A single thread of hope

[Ellycia]

For the thousandth time, she tried to sleep, and for the thousandth time, it eluded her, taunting her with snatches of dozing only to be reawakened by a breeze across her face or the footstep of some wild creature, or even her own relentless thoughts, starving her of sleep yet again as they imagined nightmare scenario after nightmare scenario, until she wanted nothing more than to pull the blanket over her head and scream into it. But enough of her remained lucid to know what a terrible danger that would be, now of all times, and so she simply lay there, staring up at the forest canopy, until, for at least the fifth time tonight, she yielded to her own terrors and sat up, half-expecting, half-hoping almost, that the night around her were filled with armed foes and monsters beyond description, as that at least would have been a fear manifested, rather than one boring through her like a mine.

Of course it was not so. All she saw when she sat up was the green hedge of bushes and low trees that encircled the small clearing that she lay in, and the immense wooden wall that served as Teldrassil's outer rampart, fencing her in from the south and east. This small space, barely fifteen paces across and devoid of any feature but the soft grass beneath her and the meager 'possessions' she had brought to it, was as it had always been, its very simplicity and lack of any nearby landmarks the reason she had chosen it in the first place. Nobody came here, for there was no reason to, a forgotten corner of the great tree of the Kaldorei above lake Al'Ameth, untended by ranger or huntress, nor by firbolg nor grell nor any other thing that dwelt in this place, save the occasional squirrel or bird. The perfect place for folk that were not supposed to be in Teldrassil at all, whose very presence here, it had been repeatedly intimated, was a tacit insult to the authorities of Darnassus, one that would eventually be answered, if it continued. She would not ordinarily even be here at all, but for...

... but for...

She took a shallow, ragged breath, letting the night air blow over her bare skin for a time, rubbed at eyes already red and swollen from the treatment, and slowly got up.

As always, part of her immediately wanted to flee, run into the shadows and abandon this place, and for once it wasn't just because of the risk of being found here. Wherever Corwin was, wherever they had taken him, it was surely not here, in Teldrassil, and she knew with a certainty that was like iron in her belly that every moment she lay or waited here was another moment that she was not following him, not searching for him, not finding him. Each successive minute that passed, and there had been enough minutes to blur into days now, was precious in some inestimable way, and yet they passed, one after the next. Many times before she had panicked, and flown off this way or that one, searching almost randomly for a sign of her little brother or those who had taken him, but it was as though searching for a needle in a haystack made of needles. Every corner of Kalimdor was filled with false leads and secret ways, and none of those had anything to do with her plight, nor any hope to offer someone desperate and frightened and with nowhere else to turn.

Clad in nothing but her makeshift bikini, she walked three steps to a large canvas sack which lay unfastened on the ground and knelt before it, rummaging inside for a moment before pulling out a bundle wrapped in green cloth. Unwrapping it, she set aside the stone bowl and pestle it contained, the bundles of mageroyal petals and silverleaf bound with vine, and the wooden figurine, roughly-hewn and carved inexpertly from a piece of driftwood, that might have been a tauren or a particularly fat orc. The last she set down gently, almost reverently, laying it on the grass with care as she unfolded the cloth that had enveloped the items, unfurling a long robe of dyed green wool, which she slipped on over her head, letting it spill down to her bare feet. The sleeves were absurdly long, sliding down over her hands as though she were a child of eight, and the treated wool itched her skin, making her fidget and squirm. She tried to ignore it, picking up a faded hairtie from beside her and binding her hair up in a long ponytail, but the weight of the damnable thing would not leave her be. Who this robe had been originally made for, what Worgen or Draenei or giant of a Night Elf it had been tailored to, she had no idea. She had stolen it from a laundry basket in Stormwind not days ago, and already it was showing signs of wear, the seams loosening, the fabric darning, well on its way to becoming nothing more than a discarded rag. For now though, it would suffice... assuming of course that someone was coming.

Assuming a lot of things.

