Conquest of the Horde

"Are you sure you've got everything? Any last-minute questions?" Kethel strolled about on the cut-stone wall bordering the garden of Ravenholdt, balancing easily on the edges and precarious rocks without looking down to check where his feet were going. He had spoken in Darnassian as usual, to evade anyone listening in. The change of language didn't matter overmuch in the proverbial 'melting pot' of races that Ravenholdt was quickly becoming, but he kept his voice low out of habit. "I remember I was pretty nervous when I was running mine."

"I should be fine. As long as I don't stop to think about this too much." Kenarith replied. She sucked in a deep breath, and closed her pack. Both of the daggers a certain elf had given her would be stored in there until she was done. They weren't to be used for this.
The ones she replaced them with were short and straight, with odd channels which riddled their surfaces.

"Good luck. And make sure to stop and think at least once, or you'll miss something." Kethel called over his shoulder. He walked for the courtyard of Ravenholdt, leaving Kenarith standing there on the road. She watched him until he disappeared entirely, then turned, sighing, to the overlook.

I've got barely enough time to get there, let alone do my job. I'd better get going.

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The ruined city of Stromgarde was the color of old bone. At least, that was the first impression most people had of the place. It lay, eating up the terrain of the Highlands with sprawl from the gradual collapse. The towers and walls were still standing, but Kenarith knew they'd be fragile for their size. From what Kethel had told her earlier, two of the divisions had gone without maintenance for years. She unfolded her set of binoculars, checked the sun in case of glare, and peered through them.

There were no obvious signs of sentries, or locations on that side of the wall for them to work from. Kenarith snickered to herself, and folded the binoculars back up. She kept walking southeast. Once she reached the sunken portions of ground to the west of Stromgarde, she hopped on the turf to test it. It was quite springy. Her ears perked up. She glanced around to make sure nobody was coming along the road, and turned a cartwheel, bounding off across the grass like a caffeinated frog at the end.

By the time she reached the southwestern corner, the terrain was turning rocky. Just to her west, a chain of mountains rose up from the highlands; long enough that she couldn't see their end. She shook her head a little and set to walking around the section of wall she had chosen. It was more damaged than the rest. One of the flagstones at the top had fallen and shattered at some point in time, leaving the mortar in the cracks below it exposed. Slowly, it was all eroding away. She walked right up next to the bone-white wall, mindful of the sharp rocks underfoot, and peered up it.

She hadn't noticed how precariously it was balanced before. Nor how the flagstones, lacking mortar, were stacked up against one another - relying on weight alone to stay in place. Timidly, ears half-pinned back, she put her foot up against the rock and gave it a shove. It moved underneath her. She took a few steps to the north instead. The wall was smoother here. There were houses against it, but at least it'd hold still. She paused to fasten a short set of spikes on both boots, and dust her hands off with chalk before starting to climb.

It was here her familiarity paid off. Setting hand and foot to all possible niches, she scaled the wall quickly. Once she was on the wall, she laid down and took out her binoculars again. The sound of people talking seemed to thunder in her ears. She flinched, eyes widening, then relaxed once she realized it was a trick of the stone. The people were far below, talking on the grounds. Syndicate members. She waited there silently to listen.

"..-Boulderfist walls breaking down."

It all went to fel after Lord Falconcrest was killed."

"-And where are we now? Stuck in here - there's nothing good to be had here."

"We're better off in here than outside though. Even the Boulderfists and Stromgardians are staying clear of us."

"They could pick us off easily. We should be in Strahnbrad."

A sigh. "This is a fool's game.. "

Kenarith kept watching as they began to argue.

Wow. This couldn't have been more formulaic if they tried.

They got it wrong though. I'm supposed to fortunately overhear some useful bit of information too.

And then everything goes perfectly for some reason. No patrols, no people with common sense.

Let's see if that happens!

Sure!

As the argument was tailing off, Kenarith slunk along the wall until she reached the house built up against it. The crack between the house and wall was thin. She wedged her boots into it, jamming them in sideways to keep from shifting. Her descent was silent. She approached the scene of the argument from behind the house, pressing her ear up against the stone once to make sure nobody else was inside. Her hands ached. She rubbed them together for a little while to get the blood flow back. The man was coming closer across the cobblestones. He was alone now.

It was too late for the man by the time he noticed Kenarith lurking in the shadows of the house. She threw herself on him, holding one of her grooved daggers to his throat. Her arms were locked around him. Each time he tried to pull her off, smash her against the ground, anything, the blade's fine edge pushed up against his throat. His sword's hilt had been twisted out of his grasp. Kenarith kept it pinned beneath her boot. Blood was beginning to well up from the cut. Purple marks appeared down his neck.

"Stop moving or it'll go deeper," Kenarith growled. She still hung tenaciously by the dagger. Her hands shook, and she began to run the blade ever-so-lightly across the ruined flesh. "I want to know where Joseph Valgren is." The Syndicate member shuddered and tried to lash out at her with one fist. She dodged aside before it struck, putting a leather-gloved hand to his neck and pressing down hard. The second punch caught her in the shoulder. She sat down hard, and the man kicked her aside, hitting her in the gut with his boot this time. He reached his sword, unsheathing it while she was doubled over.

An instant later, there was a knife sunk into his hand. The muscles in his hand seized up, and he dropped the sword. Kenarith stood up, eyes gleaming. She tripped him with a quick sideswipe of her leg, and sat down next to him, still holding the dagger embedded in his flesh. She noted with detachment that his face was sickeningly pale above where the blood was leaking from his neck.

"I heard what you were saying before. I don't know what the Syndicate does to deserters, but Ravenholdt doesn't like them much. Maybe I should leave you out where it's obvious you were trying to run? To let them find you. I'm sure your friend'll be keen to pin the blame." With one deft twist of the dagger, she felt tendons give way underneath the blade of the knife. His fingers went limp. Blood was pouring out from the wound, and the man's eyes were unfocused. She got to her feet and dragged him into the shadow of the house, struggling mightily to do so. As soon as they were hidden, she just dropped him.
"Or maybe you like the simple things? This dagger doubles as a poison dispenser. And it'd be really easy to stick somewhere the poison'll kill you faster."

"Northwest house. Next to the crumbling tower-" The man choked out. He tried to pull the dagger out of his hand, but both hands were too slippery with blood. Kenarith wrenched it away, watching the sudden stream of it gush out from the dorsal metacarpal veins she had cut. The skin was turning a horrendous purple-and-red color, and bone showed out from the edges in flashes of white.
She moved him to the side gently with one hand - before forcing her dagger through the back of his neck.

Kenarith moved off behind the line of houses, leaving the bloody corpse hidden in the shadow. It would appear once the sun moved further across the sky.

Her ears pricked up when she heard the sound of talking in the two-story house she had been sent to. She slunk up to the door, pressing her ear against it. A quick glance around rewarded her efforts with an old porch chair and a large chunk of flagstone, which she put up against the door. Once they had been placed, she used the crack between the Stromgarde outer wall and the house to climb up onto. She paused at the top, watching people pass, then continued on, slipping through the windows and into the house. The two inside had stopped talking by then. Kenarith cut the throat of the woman upstairs, and went downstairs to find the man - Joseph Valgren - sitting at an old desk, poring over some form of map.
Needless to say, he didn't hear her coming in time. She climbed out of the house through the second-story window later, and used the height of the building to make her scaling of the wall an easier task.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"-And so, I killed both the male and the female, since it wouldn't have been possible to wait for an attack of opportunity." Kenarith finished. She was back in the Ravenholdt nook, wearing clean forest-green clothes, with the daggers sheathed at her waist. The cup of moonberry juice in her hand was untouched; forgotten in her enthusiastic narration of the events. She was quite literally sitting on the edge of her seat.

"I know. Did you get the map?" Chrysaetos sat in a taller chair, resting her back up against it with the faintest hints of a smile. In the half-light of the Alterac evening, it was impossible to tell if it was real or not. Kenarith passed her the map without a word. She laid it out flat on the table between them, running a finger over the parchment without touching it. Kenarith noticed - with the queasy feeling she was coming to associate with Chrysaetos - that the map contained the site of Ravenholdt Manor.

"Joseph Valgren was a deserter of ours. Now, what else did you notice, Third Head? Anything interesting about the house or people in it? Anything unlike that of the other houses?"

"Um.. no." Kenarith would have said more, but was silenced by Chrysaetos's look in her direction. She went quiet, looking carefully at the wood grain of the table.

"I see. Fortunately for you, the test was as simple as it sounded - I only wanted to see whether you could kill him or not. In the future, I'll be expecting you to give more detailed information on your surroundings and quarry. Don't forget.

"Good. And this one?" Chrysaetos passed Kenarith a small, glazed loaf of bread. It was a toasty golden-brown, and still warm. Kenarith looked down at it hungrily, ears perking up, but did nothing.

"It's poisoned," she said at length. "Not in the bread though. The glaze has something in it." She held it out.

