a moment and then turned away.

"I have been fighting too long. I care about the monsters that are tormenting you. And I do not care about you at all."

---

Rexor sat at his desk in his chamber at the Keep, staring blankly at his bloodstained hands. For the last several hours he had aided in the interrogation of the captured Druid. He had delivered crushing blows to complement Hifazat's magical torture and Aeldon's mental manipulation. But now, as he sat there, staring at his reddened hands, he felt....unsettled.

He couldn’t understand why. He hated the Horde, and he had always relished violence. However, while he knew logically that the interrogation was necessary, something was appealing to his sense of honor that this was wrong. Maybe because he wasn’t on equal footing with the prisoner....whatever it was, Rexor was a little unnerved. The Warrior shook his head and took a swig from his flask, letting the fiery drink wash through him. He had to rid himself of these doubts. They would do the same to one of us, perhaps worse, Rexor reminded himself silently. Lighting up one of his Goblin Cigars, he decided to read through the reports again. Nur had been kind enough to give him a record of what had happened to the Keepers during his absence.

He felt the anger build up inside him again as he read the reports. Allies abandoning the Keepers in their time of need, numerically superior enemies ambushing the Stromgarde fighters and picking them off at Stonard and Hammerfall....what had happened to the army? He felt guilt join his anger, silently cursing himself for being away long enough for things to come to this.

There was a time when we would destroy outposts effortlessly...now we need to capture and interrogate prisoners to win? What have we come to? he thought sadly.

His eye flickered over the report about the retreating force of Squires and young soldiers being butchered as they tried to escape the massacre at Stonard. Reading Nur's description of what had been done to the young recruits brought his anger back anew. And he was having reservations about torturing one of them? Bah! A mere temporary lapse!

Rexor realized he had been away for far too long. He was needed, and had not been there...but no more. He had returned, and he would fight to his last breath to defend the Keepers and their goals. He knew the Grin would come to rescue their Seer. But he would be ready. He glanced over to his weapons hanging on their wall racks. He would be waiting. The Keepers would have their vengeance.

A scream that was quickly cut off grabbed his attention. Looking from his quarters, he could see the road leading to the gates, and he saw a small group of orcs making their way to the gate, trodding on the corpse of the lone guard they had just killed. Judging by their armor and weapons, as well as their ragged messy formation, he could tell easily that they were mere grunts from Hammerfall, and not the disciplined soldiers of the Grin.
Rexor knew a few Keepers were still present within the walls, including the interrogators, but the massive Warrior knew he could handle this himself. After strapping on his armor, Rexor swept out of the room, buckling on his weapons....he would certainly enjoy this.

The six Hammerfall orcs made their way to the bridge leading towards the Crypt, when their leader stopped them suddenly.
Before them, midway across the bridge, stood a black-armored human of alarming size, with only one eye, a massive mace strapped to his back, and a pair of axes hanging from his belt. He stood with his arms crossed and a slight sneer on his face. He wore no helmet.

The leader shouted a challenge in Orcish at the Warrior, who responded by drawing his twin axes and crouching into a fighting stance.

The grunt yelled, rushing at the human. A split second and splash of blood later, his body crashed to the ground, followed by his head a second after.

His five stricken comrades barely had time to realize he was dead before the human was suddenly among them, now swinging his mace and roaring a battle cry, his eye glowing a deep blood red.

---

Rexor stood on the bridge, panting as he let the bloodlust course through him, the bodies of the Hammerfall patrol at his feet. Still consumed by his rage, he bellowed a challenge to the heavens. "COME AND GET YOUR SEER GRIN!!! JUST TRY!!! HONOR AND VENGEANCE!!!!!!!!"

---

Hifazat walked into the small chamber where the druid was being held. A smile came to his face as he saw Aurhia kneeling beside the enemy, tending Felora’s wounds and speaking to her. "That indeed is a good idea. Keep her healthy and fit."

Aurhia startled a bit, looks up to Hifazat with a perplexed expression on her face, "You condone aiding her, after what you just did to her?"

Hifazat’s response drew a nasty reaction from Aurhia; he stated simply, "Of course. As long as she is fit and alive, she can be tortured and interrogated some more."

The reaction brought a smile to Hifazat's face. "However I have good news for you, my dear little soft-hearted Keeper. She will suffer no more physical discomfort. No one will lay a hand on her. She has shown that she can withstand a beating and any interrogation methods thrown her way. Now the fun begins."

Aurhia looked at Hifazat, wondering how in the world this man became a Keeper, and one holding influence at that.

"What do you mean, fun?" Aurhia questioned as she moved back from Hifazat towards the door.

"You see, her people will come for her. And in all likelihood we will let them have her or they shall take her. Either way, when they do take her, she will be an empty shell. You see, physical discomfort can be overcome. But destroying her mind, her spirit, her soul and whatever else that these animals possess will be far more damning on them. The affect of seeing the trusted confidante of the warchief such a broken being will have a negative effect on the morale of their clan.

"So you see, now the fun begins. We will not torture her any more. We will simply crush her spirit; make her unable to do the simplest of things. We shall make her a liability to the Grin instead of an asset. She commands great respect among her people, we must destroy that image. Seeing her broken - unable to even speak - will shake the clan. That is what we want.

"Don't bother speaking to the Guardians or the Royal family. They will not help you. These people do not wish to torture her like I do, or even as Rexor does. They do not wish to hurt her. They are weak. That is why I am here.

“I do what is necessary, regardless of what it means.

“If this leads to even one man of Stromgarde living a day longer, it is worth it. This is war. There are no moral values or good or bad.

“There is only survival. And we will be the ones to survive."

Turning his back on Aurhia, Hifazat commanded, "Now leave us. Me and this wench have a rendezvous with damnation."

Aurhia’s expression was frozen in shock.