Her mind drifted back to a place half-a-world away, to Stormwind, the largest city in the world, or at least the world as she knew it, a place so thronging with people that she thought she might go mad if she had to spend another moment within it. But the druid had offered to meet her there, and so there she had gone, slipping past guards and bystanders, adventurers and cutpurses and a thousand other things she had not afforded herself the time to guess at, hiding where she could, all to make her way to a secluded spot, or at least as secluded as Elwynn Forest contained, mercifully beyond the city walls. There to meet someone whose name she had overheard from a Void Elf's idle chatter while deep in his cups in the inn at Dolanaar. A druid named Shari'Adune, who might have been fictional for all she knew, but who sounded, from the rounds of conversation she had been eavesdropping on from the bushes, might just have been able to help her.

To Stormwind she had gone, little though she wanted to, and there found a night elf smaller than any she had ever met, no larger than she herself was. A druid of considerable power, if the rumors were true, but who had looked at her with kind eyes and offered to help, though she had no means of actually doing so directly, of course. But she had listened, despite all the worries of the world that the great and powerful had to attend to, sat with her and listened and promised to find someone that could help. And all this despite Shari'Adune not knowing her and despite her dirt and rags and tears and halting, unpracticed speech. Despite all of this the druid had said she would help.

She closed her eyes for a moment. The druid had also said she was from the future, and that Tel'drassil had been destroyed by the Horde. There was a strong possibility that this Shari'Adune was simply insane, or telling stories, or having cruel sport with a ragged human girl before going about her lordly business. No matter how warm the Kaldorei's smile and manner seemed, or the offer she had made of food and coin, it was possible, maybe even probable, that this was all another sick joke to waste her time and destroy any lingering hope of her ever seeing Corwin again.

She stopped, forced herself to stop, lest the panic overtake her once more. And largely because she needed something to do right now other than worry, she reached back into the large canvas bag, and withdrew flint and tinder. Kneeling down once more, nearly tripping on the hem of her robe, she piled the sticks together in a loose bundle, and turning to one side, picked a paid of naked daggers up from the ground beside the blanket she had been unsuccesfully trying to sleep beneath, striking the hilt of one of them against the flint to produce a torrent of sparks. Slowly, the wood caught, as she nursed it with her breath and with shavings of bark drawn from the encircling trees, and soon a small fire crackled in the middle of the clearing, casting flickering shadows against the hedge of leaf and branch around her, like a thousand misshapen demons conjured up by her own fears.

She knew how to make a smaller fire, of course, one that would have emitted little light and less smoke, but not this time. This time, for once, she wanted to extend a signal to any who might be searching for her that she was here. Even here, in this forgotten corner of Tel'drassil, that was risky. There was a chance that some starving nightsaber or giant spider would happen by, looking for a meal, that some fel-tinged firbolg or grell might decide to make mischief, or worst of all, that a passing Kaldorei ranger might see the light of the flames and decide to investigate. What the Night Elves might say about a stripling human lighting fires within their world tree, she could well imagine. They had said as much to her before.

It didn't matter now. The fire was lit, and she could not put it out, not without extinguishing any embers of hope she still had. If Shari'Adune and her friend the tracker were not coming, then she did not know what she would do, something desperate and stupid most likely. She sat down beside her fire and drew her knees up to her chest, wearing the stolen robe like a tent, laying her daggers on the grass with the hilts under the palms of her hands. Carefully she folded and unfolded her arms, drumming every few seconds on the daggers as though they might rise of their own accord and scurry away into the night.

The sounds of Tel'drassil at night enveloped her, as animals and other creatures went about their way, drowning the soft crackling of the fire. She sat, and stared into the darkness, and waited to see if anyone was coming, and if they were, whether it was to help her or to add to everything that had happened in the last few endless days.