"Diluted extract of Monkshood. The entire plant is poisonous, and it's nigh-impossible to get the poison out with hot water or crushing. Remember that; it's good for putting into things that need to be cooked or processed." Chrysaetos accepted the loaf back, returning it to the waterproof bag on the table. There were other objects in there: a bottle of ink, a piece of peppermint candy, a cloth scrap, even an antique-looking dagger. "Keep at it. You seem to be capable of recognizing poisons well, but you need to be able to identify the type. If you ever find yourself up against someone with the same training as yourself, 'reading' poisons is vital."

"All right. I'll remember it, and keep practicing."

"-And one more thing; you can't take a break from it. You should always be testing what you eat and drink, no matter where you are."

Kenarith nodded. "So what's next?" She asked. Chrysaetos closed the bag and beckoned to Kenarith, walking up the circular stairs to the higher levels of Ravenholdt. The little elf peered around at everything with enthusiasm. She never got bored of the place. As they walked through one of the larger rooms and out onto a balcony overlooking the Alterac mountains, Chrysaetos began to smile.

"Now that you're passable with some of those skills, I'm going to start giving you harder ones. Have a seat."

Kenarith climbed onto the railings of the balcony and sat down, watching Chrysaetos the entire time. "Um.. I've been wondering. What fuels those spells you've been showing me? It's definitely not arcane, or Light, or any of the usual sources. Do you get power for each spell from the same source?"

"That's a question I get a lot. Think about it for a little while, and it answers itself. Are you familiar with the idea of Justice-based spells? Spells which are powered off moral rightness, will and law? It's not paladinism, but it's close. It simply lacks the Arcane base." Chrysaetos set her hands on the railing to look down over the gardens. The small sparring ring nearby had a few practicing rogues: Kenarith noted Kethel amongst them, in a short-range melee between himself and a female Orc. Many knives were involved. She looked quickly back to Chrysaetos.

"Yes. I know about them. Are those spells the opposite - they feed off lack of law?"

"In a way. Everything in an assassin's repertoire relies on quick thinking and necessity, and you need those because you're being hunted." Chrysaetos's eyes glowed amber in the coming sunset. Kenarith couldn't resist giving them a few admiring glances when she thought herself unobserved. "There's no school of power for what we can do, Third Head - nobody understands exactly how we work, not even us. But without the swift thought and improvisation, any spell you cast will always fail. That's why I gave you one spell to practice on, before any others."

"You mean you didn't know if I was capable of it?"

"Precisely. You're either born capable of learning, or you're not. Now, if we may continue..?" Chrysaetos jumped up onto the railing alongside Kenarith and perched there, her black hair flowing down her back as she worked at something on her belt. "I've noticed you have certain.. distinctions in acrobatics, so we'll be starting with something involving them. Hold still. Take a few deep breaths, and concentrate."

Kenarith looked over the railing to the grounds below. It was easily twenty feet; perhaps more. Her breathing slowed as she lapsed into thoughts of what it would be like to fly up and down it, unhindered by gravity.

"After you understand what to do and trust your own good judgment as an assassin, there's one thing your work always boils down to. Time. Breathe slowly, and imagine that time warping around you, going slower and slower. You're the only thing moving at normal speed..." Kenarith concentrated as she listened to Chrysaetos. She blinked a few times, trying to clear her eyes. Her vision blurred around the edges. Everything was quieter. The people sparring below appeared to be moving through an atmosphere of honey. A bird overhead flew slowly enough that Kenarith could count the wingbeats one by one.
It broke an instant later.

"What was that?" Kenarith asked. Her eyes were wide as she peered about, slowing her breath and trying to make it happen again. "Did I actually slow down time?"

"You slowed your perception of it. All rogues can do it to some degree: they need to. Now, watch for a moment." Chrysaetos unhooked her legs from the railing and jumped over the edge of the balcony. Kenarith's shout caught in her throat when she realized that the strange human wasn't falling. She was descending slowly - again, like drifting through honey. She touched down lightly on the ground below. The grass didn't even bend beneath her weight. "So, Third Head. Let's see you do that. Don't worry about where the power's supposed to be coming from - just make time obey."

Time slowed again. The snow on the slopes of the Alterac mountains blended into itself, and absorbed the color of the sky. Soon, the sun would be down. The fine-grained wood of the balcony railing melted into a solid block of color beneath Kenarith's hands. Her heart sped up. She remembered what the urgency felt like - the fear of discovery, or death, should she take too long in her assignment. She remembered the swift calculations of her mind: time and wit, always competing. She took a deep breath and jumped out into open air.

She drifted down to the grass as Chrysaetos had, falling normally the last three or four feet. Her knees bent slightly to absorb the shock.

"Good."
"Thanks. What next? Keep practicing that?"


"Yes. It's getting late - for me, not for you - so we'll be finishing soon for today. Finally, we'll be working on disguises. You probably know more than enough about the crude prop, paint, and dye kind. This is completely different. Stand there. Imagine what you want to look like, and use that necessity to re-shape your appearance. Once you've got it, it'll take some effort to hold."

Over the course of about an hour, Chrysaetos provided a helpful, if dry commentary to Kenarith's attempts to project her disguise. Earlier into the attempts, nothing happened. She later on ended up with strange features: once, a blobby waxlike nose, another, a distortion of her lower jaw which made her appear almost Scourgelike, and once, overlarge and bulging eyes. By the time she had managed a half-realistic reshaping of her body and face, she was starting to feel drained.

"Hold it like that. Keep that appearance."

Kenarith obeyed. She realized with a thrill down her spine that she was taller than the human assassin by about half a foot. Although she couldn't see it, her face had shifted into that of a sharp-featured elven woman with long, thin ears, lavender skin, and a slightly mashed-looking nose. She kept pressing a hand to her face, wondering at the different feel of it. Once Chrysaetos gave her a few instructions and a note, and left for the night, she peered down at her torso. Or, more specifically, her chest. It had remained as flat as ever. She muttered something rude in Darnassian and made for the training grounds.

"Hey! It's the master assassin!" Kethel hailed her from where he had been spectating on the grass, a faint note of sarcasm in his voice. The light was gone by now, but it didn't matter to them. If anything, it was invigorating. "So, how'd you do this time?"

"Pretty well. She's probably waiting to see if I remember the stuff before giving any more information. Can we go somewhere else? It's cold out here. And how was the sparring?" Kenarith nudged him with the tip of one boot until he got up. They walked peacefully over the grounds, almost shoulder-to-shoulder for the first time. They entered the lower level of the manor, where a triad of other rogues were playing a card game. Kethel watched them with his ears tipped back.

"It was good. I've been needing more practice at fighting people with clawed weapons, and a couple of the best are here today."

Kenarith was about to say something when the Undead who had been studying the cards looked up to them. He was unremarkable, but for the way the remaining flesh on his face seemed to have been plastered there. The strange molding of flesh hid his eyesockets almost completely. Kenarith thought back to her failed attempts at reshaping herself and shuddered slightly. "Need something, elves?"

"No."
Naturally, once he went back to stacking cards, they both stared at him.

"Another problem. We've been getting a steady stream of new rogues for about ..three.. months now. I have my doubts about how trustworthy they are, but I don't think anyone'll welcome my sharing them." Kethel said after they had walked on to the next level. It was loud enough inside during the evenings that nobody listening would be able to distinguish their conversation.

"Maybe we're actively recruiting now? I've been out of the loop; I don't know what's been happening here." Kenarith's disguise was dissolving quickly. Her height went from slightly shorter than Kethel, to the usual mildly ridiculous difference. "And our superiors aren't stupid. I'll bet you the only reason half of them are alive is because they were suspicious when it mattered."

"And I'm being suspicious now. Doesn't Chrysaetos tell you that you're not supposed to let your guard down, especially when you're not out working?"
"-So don't."
"He could just be a decoy. How would you know?"

Kenarith didn't take the bait. She sat down in the nook she had met Chrysaetos in several days ago, and took a small sealed flask of moonberry juice out of one of the pouches on her belt. She concentrated on it for a little while before opening it: testing for poison. Kethel, who was sprawled over a nearby chair like a lazy cat, looked on in approval. Kenarith heaved a sigh and cuddled into her chair. She took care to throw the cork at him. He caught it in one hand and tossed it back. It bounced off her head before she could lift her hand to block it.

She took out the scrap of parchment in her pocket rather than continue the battle. It had been crumpled already, but she smoothed it out across the small table to read it.

Alexander Moore is located on the outskirts of Alterac City. Carlton Barnett lives in Menethil Harbor. Do your duty and return here within five days. Do your duty and return here within four days. Our next lesson will be in the same place, at the same time. Be well-practiced before that date. Kenarith looked it over, eyes widening.