"I would expect nothing less from someone who consorts with demons. You are already lost. Are you already so corrupt that you have to take the rest of us down with you?" she demanded.

She had stopped short of actually accusing him of colluding with the Legion, but the thought hung there silently between them, each facing away from the other.

Aurhia turned and slammed the door behind herself, not waiting for the answer she knew wasn't coming. Swearing in Draenei, she hurried off in search of Rexor or Jerome, perhaps Cass or Aeldon. This had happened before. She wasn't there to stop it among her own people, but now she was going to put her last breath, her last drop of blood, between the Keepers and this demonic corruption.

---

She was falling.

Falling, even though the logical part of her mind knew that she lay quite safe on the stone floor of their Keep. There was nowhere safe anymore. Felora brought one broad hand to her face, stiff with dried blood. Her tears had long since stopped; there was nothing now but pain. Pain, and a growing ball of hatred deep within the pit of her stomach.

It wasn't like her to feel such menace toward others. It was often joked that given the chance, the gentle druid would just heal her enemies to death. Even now, Felora knew that she could not muster the energy to heal herself, let alone anyone else.

Alone for now in the darkness of her prison, Felora cringed inwardly as she realized that Faquarl had been right. This war would not stop, and it was going to drag her with it. Her mentor had wanted peace, and he had gotten it in the end at the cost of his life. It seemed now that sharing his outlook was going to destroy her, as well.

A stinging in her wrists ceased her movements. They were crossed with deep gashes which she could already tell would leave lasting scars. Even the Nightmare had not marked her so profoundly.

Even the Nightmare would be better than this, she thought wryly.

These humans had continued to tell her that if she talked, if she told them what they wanted to know, that they would stop hurting her. The human called Aeldon had at least treated her with the smallest amount of respect. Still, his questions had confused her. He'd pressed her about Thrall, who was the last person on her mind at any given time. He'd been dissatisfied with her answers, although there had been none to give. Despite Gorfrunch's death, the Grin were on no pleasant terms with the ruler of the New Horde.

Aeldon, in his broken and halting Orcish, had done his best to pull from her something - anything - about the Grin's plans. The interrogation had mostly consisted of others beating her senseless prior to asking the questions, and she couldn't remember now whether she'd said anything intelligible. Her mind kept drifting back to Ashenrock, and she worried.

---

She could hardly focus on the Draenei female who had entered and started to tend to her wounds. The woman was speaking to her in what she thought was Common, but her ears had been hit so many times that it might as well have been gibberish. Her nose caught the biting scent of Golden Sansam as a cooling salve found its way to her wrists. The door creaked, and Felora's violet eyes met the darkened countenance of the warlock Hifazat. He spoke to the Draenei, who seemed angry and perhaps a bit afraid of him.

Felora's eyes fluttered closed into her own personal darkness, the last refuge left to her. Her mind felt muddled and she tried her best to still it. Therazane, she thought. Earthmother, stonemother. Your great size and strength belies your kindness...I ask that you might bestow some of that kindness on me now.

She opened her eyes to see that the warlock had suddenly turned his back on the Draenei and focused all of his attention on her.

Her prayers remained unanswered.

---

Mortael walked slowly out of the Chieftain’s chambers with his head bowed slightly in concentration. He had expected to be tasked with finding Felora but until now the sheer challenge of it had not set in. It was a slight comfort that he wouldn’t have to devise a plan to find the Sythegar that included only himself; the entirety of the Grin was at his disposal. He wouldn’t need quite that much, but he was going to need help.

The rogue idly studied his surroundings as he paced around Stonard. Not that he needed to, not anymore. After the first day of living in this swamp he knew it like the back of his hand; it was what he did. Today, however, the mental work calmed his mind and allowed him to focus his thoughts. The only thing he knew at this point was that what was to come would require the utmost subtlety. Any sign of Grin presence would likely mark the death of Felora. Mortael already had enough death on his conscience, he couldn’t abide another.

He stopped off at the door to Arahin’s chambers and knocked loudly enough to clearly alert him. A good rogue would often be twitchy and he had no desire to have a dagger stuck in him because he was too quiet. The door opened and the elf’s face appeared. It was late and it was likely he had been sleeping but his quiet readiness didn’t show it.

“Yes, Mort? There a problem?” Arahin asked while looking around behind him.

“Nothing new….I need your help to gather the rest of the rogues. We have work to do and I don’t think we have much time to do it in.”

“Felora?” he questioned.

“Aye…I want the rogues in Arathi. We know they had her in the Keep and I don’t think they would risk moving her too far from their base of operations. If the forces we’ve seen lately are any indication they lack the numbers to attempt anything too overt. If were gonna find her, its going to be there”

“What did you have in mind? Scouring the entire blasted place would take too long and they could just keep her moving about. It’s a huge area to cover and there aren’t enough of us.”

“The thought occurred to me. We need the Dreadstalkers prepped for a long stay. I want you all in the Keep at all times until you find reason to leave. You’ve battled the Keepers a long while and you know their ranks. Find those likely to be in contact with Felora and follow them. Shadow them until you find her. You get seen and you’re dead…and so is Felora. We should get moving as fast as possible. I plan on doing a quick look through the rest of Arathi and then joining you all in the Keep.” Mortael sighed deeply and looked at Arahin as he nodded in understanding.

“We’ll find her” Arahin replied, “and the Keepers will pay tenfold for every hurt they’ve inflicted.”

Mortael nodded slowly. “See to it, Arahin. And if you do find her, get her a message and do nothing else. Tell her that the Grin is coming; tell her to hold onto hope and to stay strong. Tell her that we’ll see her soon.”

Mortael strode away from the building, confident that all was taken care of. This was their best shot. If he failed, there were no second chances.

---

(Continued in Part 2)