[Lazre Nightclaw]

As the evening pressed on, the Kaldorei became restless. His armor had been adjusted from the golds and blues of the Alliance regalia that he had been wearing over the last few days. Now, it was muted colors of greens and browns, much for fitting for the Druid. Rather than two large clawed weapons on his fist, two blades were sheathed at his hips. He sat it the tavern that overlooked the Boralus harbor, eyes narrowed with an intensity that deterred anyone who had an inclination to approach him. His gaze was settled on a pair of letters, reading over them carefully - likely for the hundredth time.

While he had lived several centuries, in this moment, patience was a lacking virtue and it caused him to stir restlessly. The fingers of his left hand drummed against the hardwood of the table, that seemed much too small for him to sit at. A slow, careful breath passed through his nose and he stood abruptly. The letters were folded, and tucked into a satchel that he pulled over his shoulder. He left behind a stack of coin to pay for his meal and drink and exited through the door, purpose in his step.

His feet carried him down the cobbled road passing above the harbor until it gave way to a fence and a drop. Lazre pulled himself up over and dropped into the doorway below, pivoting and passing through to the chamber where several mages worked tirelessly to keep portals open to the Alliance cities. A nearby guard huffed and shook his head, but said nothing to the towering Night Elf. No longer was there a portal to Darnassus, but he approached and requested transportation to Darkshore. After a moments hesitation, the mage shrugged helplessly and did as requested.

The air stung his eyes, and the smell of burning filled the wind. In the distance, Teldrassil still burned. A roaring inferno that painted the sky dark with smoke and ash. He had been there that day, fought until he could no longer fight and wept when survivors were ushered through portals to Stormwind. All of it was still fresh on his conscience and it caused his blood to boil with frustration. This was but one of many tragedies that the ancient Druid had bore witness, but it was a fresh wound that had not yet begun to heal. A frown drew over his lips and cemented itself across his features.

"Zidormi!," he called out, his voice carrying across the silent forest that bordered the beachfront of Darkshore. He kept his back turned away from the ocean.

Before long a robed human woman approached quietly from the southern road. Her skin brushed with bronze, raven locks of hair cropped short around her ears. She smiled, "I received your missive, Nightclaw. Need I remind you the dangers of disrupting the past?" Her gaze was unsettling, dangerous. A threat.

Lazre turned to greet her with only a nod, "Yes, I know Keeper - as I told you, I am here only to find a boy."

She seemed content with the explanation and advanced towards the Kaldorei. Her feet lifted from the ground as she took to floating rather than standing, "Breath. Relax - and close your eyes." She said, lifting a hand up and pressing her palm to the Druids forehead.

When his eyes opened, the air no longer smelled of smoke. The horizon held not the damnable glow of fire. Instead, he stood among a better time. When the War was on another, distant planet. When the Kaldorei were not besieged by death and destruction. Sorrow washed over him and the weight of all Teldrassil felt as though it rest upon his shoulders. Swallowing seemed difficult, but he turned and moved towards the ocean.

Zidormi spoke, her voice carried as though no distance had been put between them, "Do not become and enemy of the Keepers, Nightclaw."

The threat carried such gravity, but was spoken so calmly that a shiver rolled down the Druid's spine. He knew better. When the forest opened to the shore and the ocean was laid bare before him, his downcast eyes lifted to take in the sight of Teldrassil, unmarred by the Horde, safe and alive. He could almost hear the market bustling with morning harvest, the playing of children, or the subtle growl of a passing Nightsaber. His feet picked up, one after the other as he began to run. The slow rolling surf splashed up around him and he leapt, his arms extending into magnificent wings. Features sprouted along his body as he changed into the form of a great owl. He beat those wings against the air around him, splashing water, and ascending towards the place he once called home.

The flight was too short. Laz exhaled softly, reverted back to his Kaldorei form in Rut'theran, the small gate town to Darnassus. He had made up his mind on the flight over. Rather than let himself grow distracted by the sights, smells, and sounds of his old home, back from the grave, he would press on at the task ahead. Over the next several hours, Lazre spent his time asking around, searching for clues about the human woman who called Teldrassil her home.