"Kethel, have we got any mages in Ravenholdt this week?"
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Alterac City reminded Kenarith less of old bone, and more of a shattered eggshell. The thin layer of snow which she crunched through bit by bit added weight to the impression. Every small sprawling ruin she passed, every building where the grandeur of its past life was still visible, she wondered. It had been a great city of the Humans once. It had been wrecked beyond repair over the course of a few years. What would Darnassus look like in a similar span of time, under the same conditions?
It was interesting to think about.

Same thing with Dalaran. They were attacked that time, but still. Humans are slipping in some places.
Stratholme?

She shoved her hands into her pockets and hiked on. The surrounding mountains and the few twisted trees on them were covered with a thin layer of snow. Normally it might not have looked like much, but here, beneath the unreal, luminescent blue-and-gold of the Alterac dawn, everything covered with snow glittered. It was hard to see ruins as threatening when all they did was sparkle. The air was thinner here, but she didn't mind. It smelled of snow, evergreens, and wet leaves. Nobody was around to break the perfect silence except for her.
And she took full advantage of this fact by crunching the snow under her feet as much as possible.

It's impossible to be solemn here, so I'm just not going to try.

She broke free and started running through the snow.

The first kill was accomplished just past nightfall.
Kenarith had borrowed a map of Alterac City in preparation for her assignment. She'd tromped around the parts which weren't surrounded by mountains, watching for signs of her quarry's location. There was nothing for hours. She began to doubt that Alexander Moore lived on the outskirts at all. What if he was one of the few humans to succeed in the sort of 'negotiation' the Ogre inhabitants preferred? She knew nothing of what he was like; only that she had to kill him. She ventured into the city itself, using the shadows and ruined structures to hide herself from the ogres. The eggshell-city was less delicate when seen from close up. Within an hour or so, her pants and gloves had been soaked through with melting snow and dirt, and her hands were getting numb with the cold.

She had scouted through most of the larger structures by the time it was getting dark. She stopped once inside a mostly-intact stable pervasive with the scent of wet, spoiling hay to eat some of the food she had brought. It masked the food's smell. It was only after she left, still nibbling the crumbs from off her hands, that she spotted something with a ruddy, flickering glow off to the northeast. A campfire. Under cover of darkness she traveled towards it - faster than she had dared to go in the daylight.

The smell of sizzling meat met her nostrils as she approached the campfire's light, hopping down several ledges in her process. A human man stood by the campfire, using a long metal blade as a spit on which to cook some indistinguishable meat. He was silent. His silhouette appeared portly, but Kenarith realized that it was only bulk added by his clothes. A hunting dog with a mottled, bristly coat and sharp ears - very wolflike - lay near him, curled up into a ball to conserve heat. When Kenarith approached, he lifted his head and stared out into the darkness. It was the moment she had been waiting for. Immediately, sounds began to echo out in the darkness. A bloodcurdling wailing and sobbing that even sent shivers up her spine. She edged closer to the fire as the man and dog moved farther out, trying to see what was beyond the perimeter of light.

Perhaps they were more experienced than Kenarith had given them credit for. And they certainly had guts. The man disappeared into the shadows. Her ears pricked up as she listened to him crunch through snow; searching. As soon as they were gone, she went over to the small box she had noted next to the small tent and began rummaging through it. It contained mostly bread, of the hard traveler's variety, some herbs, and a few alchemical supplies. For distilling water, she betted. She went quiet to make sure they weren't around, and slipped inside the tent. It was warm compared to the outside. She worked through his possessions quickly, the warmth giving her the strength to keep up the miserable sound outside. When she reached a few sheets of parchment in his possession, she lifted them out.

"Dear Alex" She mouthed the words to herself. Alexander Moore. She had her quarry pinned down.. but she kept on reading down through the letter, picking up superficial bits of information.
-has gone through quite the growth spurt since you've been gone. I'm beginning to think he'll be ready for his own horse soon.

-heard that Serena's finished her squiredom and will become a full-fledged paladin of Stormwind soon? Her ceremony is in three weeks.

Don't get too caught up in treasure hunting

Love, Isabel.

See you in a few weeks.

Dimly, she realized that the ghost sounds were fading. The crunches of footfalls were what sent her skittering back out into the darkness. She stood there just out of his sight. As soon as she perceived that his dog was away and his back was to her, she struck. He screamed as both blades sank into his back, and tried to reach around - whether to reach for the gun there, or to try to pull the daggers out was anyone's guess. A twist, and a kick, and he was thrown to the ground. The dog ran for Kenarith, and threw himself on her. She was caught beneath as the dog ripped away at whatever flesh he could reach. Before long, the air was filled with her own screams.

She kicked him off as soon as she got the chance, aiming for the ribs. It was vicious enough to send him sprawling, and possibly break a rib. Whatever the reason, he lay on his side deadly-still. She rose slowly, pressing a hand to just below the collarbone to feel the damage. Several layers of clothes had been ripped, and the blood from several deep bites was seeping through it. She delivered one last stab to the man before moving for the dog. She stood there, looking down at him for a long time before she turned away.

That night was spent dressing wounds carefully with cloth she took from the man's tent, and several kinds of ointment from her bags. She was warm at least. The dog tried to attack her once more, before she fended him off and cut him in the side.
After that he remained outside the tent, curled up to his dead master long after all the heat in his body was gone.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

If that morning seemed a little less real than usual, it could be pardoned. After Kenarith woke, ate, and checked on the dog to make sure he was all right, she used a heavy plank of wood taken from the nearby city to bludgeon Alexander Moore's body until it was almost unrecognizable. "Killed by ogres," they'd say, which was exactly what she wanted. That same damage also hid the dagger marks to his back. In the process of her work, she also ripped apart the tent, and several of the packs he had kept. She took care to make sure all the food was gone before leashing - or trying to leash - the dog to convince him to follow her. In the end, that process of making him follow her ended up involving a great deal of time, puppy-dog eyes, and bribery food.

They traveled south from there. The dog remained aloof and on the alert, but Kenarith found she was getting to like him. He'd obviously been trained to hunt, as she saw from several spectacles on the way. As they descended into the Hillsbrad Foothills and the grass turned green, she'd begun to think of names for him.

"Scrappy might be good, don't you think? You certainly deserve the name." She glanced over at the dog, who gave her a bemused look. "No? All right, it is a little undignified... how about Mudpaw? No, that'd be better as a surname. Something serious? Sad? I don't know.."

They were nearing the flatlands riddled with farms by the time she gave up. "I'm just going to call you Ogre."
He didn't seem to care one way or another. But when she bolted after a squirrel on the side of the road, he joined in the chase. It culminated in a giggling and ungainly frenzy in which Kenarith might have collided with Ogre several times - it was impossible to tell. She stood at the bottom of the hill, hunched over to catch her breath. Ogre's ears had pricked up and he watched alertly as someone made their way from an adjacent field towards them. Kenarith smothered the rest of her laughter quickly.

"Hey there. Good morning to the both of you." The voice had an obvious, but not overpowering country accent.


The farmer sized up the rucked-up fur from the cut on the dog's side, and the wad of bandages wrapped against Kenarith's chest. "Not around here. He might've wandered from farther away. Did you run afoul of a Wendigo nest? Rotters have a way of surprising newcomers who wander onto their space."


"I can do better than just point you to a town. I've got to travel in soon to Southshore to get seeds, and I can ask around when I go. If nobody claims him, well.. we could always use a good guard dog around here. In Hillsbrad, a good dog isn't something to pass over." He offered a hand for Ogre to sniff. He did so, snuffling at the smells of earth which were probably familiar to him. Kenarith was smiling.


"Nah, don't worry about it. Looks like you'll have enough of a handful trying to get back to Darnasswhutsis. But if he turns out to be a problem dog, I might just take you up on that offer. Kenarith chuckled politely. She looked down to Ogre, but kept her hands to herself.

"Can't help you there. I'm supposed to be preparing the ground for the next planting while the weather's good for it. If you can wait a few hours, I can get around to it."

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Kenarith hadn't been able to spare several hours. She had bandaged up Ogre as well as possible with the help of one of the farmer's daughters who had a way with animals. He was still bristly and reluctant, but Kenarith had noticed a few softenings in his manner towards the girl. She'd smiled to herself and said nothing.

She left for Ravenholdt on one of the flat roads of Hillsbrad. It was simple enough to find where she usually diverged from the road to hike up to Ravenholdt, particularly since there was only one main road. The window of time in which she could get to a mage in Ravenholdt and pay for a teleportation spell was closing fast; Kethel had told her that they didn't work past sunset. She chugged a reserved potion of hers, and ran off the excessive energy it gave her, returning in time to arrange a portal to Menethil Harbor.

She found the inn quickly and paid for a room. Detective work was better done during the day, she reasoned. It would be impossibly hard to explain snooping around at night, and there would be no citizens to ask innocent little questions of. She was tired, but there was no way she'd admit that. She slept instead.