His questions lead to more questions, until it carried him to Dolanaar. There the Sentinels had much more to offer him. One spoke with mild irritation, "Yes - I know of the woman you speak, look for the plume of smoke. She started it earlier today. As if she could hide from us in our home." With an eyeroll, the female Kaldorei huffed past.

After some searching, he found the location, eyes on the billowing white smoke. He approached cautiously, his voice trailing in a soft, easy tone.

"Ellycia?"

[Ellycia]

Fear could only do so much, in the end. And though it tried its best, Ellycia was bone-weary from too many nights of snatched, fitful sleep, from worry that gnawed at her insides until she felt sure she would collapse into herself, from nightmares that grew more inventive and more disturbing with each passing night. She sat quietly before her fire and stared into the smoke that trailed up from it in hypnotic patterns, until her eyelids started to droop, and without even realizing what was happening, she drifted off, for a minute or an hour or a week, she did not know.. All she knew is that when she awoke, the fire was burning low, and someone was speaking her name.

Nervously, she blinked the sleep from her eyes, casting them around at the greenery that encircled her. The voice had been soft, but it was male, and that of a night elf, and for a moment she imagined that her worry had come to pass, that the smoke had done nothing but alert the Sentinels of where she was, and that they had come to drive her out of Teldrassil. Her weary eyes caught what seemed to be the points of Kaldorei arrows already aiming at her from the darkness, sticking through the bushes like brambles, and it was all she could do not to seize her daggers and run.

Swallowing her panic by main force, she licked her chapped lips and forced herself to answer as calmly as she might, resisting with everything she had the urge to arm herself with the knives sitting to either side of her. "Who... who's there?" she asked, her voice betraying her nervousness despite herself, as she tried to identify who had called to her from behind the circle of bushes.

[Lazre Nightclaw]

His approached continued, carefully. One hand extended, fingers parted ever so lightly, "Shari'Adune sent me to find you. My name is Lazre Nightclaw." Once he slipped from the surrounding trees into her vision, his body was lowered, but still he towered at nearly eight feet, "You can call me Laz, if you prefer." The Kaldorei tried to make himself appear as harmless as possible, but clad in leather, his size, and the intensity of his face made that more than a little difficult.

Nevertheless, he offered her a kind smile and stopped several feet away from her fire, "May I approach?" He surveyed the area, searching around for any signs of others. He had not lived so many years by being careless. Even before she permitted him to move closer, he did so anyway - cautiously, carefully. Once again, he spoke, "Shari said that your little brother is missing, I'm here to help, if you'll let me."

[Ellycia]

Ten thousand things went through her mind at the same time, most of them completely crazy. Sleep deprivation and desperation had created a noxious cocktail that gnawed at her thoughts and slowed her mind. Yet when the massive Night Elf (all night elves were massive, but this one truly so) stepped forward, claiming he'd been sent by Shari'adune, she nearly choked with relief. A significant part of her had become convinced that either the druid had been concocting the story about sending her help, or that she had somehow imagined the whole encounter, dreaming it up while seeking for some narrow straw of hope.

She nodded carefully, it probably looked guarded, though in reality it was just the most she could manage right now. Whether she was nodding to his question about whether he could approach or to confirm what he'd been told was unclear, even to her. This all seemed surreal, that a Kaldorei druid should have found her here and offered to help. Carefully, she stood up, fighting to keep her balance under the drape of the enormous robe, nervously clenching and unclenching her hands and swallowing several times as though trying to call forth her voice from wherever it had fled to.

"I... I'm... I'm Elly," she said. "Er... Ellycia." She hesitated for a few moments, unsure of what to do, until finally she gestured at the fire with what she hoped look like an invitation. "Please," she said. "Th... thank you so much for coming. I..." another hesitation. "I didn't think anyone was... was going to come..."