That morning, she began asking around Menethil. She had taken the form of an older, more dignified elven woman for the questioning, and adjusted her bandages until they made a passable outline of a bust underneath her clothes. According to her, she was a traveler and naturalist seeking Carlton Barnett to relay a letter from Stormwind, after which she'd travel to Dustwallow Marsh and return home to the forests of Ashenvale. The letter, of course, was forged in Alexander Moore's name. She'd be more than willing to bet that Carlton Barnett, however he worked, got a lot of odd mail. From what she knew, he'd almost certainly been associated with thieves at some point in his life. She'd successfully pinned down a general location through oblique questions by midday.
It was also around then that she realized she couldn't return to the inn.

Chrysaetos had drilled her in recognition and thinking ahead. She'd largely dismissed the lessons, but remembered all too well why she should pay attention. While eating at the inn, she'd tuned in on the arguments of a couple of Quel'dorei travelers. She could barely hear the conversation through the murmur, so she compensated by watching the gestures closely. What she hadn't counted on was to notice an older human woman beyond them, watching with the same intent gaze as she had. She looked up to Kenarith and their eyes locked. Kenarith knew beyond a doubt then that she was looking at someone with the same nature as herself. When she looked again, the person had been replaced by someone else wholly different.

It might have been Kethel's paranoia rubbing off on her, but he was right - all it took was one misstep. She needed to protect herself. The inn had more people for that, but what if she caught the person? It would have to be somewhere private so she could interrogate. She rented a house on the southern side of Menethil, not far from the inn, and went back to tracking down the elusive Carlton Barnett. She found him hours later, bargaining over a horse at the Menethil stables. Once he was out on the town borders, she knifed him through the throat and face and fled. She left the forged letter on his person.

Several hours later, in a blur of time she could barely understand in retrospect, she found herself in her rented house, sitting at a table loaded with cake. She'd wanted a way to celebrate a job well done - what better way to do so than with sweets? And besides, she needed to stay up in case that person showed themselves. She couldn't sleep and leave herself vulnerable.
The only hang-up was that she'd gotten so caught up in acting stereotypically Darnassian that she'd ordered said cake in Darnassian units of size. The end result took two people to deliver to her house, cost her a figurative arm and a leg, and made the table groan underneath its weight. She paid the assistants and waited until they were gone before diving right in. She ate a tunnel into the cake, trying to get at the filling that the chef had mentioned. The size didn't faze her. She kept on eating away, willing herself to stay awake.
When she fell asleep, it was curled up inside the cake, with her mouth still hanging open and crumbs and frosting clinging to her.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
[The following was added as a short summary of a RP session with flammos200/Sylvandre Cloudtear. Unfortunately, it was waaaaaaaayyy too long to add in its full glory.]

The ajar door was opened completely several hours later by a tall plate-clad Kal'dorei, silver-haired, with a dangerous gleam to her silver eyes. A cloak edged with metal blades swished in her wake. The pointed gauntlets covering her hands, and the Moon Sword gripped in one left no doubt that she was armed to kill. A Warden of the Kal'dorei. And a friend of Kenarith's.

After waking up the sleeping Kenarith, and being pressured into eating some of the cake, the two had an entertaining discussion about history. Followed by tacking spidersilk ropes onto the walls and playing Spider. When her cake-related stomachache started acting up again, Kenarith took her opportunity for safety and slept, quite literally wrapped around Sylvandre. At least, until the Warden had to leave for further duties elsewhere.

Kenarith might have finished her work, but there was one kill left by her count. The observer, whoever he or she was, had to be eliminated.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"I see. And so you killed this person who was following you as well?" Chrysaetos asked. Kenarith looked at her for a moment; taking in the golden eyes and cinder-black, jagged tattoos which marked her as something undeniably eerie. She offered Kenarith a sealed bottle of Moonberry juice as they sat down together in the Ravenholdt nook.

"No. I wasn't able to find them, so I came back before I ran out of time." Kenarith uncorked the bottle. She took a deep whiff of the sugary, intoxicating smell. She still felt queasy from the excess of cake, but she had misgivings about refusing Chrysaetos anything. She took a few sips before setting it on the table between them. "Should I have stayed?"

"No. There may be a time for you to use your personal judgment in who you kill, and how much time you spend doing so, but it's not now. You're supposed to obey orders until further notice. Speaking of which... aren't you forgetting something?" Her voice was acidic, and Kenarith fought back a rising tide of fear. The little elf's hands clenched on the table. Her entire body was tensing up painfully against her will. She struggled with it, sinking further into the chair as she lost the battle. The bottle of Moonberry juice sat innocently on the table before her. It was half-empty.

"Black lotus. It affects muscular control for short periods of time. It can kill you, but not in the quantity given."

"Y-y-you poisoned me? Did you send that other person to watch me too?" Kenarith stuttered out. Chrysaetos' expression didn't change in the slightest.

Kenarith, who'd been sitting in the chair nearby, looked over. She'd been postponing all night, and couldn't afford to keep at it. Such a small obstacle to what she wanted. And such a damned effective one too. She grabbed the flask off the table and upended it, guzzling down the bitter, slightly acidic-tasting contents before her throat and - sensibilities - could protest. A long moment later, she capped it and put it back on the table half-empty, then sat back to await the effect. Maybe she'd desensitized herself to it completely by now. Or maybe she wasn't done yet.

A wave of nausea swept over her, followed by another. She hunched over and stared at the edge of the table. At least, until one of the next effects sent her rushing outside, jaw clenched.

By the time she returned about half an hour later, someone had taken her seat. She might not have remembered him in her mental haze were it not for the distinctive earrings, and the way he kept flicking them back on his long ears. He turned to look at her from over the top of the chair, taking in every detail of her disheveled appearance. And knowing him, he'd 'remember' every last one to her later. She glared at him, and took the other seat.

"What? I just got here. How was I supposed to know you were using that chair?"

"..I didn't say anything about it." Once Kenarith was safely in her chair, she relaxed. The room still seemed to be moving, especially when she least expected it. "It was just your guilty conscience," she muttered.

"Riiiight. Except you're assuming I have one." Kethel stretched his hand along one of the armrests of his chair, watching the shifting indentations it made. He looked up to the bottle, then Kenarith. "You're still not finished with that? You've been working on that bottle for almost two days now. Someone's going to notice."

"Let them. I don't think I can stand more at a time. If someone comes to me and complains about taking too long, I'll just drink more, and be sick on them."

"What if it's Chrysaetos?" "The poison acclimatization is something she has all of her students do, but I think you're the first one she's actually poisoned to get her point across. And from what I've seen, you had it comi- hey!" He dodged the cork that Kenarith threw at him. As Kenarith made her way along the perimeter of the chairs, gripping them to keep herself steady, he twisted around in his chair, watching her to make sure she wouldn't attack from behind. "It's also occurred to me that she's given you too high a dosage. It was calculated for a healthy Kal'dorei about your weight, wasn't it?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. I'm perfectly healthy."
"-And you've got less resistance to poison than most healthy Kal'dorei. That's why it's making you so sick. Just take less, and save the remainder." With utter nonchalance, Kethel uncapped the flask of poison and drained it in a few swigs. He wiped off his mouth and looked back to Kenarith, who was staring at him. "What? Standard training is more of a priority than poison acclimatization, and it looks like you can't do both. I'll even tell her that if I have to. Don't worry about the extract; I'll get you more from the Ravenholdt stocks later."

"How'-"
"-I never got to tell you why I'm here. Chrysaetos has been gone for almost two days. As her highest-ranking former student, it's my job to teach you while she's gone." He grinned as Kenarith kept staring at him. "I'm glad. You're going to love what you learn next. Elune knows I had an amazing time with it. But it's something you'll like most of all."

"What is it? Can we try it now? I'm feeling a lot better." Kenarith couldn't keep the eagerness from her voice. Her hand remained on the chair's arm to steady herself. Kethel took in the sight of the bright-eyed, diminutive rogue with one rather skeptical glance.

"It's going to be the last thing we work on this week. If you do well, that is. Think of it as the best bribe you've ever had."

"Sure. We'll start with spells you can cast while sitting down."

Within a few hours, Kenarith had returned to her less obnoxious self. She and Kethel sat side by side, exchanging banter between Kenarith's attempts at casting the new spell. Each time the faint blue glimmer appeared overhead, they watched it with widened eyes. And each time it dissolved into nothingness, they started fighting over the cork again. It was on the tenth try that a brilliant sky-blue sigil drew itself over her head, and dissolved over them both. Kenarith smiled.

"It wears off every half hour, so pay attention. It's best when you cast it for something intricate, like picking locks or plotting out the spatials of of a building."
"It's a spell based on necessity, not Arcane. Ready to try something else this time?" Kenarith nodded eagerly. Kethel shoved himself further back into his chair, practically sinking in the cushions. "This one should be fun. First.. imagine the darkest place you've ever seen in your life. You can't see anything, anywhere. In fact, the glow from your eyes doesn't seem to work. All you can do is sense your surroundings through touch. It works better if you close your eyes and concentrate. Do it." She obeyed, eyelids twitching. "-Now 'pull' some of that shadow into our world. Grab it - don't be surprised if it feels weird in your mind. It won't hurt you."

Kenarith continued, eyes closed as she tried to imagine the 'perfect' dark place. She thought of many places outdoors in Ashenvale and Moonglade, but it never seemed quite right. Even caves were still lit by her eyes, and they still had the smell of the outdoors which helped to lead her. It only stuck when she remembered a winecellar of a wealthy patron in Stormwind. She had hidden there for several hours while doing a job. She imagined that darkness, seething and boiling around her, and reached for it with her mind.

A stream of shadow flowed out from her, smoother and more obscuring than mist, and blacker than regular shadow. Regular shadow diminished under light, but this didn't. As it rose up about their ankles, Kenarith squeaked and pulled her feet up, hugging her legs to her chest. Kethel slouched over until his hand brushed its surface. It drifted out over the floor, making a few passersby - who surely knew the drill by now - shake their heads and walk on.

"You're better at this one. It shouldn't need much practice to perfect. Want to try one more, or should we be finished for the day?"

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

That morning was heralded very beautifully by a line of gold and blue on the horizon, and a light sprinkling of snow on the grounds of Ravenholdt. And, less beautifully, by an immense stomachache on the part of a certain rogue who had curled up in the same armchair she had practiced her Assassin spells in. As usual, the rogues had no need for schedules. When the steady flow of people walking past her chair proved too much for Kenarith, she sat up, blinked, and looked around.

"I'll give you half. I don't understand why you can't help out in the gardens here; it's worth the trouble to get good food for the remaining half."

A girl sighed. "All right. But please remember to think ahead next time. And next time you go to Astranaar, try to get me some of the spice-preserved morels. They make the food here taste better. I'll cook something with them." The entire exchange was in Darnassian, between one Night Elven woman, and a younger one. Both had dark skin the color of eggplant, and proud, felid faces. Kenarith found herself examining them, wondering if they were sisters, or mother and daughter. When they were finished talking, she smiled over at them.

"I don't have any spice-preserved morels, but I came from Darnassus recently, and I brought plenty of food with me. I'd be happy to share."

The two needed no further urging. Kenarith was still hungry - stomachache not withstanding - and set to work with the other two, chewing through some of her more perishable food, and talking about the sorts of things so typically Night Elven that nobody else had the means or inclination to join in. As she learned, one's name was Annuile Boughprowler, and the other was Saewyn Leafstep. They were sisters, but with a great span of age between them. They were still talking an hour later, by the time Kethel strolled over with his usual cheery disposition. She could practically feel Saewyn's eyes go to him.
She smiled to herself and kept Annuile's attention away with an enthusiastic discussion about the state of rogues in Astranaar.


After the two left with business elsewhere, Kethel joined Kenarith where she sat out on the balcony to wait.

"Hey. Thanks for that. I haven't seen a real Kal'dorei girl here in ages." He squinted; eyelids flickering as he waited for Kenarith to throw the cork at him. She didn't. She just clasped it in one hand, then returned to looking out over the grounds. "It's like Elune Herself dropped them into my lap. If you know what I mean."
That time, she really did throw it. He dodged it just in time, and the cork went harmlessly plinging to the grass below.

"-And you can go back to sleeping." Kethel finished for her. He nodded, and walked up to the railing of the balcony to sit on it. Kenarith plopped herself down next to him, looking for the cork below.


It really was hours later, that time. But by the end of it, Kenarith knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that she had been given something powerful. A weapon. A source of entertainment. And above all, a means to an end. She was already beginning to plot what she'd do with it.
It didn't take long to figure out what she'd do first.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


The next morning, a person with all the appearance of the Warden Sylvandre Cloudtear bought a gryphon's flight from Southshore to Ironforge.
The only difference between her and the 'real' Sylvandre, were someone to look at her closely, was the fact that this one wore black, grooved knives under her cloak.

It was the most effort Kenarith had ever spent in an assignment.
This one was off the books, of course. And it was ambitious even for her. She remembered well, all the years she had spent eking out her place in the larger organizations of thieves. Years of doing smaller jobs, and picking around for what bits of information she could find. She'd never been loyal to a single group. Now it seemed like she might be rewarded for it.

She started in Ironforge; establishing contacts with the group there again. A day or two spent getting familiar with the place before she began to pick off the thieves in that group one by one. Each time she killed someone, she masqueraded as that person until her next kill. She only vaguely remembered the pattern of connections that the Ironforge group had formed. Each time she found herself at the 'end' of a chain of people, she changed form and watched the next planned target until they associated with someone she could use as a new form. No effort was spent on hiding the bodies, or altering the scene of the crime.
The organization wasted no time suspecting lawkeepers. In killing so selectively, Kenarith had proven that the culprit was one of them. A certain unnamed leader retaliated by alerting the guards to a threat against the civilians of Ironforge, and began secretly relocating their more valuable members. The rest went undercover. She barely escaped death by a defensive gadget deployed in a target's house. She spent a few days drinking potions and recuperating.

Stormwind was more difficult. She entered the city in her normal form, using invisibility to observe some of the operations, and to steal a 'stockroom' roster from one of the superiors in the organization. A few more days of relaxation followed, as she waited for that superior to fall under suspicion. Then she began the methodical process of hunting down one at a time; jumping from one person to the next through mutual connections. Once or twice, she ended up killing people she knew as friends. One - a ragged human female with an odd liking for Kal'dorei - she remembered spending a lean summer in Elwynn with, trying to pick off a few troublesome Defias members.

By the end of three weeks, she'd barely made a dent in the population of thieves and murderers. But in both those main cities, she'd dealt them enough of a blow to make them prey to the ones who would be waiting. The Pride would take its opportunity.

Now all that remained was to see if the assassins of Ravenholdt had been watching it all.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Kenarith stepped back from the corpse in the middle of the room, sheathing the bloodstained knives at her waist. The body underneath the gore was human, strong, and well-dressed; the former occupant had been one of the financial supporters of one of the guilds. From what she knew, he hadn't gained anything from the bargain. There had been no sign of him using the guild to personal ends.

What's the point of having a guild like that in your pocket if you're not even going to use it?

I know I wouldn't. It's just silly - he wouldn't be in much danger of being discovered, the way he was working, but why did he put himself in danger at all?

..There must be something I'm missing...

She helped herself to the coins she had on his person, as well as a rather promising box of trinkets sitting on his bureau before scampering out of the room with light feet. The corpse was left lying at the foot of the bed, slowly going cold as his blood congealed underneath him. The sounds of Stormwind life - horses and people walking along the cobblestones, people calling, and dogs barking - went on as usual.

Kenarith climbed out of the downstairs window, using the shadow to her advantage in hiding. A few people's gazes moved over that part of the house, but so superficially that they didn't see her. She took deep breaths and kept her back pressed up against the wall where she sat. Her heart was still thundering in her chest. She thought she could smell the blood on the knives. The rusty, warm smell was overpowering. As soon as she sat there as herself rather than a human woman, she rose to her feet and started walking through the crowd.

If he's the end of it... then what do I do now?

Besides wash.

Maybe I'll go back to Ironforge and see what's happened there. Maybe.. I'll go kill more people, and see if anyone from Ravenholdt recognizes that it's me doing it.

Maybe Kethel could give me more training. If he's not busy with Saewyn and Annuile...

She kept watching the cobblestones as they passed underneath her feet. Counting them. She could barely keep the satisfied smirk off her face. After those weeks, her plan would come to fruition, with the added bonus of thinning out her competition. She doubted that anyone would be able to follow the convoluted, seemingly reckless path she laid. If Chrysaetos ever managed to unravel it and decide to eliminate her for being a danger.. well, that was where she'd use Kethel to her advantage.

The best part was that as far as they knew, she had no motive. It was her favorite game to play.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A handful of days after the last kill, she descended amidst flurries of autumn leaves into Azshara Crater. It was hidden away from the sea breeze, and thus warmer than most of the land. Kenarith, who had forsaken sabers for traveling by herself, spent almost a day strolling on the small foot-worn pathways in the russet grass. Eventually, growing tired of the near-endless stream of people traveling along that road, she left it to strike off northeast over the hills.

It was quieter traveling like that. The air was filled with the spicy, sweet smells of autumn, and the few animals she saw were deer and rabbits who'd abandoned their natural sleep cycles. She smiled to herself upon seeing the latter - remembering a certain someone - and resisted chasing them for the fun of it. The entire world here seemed purer than the one she had left; the cloudless sky was never filled with the smoke of machines, nor were the ruins and trees cleared out by the inhabitants. In fact, she could imagine that nothing bad had ever happened here.

She sat alone that evening on one of the hilltops, looking down on the Kal'dorei settlement below and eating the last of her food. She could see people walking around below, by the waning coppery light of the sun. Most of them would be waking up around sunset. Hopefully, the person she was searching for would be amongst them.