She fought to regain her composure, to stop sounding so much like a stammering child, but it was supremely difficult. For Corwin's sake though, she had to do her best.

[Lazre Nightclaw]

His gaze followed her from her hand to the fire and he simply nodded, "Sit - I'll join you and you." Before she did anything further, he stepped across from where she was positioned, keeping the fire between them. The Kaldorei searched the area, eyes rolling over her, then her belongings. He drew his pack from his back and sat it to his side as he lowered himself to sit on his knees. He drew forth some jerky, bread, and cheese wrapped in wax, "Here."

Once he handed her the food, his legs were drawn beneath him and crossed, elbows resting against his knees, "Tell me what you know, and I will do as I can to assist you in finding your sibling." He kept a kind smile on his lips as he regarded her. Lazre was not comfortable, though he did well to hide it. This land was alien to him, despite nearly every foot of it also being familiar. Idly his fingers dipped and ran through the grass beneath where they were, a sadness throbbed in his core.

[Ellycia]

Nodding, she carefully sat down, gathering up the robe that enfolded her as she did so to avoid tripping and falling. Fidgeting nervously, she knelt down and sat on her heels, trying to ignore the itching wool, and watched the Kaldoreian druid carefully as he unearthed food from his backpack and handed it to her. She had a mind to refuse, politely of course, but the sight of the meat and bread was enough to set her stomach to growling, and she realized that she didn't even remember when the last time was that she had eaten. Another thing she had let lapse in her desperate search.

"Th... thank you," she said, trying to gather her thoughts together. Unwrapping the bread, she tore a piece of it off and gulped it down more ravenously than she had meant to, but then appearances didn't matter now. All that mattered was that this druid might be able to find Corwin. She wrapped her mind around that one possibility, as she tried to explain what had happened.

"My... little brother, Corwin," she said, "has gone missing. We were in Ashenvale, eight nights ago, and... we found a place to sleep in the woods." She winced uncontrollably, both from the memory and from the fact that she knew that neither of them were supposed to be in Ashenvale at all. Admitting as much to a Night-Elven Druid was not something she had ever expected to be doing.

"There... there are so many creatures in Ashenvale. Orcs and satyrs and elementals, and I... just wanted to make sure we'd be safe. So I left him to fall asleep while I scouted around to make sure. I wasn't gone for more than fifteen minutes. But when I got back... he was... gone..."

Tears welled up in her eyes unbidden, and she squeezed them shut to try and force them away, but they trickled down her face anyway. "I... looked everywhere," she said. "I thought maybe he was hiding or wandered off, but... then I found these footprints in the dirt. Big, heavy boots... maybe iron, I couldn't tell. I tried to follow the trail, but it led east, towards Splintertree, and then it got to the big road that leads to the Barrens and... I couldn't follow it anymore."

She wiped the tears away with the sleeve of her robe, sniffling and trying her best to keep going. "I searched all through Ashenvale," she said. "Through Darkshore and Teldrassil and into Azshara and the Barrens, all of our hiding places, just in case. And... I always told him that if we got separated, that he should come here, to where we are now, but he didn't. And now I... I don't know what to do." She lowered her head and squeezed her eyes shut to avoid bursting into tears again.

"Please," she said. "Can... you help me find him?"

[Lazre Nightclaw]

As she swallowed down the bread, he frowned and pulled the strap of his waterskin over his shoulder and provided it out to her. His ears twitched, listening to her tale as she spoke, "Eight days - that's a long time for the dirt to settle." His words were soft, mostly to himself. He deliberated over each destination that she spoke of, formulating a plan. When she finished and spoke her plea, he looked up at her, "I will do what I can, Elly. Do you have anything that belongs to him?"

While the Druid was no expert hunter, or tracker - he has spend years in the animal forms that he took to so naturally. His senses were as much animal as they were Kaldorei. He was confident that he could find the boy, but time would make it all the more difficult, "I need to hurry along though, the trail grows more cold by the hour. Do you wish to accompany me?" His eyes narrowed on her, focusing with curiosity.