Kenarith sat, rump in the soil as she looked down at the Stormcrow. It (he? She?) peered back up at her, then started to walk around her to get a good view from every direction. Kenarith held very still. When the bird was finished, she extended a hand slowly.

"Hey. Are you one of Sylly's?" A blink. "Have you got a message for me?"

The Stormcrow climbed up onto her lap. Kenarith winced as the claws dug into her leg through the fabric. She brushed through the grass at her side until she found a beetle, then held it up for the bird's inspection. It tipped a head to watch the myriad struggling legs, then gulped it down.

"Ow! Hey! You're supposed to eat the bug, not my fingers." If the creature looked embarrassed, it could be explained away by the thick red-purple evening light, and the shadows of the trees which swayed in the wind. And how did a bird look embarrassed in the first place? It went back to climbing all over her lap. Kenarith wrapped one hand and arm with the extra jacket she'd planned to wear that night to ward off the cold, and nudged the bird's feet with it.
It hopped willingly from the lap to Kenarith's arm.

Kenarith grinned. She gave the 'crow's head a a few gentle pats, locking her other arm to keep it from drooping under the added weight. The bird was much heavier than it looked.

I wonder where you're from. You're obviously not afraid of Kal'dorei. Are you a druid? A druid's friend? Maybe you're a bird who likes to hang out on the borders of towns for a free meal?
Sounds reasonable enough for a crow... but why are you so friendly? You're friendly enough to be the sort of pet a human'd keep.

Maybe someone's having me watched.

By the time the bird had climbed to her shoulder and started preening her hair, she'd made up her mind what to do. If it was a spy, then she'd just lose it. It wouldn't work to act too suspicious of the creature. She'd enjoy her time here like always, then leave in a different form to throw the bird off any possible trail. She stood up carefully, using her hand on a nearby log to brace herself. The bird dug its claws in.

She slung her pack onto one shoulder and started walking down the hill towards the settlement below. Other Kal'dorei were awake by now; she could see humanoid shadows moving in the growing dusk. The wisp-lanterns were appearing one by one in blooms of cold blue light. Her walking pace increased when she noticed the outline of an inn down the hill, built into the curve of the land and surrounded by young trees. The crow got tired of being jostled and flew from her shoulder. She chased after it, laughing, until it had dropped out of sight in the buildings below.

Her stride eased up after it was gone. She walked along the crest of the hill, smiling to herself as she smoothed her hair back into some semblance of order. She'd keep an eye on the Stormcrow, but it wasn't such a worry now. There were other, better ways to spend her time in Azshara.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Where have you been all this time?" Kethel stepped back, disengaging the claws he wore from Kenarith's daggers. He stood braced there for a moment before lunging to the side, one handful of claws striking out at Kenarith's shoulder. Kenarith darted aside just as quickly and stabbed at the side he'd left unprotected. The dagger contacted metal rather than flesh. He'd moved his hand to the side too quickly for her to see. She released the weapon. It had been wedged in the interlocking sections of metal which formed the fingers on Kethel's claws. The tip of the dagger had barely touched his skin. She grimaced.

"I've been out working. You told me I was supposed to go off and practice what I'd learned so far. So I did." She glanced around the small practice ring, catching her breath in the meantime. It was early enough that there were very few people awake, and none of them outside practicing except her and Kethel. "I'd tell you more, but I can't. The client was in a dangerous position already."

"I hope you didn't miss any lessons with Chrysaetos." Kethel stood nearby on the tamped soil, waiting for Kenarith to continue. "If you did, I can't help you there."

"Not even to repay me for introducing you to Saewyn?" Kenarith asked, slyness creeping into her voice. She darted for Kethel again, waiting for him to block her before she slipped under his outstretched arm. She managed to elbow him in the ribs before he spun, his shoulder and arm flinging her to the ground with unexpected force. She landed on her rump and kicked his legs out from under him before he could reach her.

He struck the ground more lightly than she had, rolling back and getting to his feet. Now at a safer distance, he gave her a truly wicked grin. "No."

Pling.

That time, the cork struck him squarely on the forehead. Kenarith's arm returned to her side. She flopped onto her back, giggling uncontrollably. Kethel picked up the cork and flicked it back at her. It bounced off her belly while she was still giggling. It went completely unnoticed. After her giggles subsided, she sat upright and looked up at Kethel.

"It was worth it." She paused as she shifted onto her feet, brushing her rump off. "So what now? Are we finished?"

"Yes. I want to get some sleep before my next assignment." Kethel slipped his hand weapons off and pressed several of the hinges. The claws retracted smoothly into the handle part, which clicked shut as well. Kenarith walked over, peering at them. She ran for her cloak - which lay in a clump off to the side of the practice ring - and followed him inside the Manor again.

"Wow.. I didn't notice that before. Where did you get those?"

Kenarith's eyes had widened to the point of her resembling a lemur. She stopped where she was on the stairs. Kethel's ears flicked up, and he looked back at her. "Really?"

"Yes. Currency can be - and often is - tracked by magic, so paying in goods nobody'll admit to making, which the recipients have to keep protected and close is the better option." Kethel settled with a groan into his favorite chair, which was one of the largest in Ravenholdt - and yet, still woefully undersized. "It defies common sense. But it works."

Kenarith thought back to Ravenholdt's arsenal of weaponry, tools of trade, and poisons in the cellar. She remembered the time she'd been fortunate enough to go down into the cellar with one of the senior members of Ravenholdt; there had been innumerable gadgets and weapons, and the poisons had been brewed and stored with a care befitting old wines. Fleetingly, she wondered if there was anyone who had paid for enough 'mysterious deaths' that he or she would have contributed many items to that stock. And she thought back to the one man in Stormwind whom she had killed.

"How long did you have to work for Ravenholdt before you started getting rewards like that?" It went without saying that she wanted a pair of those hand weapons as well.

She had just stopped talking to give Kethel some nap-conducive silence when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to look.

It was Chrysaetos.

"You were late for your lesson. Why?" Kenarith tried to keep her eyes from bulging. She gazed back, trying to remember how to look as normal as possible.



"Really. You'll have to tell it to me." Chrysaetos walked away from Kenarith, towards the door of a closed room. She beckoned the elf to her, and opened the door. The east-facing room had sunlight streaming in through the windows, dust drifting lazily on the motes. The furniture and wall decorations suggested it had been a sitting room once. Chrysaetos removed something from the window frame before she sat, Kenarith following suit. "And of course, you realize that we haven't had any assignments based in Night Elven lands for about half a year."

A pause. "The client didn't order the assassination through us. I met someone I knew in Menethil Bay who sent me to him." She hoped fervently that she wasn't stuttering from one word to the next. Her voice sounded strangled in her ears.

"Any reason given for it?"
"Who was the target?"
"Did you notice anything odd about him?"



"-Unless he was a stowaway." Chrysaetos peered over at her. Searchingly. The usual interests of clients, and code of the rogues prevented clients from sharing their names. Or if they did share, it prevented the rogue from telling it. "So this single assignment is supposed to explain why you're two weeks late. Did the thought never cross your mind to return here and inform one of your superiors?"

"I didn't think it would take that long." Kenarith paused, drawing breath. "I met someone else I knew while I was there. My disguise doesn't last for long, so I spent most of my time in Auberdine looking like I do now. And.. it's not hard for Kal'dorei to recognize one another."

"I expect professional killers to be capable of managing their own affairs on their own time. I don't care what you do while you're not on an assignment, but see to it that the two never mix again." Chrysaetos put her hands to the armrests of her chair and stood up, walking for the door. "If you're incapable of it, you'd best tell me now." Kenarith said nothing. In the immediate silence, they could hear people walking past in the room outside. She thought for an instant that she could hear a whisper in Darnassian. Chrysaetos opened the door and started to walk out.

"Wait! Don't you have any other assignments to give me? I missed the lessons, but I can still work." Chrysaetos stopped on the threshold, looking back to Kenarith with a blank face.

"No. Use your time on something else."

The dusk was settling over the grounds of Ravenholdt by the time the Kal'dorei inhabitants woke.
Kenarith spent a few minutes talking to Saewyn and Annuile - giving them the spiced morels she'd bought in Ashenvale - before they slipped off to their respective duties and Kenarith was left alone with her thoughts. She sat on the frosted lawn with her cloak underneath her, dangerously close to moping. After her bottom got too cold and she tired of watching her breath come out in cottony puffs, she went inside. Perhaps Chrysaetos would reconsider, given time. She certainly hoped so. And as much as she hated to think of it, buckling down and working would be the best form of plea.

"Pst. Kethel. Kethel." Her hissing voice did nothing to wake the Kal'dorei who was sprawled over the chair, breath fluttering the strands of hair on his face each time he snored. Her ears drooped to protect her eardrums from the snoring. "Kethel. Wake up. You sound like a Goblin shredder." To that insult, he merely rolled over in his sleep and yawned slightly.

She gave him a dirty look and searched around in her pocket for something. As soon as the ubiquitous cork was in hand, one of Kethel's eyes cracked open. He reached over, yawning, as he snatched it away before she could throw it.

"Please tell me you weren't doing what I think you were."

"...Maybe I was. We'll never know." Kenarith clambered onto the back of the chair and sat there. One or two of the room's inhabitants gave her warning looks. She ignored them, and leaned down to peer at Kethel, the features warping and blurring on her face. By the time he looked up at her, she had a googly-eyed face more akin to a freakish, alien bird than anything else. He flinched and sat back hard. Kenarith giggled and reshaped it back into her normal self.

"Sorry for waking you up, but you sleep like a druid. I was worried you'd sleep too long, and wouldn't be able to leave in time for your assignment."

"Mmhmph. Thanks." He looked around. "Where did Saewyn go?"

"She and Annuile both had some work. They should be back in a day or so." Kenarith paused. "Can I come with you? Please?"

"Well.."

"-I'm not just doing it for the goodies, I promise. I really want to help."

Kethel took in the wide-eyed, begging rogue on the back of the chair and couldn't resist cracking a smile. "Sure. It's in Duskwood. You won't mind a bit of a jaunt?"

"No! I want to come along."
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It couldn't really be considered a mansion. But it was quite close to it, regardless. Kenarith and Kethel checked the grounds, noting everything - a small unproductive garden rife with sickly weeds, several outbuildings, and even a dovecote which looked as if it had been used recently. When they were finished, Kenarith climbed from the trellis onto the roof of the second floor to keep a watch. They had chosen early morning for this operation, when the guards of Darkshire would be least attentive. She still expected to see people emerge from the misty northern road.
Or, worse, to see something else coming the other way.

Kethel followed her on the trellis. She turned to watch as he padded silently across the roof, avoiding poorly-moored shingles with well planned steps. He paused to look in one of the windows.

"This house is better guarded than I thought. It's got at least one mage. Maybe two. Come here." Kenarith obeyed silently. Once at the window, she watched as Kethel pointed at several places throughout the room inside. Without the benefit of their glowing eyes it was impossible to see everything properly, save the few bare floorboards illuminated by a golden light from beneath the door. The rest of it was concealed in shadows which only hinted at the general shapes of their contents. Kethel passed her the eyeglass he had been using.

As soon as Kenarith touched her face to it, she could see a fine, colorless network of interlocking designs which flowed over the door and window, and swayed gently on the floor like a magical sea. The whole construction gave off a gentle light. She lowered her head to see closer to the floor, careful to not touch the magic-coated window. A few threads of the spell passed beneath the door's crack and out of sight. Kethel accepted the eyeglass back and beckoned her away from the window.

"It's a sensor. If anyone tries to get in, the mage will know. We'll have to use another way - and quickly, in case they're also scryers. They could have set up an outdoor observation spell."

"If you're living here, you can't afford to be stupid. I bet you they blocked off every entrance. Maybe.. hm.. there are two of us. We could both trip off different sensors at the same time."

"-And the decoy could get them to use up all their mana! I have no idea where the mages are inside the house though. It'll be a fifty-fifty chance that either of us could encounter them. And I don't know what the target looks like."

"Let's go. We can't just give up now." Kenarith sat on the roof to spare her feet. She looked down at herself as she reformed into a human woman; young and kindly-looking, with golden hair and calloused hands. "...You don't think there'll be anything else in there, do you? Did the client mention anything?"

"I don't know. Nothing." Kethel braced himself by the window, then handed Kenarith the eyeglass. She jumped from the roof, drifting down to land amongst the dead branches of a lilac garden. She fairly melted into the shadows. Thus hidden, she selected a window on the far side of the house - within Kethel's view - and looked at it through the glass.

The room crackled to life with silvery-white sigils; streaming across every surface in an endless complex pattern which was sickening to watch. Her eyes tracked a sudden movement of shadows underneath the door. Someone was definitely behind it. She crouched out of instinct and took the glass off. By then, Kethel was looking down at her.
She gave him a hand signal and slid one of her picks into the seal of the window.


It was then that the door broke open.

Kenarith ducked her head behind the windowsill as the door broke open. She stayed frozen there, hardly daring to breathe as she listened to the footsteps moving across the floor. It was creaking so loudly that perhaps they couldn't hear her.

They moved closer. She fumbled around with the daggers on her belt; trying to reach one without dropping the pick. The sound of a creature snuffling wetly made her blood run cold.

"What is it, Xonidiv? Smell something?" The voice was high-pitched, raspy, and unmistakably male. Kenarith thought back to the time she'd tangled with a warlock - a sickly human one who knew he wouldn't be living for much longer. They had the worst habits. She sniffed. Next to the window, she could smell a burning stench like human hair.

The whatever-it-was was too close now. It growled louder with each moment she waited. But the daggers were in her hands. It was now or never.

She launched herself over the windowsill and onto the creature on the other side. It snarled beneath her feet; biting at any part of her legs it could reach in its bloody frenzy. One of the mouths dug its teeth in past her boot leather. She yelped and kicked at it with her other leg. It wheeled back as it was caught in the ribs, then jumped for her face.

Time slowed. She could feel her pulse in her leg. Each heartbeat forced more blood out of her body, and into the sodden mass of cloth that had once been her pantleg. A gaping, demonic mouth moved towards her; teeth dripping with her own blood. But it was too slow for her now. She sidestepped the creature and the poison-green sphere of magic the warlock threw at her. The creature hit the wall. She pinned it there with her dagger, cracking its carapace. The ensuing shrill scream made her drop both demon and dagger to the floor.

She ducked as the warlock threw another sphere. This one shattered a framed portrait on the wall. Kenarith ran for him. He feinted to the side: staff extended. Her own speed forced the staff against her gut. She choked and grabbed at the staff with one hand, trying to force it into a position where the warlock had none of the leverage. If she could.... then the fight was as good as hers.

"Think you're going to get past us, huh?" The warlock made a gasping sort of laugh. He stiffened his arm. No matter how Kenarith tried, she couldn't wrest the staff from him - or even position it in a way that he couldn't fire magic at her. Her heart raced. She glared at him.

If I can just...

"You startled us, I'll give you that. And it'll take me all of five minutes to summon a new demon. But.. in the long run.. we're the ones who keep the place." A new green orb was forming in his free hand. He looked down at the elf, chuckling. "Thanks for the entertainment, kiddo. Too bad we can't keep you around."

Before he could attack her, he was gaping ineffectively, trying to breathe. A dagger's handle protruded from right between the ribs. He struck out at her with the staff. But instead of harming her, all he did was force himself forward with the momentum. He hit the floor front-first. Something large cracked. It might have been her imagination, but she thought she'd heard blood spatter.

Kenarith spent a few moments tying scraps around her leg, and taking inventory of the room. She couldn't see the dagger she'd used on the demon, and getting the other one back meant rolling the dead warlock over. She didn't have time for that. Kethel needed her.

She used the spyglass on the door before opening it. Beyond it, she could hear voices and steel-on-steel. Someone ran down the hallway outside. She flung the door open just as the person was passing it, and was rewarded with a loud thud.

"Get up here!" The voice somewhere above her was Kethel's.

She dragged the fallen person over to the door and slammed it until she could see his skull cave in. Only then did she bolt upstairs. She took the stairs three steps at a time, literally throwing herself at the person on the landing. Her weight brought him to the floor. She looked around for Kethel.

There was a moment's struggle. Almost before she realized what was happening, blood and ragged little strips of flesh and hair were soaking through the rug. The man's neck had been cut. The weapon - a serrated shortsword - was still in Kethel's hand. He motioned Kenarith off the body, and began to wipe the blade off with the dead man's shirt.


"...A warlock.. and his pet." Kenarith panted. Now that the urgency of the moment was past, she could take in her surroundings a bit better. And she was starting to feel the wounds in her leg. She envied Kethel. It looked like he wasn't bothered in the slightest.


Kenarith groaned.

"Sure. Got any spare daggers?"

Kethel nudged at a fallen warlock with his boot. Kenarith could see from her angle that one of the woman's hands had been charred almost to the bone. A twisted humanoid skeleton, mouth agape, lay not far from her. It looked like the latter had once possessed hooves. Kenarith moved for the woman, and checked her belt. She took both weapons.

"I'm ready. Let's go."

When had it become so quiet? Now that the blood no longer pounded through her ears, she could hear the aging floorboards creak underneath their feet. Each step downstairs was agonizingly loud. And the rooms through which they passed were so dank as to be inexcusable. Granted, it was Duskwood, but even a coven of warlocks had to clean sometime.

The last descent was into the basement. Kethel stopped and lit a flashbomb, pitching it down the stairs. They both stopped and covered their eyes as it filled the place with light. There was no-one. They continued downstairs, into the cold.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Here. I've got something!"

Kethel migrated over to Kenarith, who stood in one of the cellar's corners. One section of 'earth' had been pulled out of the floor to reveal a wooden compartment. It was too large to lift and carry.

The chest was oddly smooth; the wood-grain worn down, and both hinges and lock pitted with rust. Hard to believe that anyone would keep their valuables in it. But given the gross air of the place, it was equally hard to believe that anyone would want to open a suspicious chest.

Kethel sat down hard on the dirt floor and began working the lock open. Kenarith remained standing. She folded her arms and leaned against the wall, relaxing as she kept watch.

Crash! The sound came from upstairs.

"Yeah. That was me." Kenarith grinned. Kethel blinked, and smiled. The sound of crashing furniture and breaking dishes continued on upstairs. If someone truly was in the house, the Phantom Sound would be enough to keep them busy.

The lock clicked. Kethel opened the top of the chest, and they both leaned over to look at the contents. Kenarith took a heavy tome off the top, tilting it to get the dust off. It was bound in heavy red leather. The gilt stamps on it were peeling away, and the writing on the spine wasn't legible.

"..I.. think this is in Eredun." Kenarith kept flicking through the pages. The marks in them were glyphlike. Each was drawn in sharp little strokes which reminded her of claw marks. She closed it. "-And we all know better than to read strange demonic books we find in the cellar. What else is there?"

She realized she'd been stupid to ask that question as soon as she looked down again. The box was filled with metallic trinkets and coins; costume jewelry, magical paraphernalia, and old currency all mixed together with abandon. A few jewels shone out here and there. It was tempting. Unfortunately, it would soon belong to either Kethel or his client. She had no business taking any.

"We're finished here. Let's go."
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

They were back in Ravenholdt's grounds by the time two days had passed. It was calm again. The grasses and trees alike were summery green, and swayed in the breezes they caught up on the mountain. The training grounds were filled with eager rogues practicing their weapons skills on one another. They made quite a racket in the process.

Kenarith lay flat on her back, cloak folded beneath her head as she watched the clouds sail by. It was the perfect day to do nothing. Chrysaetos hadn't asked to speak with her yet. In fact, she hadn't even seen the human around. She knew she should be worried. But on a day like this? Impossible.

At the sound of Kethel's voice, she glanced sidelong at him and nodded. He flicked something down to the grass, and it lay glinting there in the sun. She picked it up.

It was a trinket, woven with what seemed to be silvery spidersilk. She turned the oval in her hands. Eight curved 'arms' pointed out from the center in a sunburst pattern. Or a spider pattern.

"Thanks! But what does it do?"


"...You're not telling me?"


"Come on! I don't want to toy around with it for weeks, just to find out what it does!"

The argument continued on into the afternoon. A happy argument, more for the sake of entertainment than disagreement. It was the sort of thing that - along with the cloud-gazing - made a perfect idle summer's day. The perfect thing to lower one's guard.

And it would be the last day of peace.

The next evening, Kenarith was woken by thunder. She curled up tighter on the chair she'd been sleeping on, and opened one eye.

It was already dark, outside and inside. The rain roared down on the roof so loudly that it was hard to hear anything else. It was exactly the sort of weather she'd been named for. She got up and began to rummage through the bag she'd been lying on.

With a chunk of Sylvandre-made dried venison in her mouth, she went downstairs. The lower reaches of Ravenholdt were dim, windows awash in rain. Shadows moved on the pane closest to the door. Her ears tilted forward; listening to whatever was on the other side. Something was out there. A whisper. She ran off to the side of the room, hiding herself beneath a layer of invisibility. From this safety she watched and listened.

The door opened. With the sounds of rain and thunder came the sounds of low voices, and someone dragging something behind them. Lightning lit up the open courtyard behind them just long enough to get a look. One was a human, sodden black hair clinging to her shoulders and face. Amber eyes shone as another bolt of lightning brightened the windows. Chrysaetos. But the other one was someone new.

He was no taller than Chrysaetos, and certainly not more imposing. What made Kenarith stare were the fel-green eyes he glanced about the room with, and the lance on his back which gave off a light of its own. A faint light, but definitely there.


"It's too late to start planning now. You should go sleep. Someone's going to hear us." That was Chrysaetos's voice. And she sounded almost... normal. Kenarith blinked. She couldn't remember hearing the savage human ever talk to someone without an edge in her voice.

"I will, thank you. Tomorrow, after you're finished with your underlings, we need to talk." The other voice was serious. She could practically see the guy frowning in the dark.

"Stop. I see something." The two froze. Kenarith drew back as Chrysaetos walked closer, peering at the floor. She created another illusion over herself, to no avail. A hand shot down and grabbed her by the nape of the neck.

"Who is it?" The man asked.

"It's one of my underlings, Aren'shari. You can relax." Chrysaetos turned her gaze back to the elf in hand. Her grip became tighter. "-And you have a bit of explaining to do. Why were you watching us under stealth?"

For the second time in her life, Kenarith was rendered utterly speechless. She looked up at the human, wide-eyed, trying to think. Nothing came out of her mouth. When she found her sense, it was like a dam breaking.

"I'm a Night Elf! Of course I'm going to be awake at night! I just came downstairs, realized someone was outside, and didn't know what to do. So I hid.."

"Mm. Is eavesdropping a hobby now?"

"You can let her go. If she's a Ravenholdt rogue, then there's nothing to worry about." Aren'shari looked down at her. For a moment, she had the odd impression he was looking through her. "-It's not worth drawing attention over."

"She's still sneaking around."

Aren'shari glanced back at her, and shook his head slightly. "We'll decide what to do later." Bit by bit, the tension on Kenarith's neck eased. Chrysaetos let her go. Immediately, the elf rubbed her neck to get the circulation going again.

"...I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention to listen in." She lowered her head. "I'll go upstairs if you want to speak in privacy."

"Go back to sleep." That was Chrysaetos again. "You're operating on daytime hours now. And tomorrow, we've got training to do."

Kenarith ducked her head again and fled up the stairs. Behind her, she could hear the murmurs of the two over the rumble of thunder and rain. They did not sound happy.
..........................................................................................................................................

She'd missed Kethel, much to her disappointment. Her uncle was either out on an assignment, or he'd already gone to sleep somewhere hidden.

She sat on the familiar upper balcony she and Chrysaetos had used before, eating the remainder of her jerky, along with berries she'd picked that morning. And she made sure to test for poison first.

"So you remembered."

The voice came from above her. She tipped back her head, and looked full into the face of Chrysaetos. "What?"

"To test for poison. Good." Chrysaetos walked past Kenarith and sat on the railing. Her shirt was sleeveless - a concession to the heat. For an instant, movement pushed the fabric aside, and Kenarith saw the marking on her shoulderblade. It was a deep scar, circular and spined. The center bore the design of a hammer.

Why would an assassin give herself a scar that could easily identify her?

...I've seen that pattern before, I know it. But where?

"Today, we'll be practicing more advanced techniques. Kethel tells me that he was training you in my absence; is that correct?" The elf nodded, and she continued. "I will also be testing you on what he taught."

By the time practice was over, Kenarith and Chrysaetos were facing one another in the combat grounds. The sun radiated warmth - too much of it - down onto them. Kenarith leaned over as she tried to catch her breath. Eventually, she just flopped face-down onto the dirt.

"That will be enough for now. We'll continue tomorrow. After that, you will be given another assignment."

Kenarith peeled herself off the ground and started brushing herself off. She did likewise with her weapons. She returned them to her belt and looked to Chrysaetos, who was in the process of untying her hair. It fell to her back like a thick black waterfall.

"Chrysaetos?"
"Who was that person last night? Someone whom you work with?"

This provoked a lopsided smile. Kenarith, who'd never expected such a reaction, stared again.
"...Ah. Is he here for something?" The two started to walk back to the house proper; Kenarith walking faster to keep up with the taller human's stride.

He didn't seem to mind me either. What sort of Blood Elf gets along with Night Elves and humans that well?

..Stupid ones?

But he didn't act stupid.

"He's here for business." Chrysaetos' voice was suddenly brusque. "It doesn't involve you in any way, Third Head."
..........................................................................................................................................

Kethel still hadn't returned the next day, much to her disappointment. The two Kaldorei sisters were both missing as well. She'd spent the morning sleeping. The only thing worth waking up for was Chrysaetos's training, which wouldn't be until the afternoon.

She missed Kalimdor. Her father. The woods of Ashenvale. But most of all, she missed Sylvandre. What was the point of staying here in the Eastern Kingdom when there was so much to do elsewhere? What had happened to the thieves' industries in Stormwind and Ironforge after she'd killed so many of their members? Had anyone discovered the dead warlocks in the Duskwood estate yet?

She blinked awake as someone walked past her, and turned her head to look. It was none other than the elf she and Chrysaetos had spoken of earlier. Her 'friend', Aren'shari. Quickly, she lowered her eyelids most of the way again. To anyone who wasn't watching her like a hawk, she'd look like she was asleep. No sounds came from his side of the room.

When she looked again, the locked door at the end of the room was open. The space beyond it was empty, but for the golden daylight.