While he would prefer that she stay behind, he could almost feel the anguish she felt, so he would not deny her request. His arms laced over his chest, loosely and the soft glow of his eyes vanished behind his lids as he began to think.

[Ellycia]

Her heart caught as the druid mentioned, almost offhandedly, that a long time had passed. To her it felt like a thousand years had passed, but the realization that it might actually be too late nearly killed her where she sat. But before the panic could truly sink in, Lazre said that he would do what he could, and she nearly collapsed.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed, her voice thin and worn. "Thank you so much! I... I have this..."

She reached behind her and picked up the small wooden figure, carved crudely into a form that might have been a tauren, orc, moonkin, or any other hulking creature. Quickly, she handed the figure to Lazre, accepting the waterskin as she did so. She drank thirstily before continuing. "I... I made that for him years ago. He always has it with him. I... found it near where I left him." The very thought brought dark thoughts to the forefront, but she desperately pushed them aside.

When he asked if she would accompany him, she all but leaped up, nearly tripping over the hem of her damned robe, but for once forgetting to curse it. "I have to!" she exclaimed. "I have to find him! He's... he's all I have! Please! I'll do anything! I have to rescue him or..."

Her throat seized, unable to even finish the sentence, and the tears that had momentarily staunched themselves came pouring back. No matter how much she tried, she couldn't stem them for several moments, until finally when she spoke again her voice was as thin as it had ever been.

"I'll give you anything you want," she said. "Anything at all. I'll steal it if I have to. But please, just... just help me find Corwin. I don't care where they've taken him or what I have to do. I have to find him...."

[Lazre Nightclaw]

His fingers wrapped around the figure and withdraw it back to examine, "I will return it, do not worry.." With that, he pocketed it for the time being. As she sprang up, he offered her a weak smile and shook his head from side to side, "If you intend to go, I need you to rest. Sleep, I will watch over you. The state you are in now would put us both in danger." Once again, his hand vanished into his satchel and wtihdrew a small, sky blue potion, "Drink this, it will help."

Lazre extended his hand to pass the vial to her, "After you have rested, you can lead me to your campsite. From there, I will find your brother." Each time the girl began to weep or cry, Laz fell silent. He let her get it out, but he did not attempt to stop her weeping. As she began to offer recompense he, once again, shook his head, "I require no payment. If someone has him, I will get him back. Now drink and rest. The next few days may prove to be arduous."

[Ellycia]

Despite her relief at the druid not leaving her behind, at the prospect of being able to find Corwin, at everything the last few minutes had held, she still hesitated when Lazre produced the blue potion and offered it to her. Carefully, she took the vial with a slightly trembling hand, looking through it as though unsure of what to do. She knew about herbs and salves, potions prepared from the local flora, with recipes she'd stolen by overhearing alchemists in Dalaraan and Astranaar, or discovered herself through experimentation, but she'd never seen a potion like this one before. Her eyes flickered from the potion to the druid who had given it to her, indecision written plainly on her face. Even assuming it did what the druid said it did, she'd never before fallen asleep in the presence of anyone besides Corwin. For a moment, she considered the possibility that she would wake the next day to find the druid simply gone, leaving her with no hope at all.

She was on the point of refusing, of telling the druid that she would be fine, that they needed to go right now, but a crushing weariness from deep inside her seemed to well up at the mere sight of the draught, and she knew, down where it counted, that he was right. The last nightmare of a week had ground her down to the very limits of her powers of endurance, and she had as much chance of simply passing out on the way to Ashenvale as she did of being any real help to anyone, be it Lazre, Corwin, or even herself.

With a silent, nervous nod to the druid, Elly unstoppered the bottle, took a deep breath, and gulped down the mixture within. It tasted of mint and anise, and almost immediately, she felt a warm, numbing sensation spreading out through her body. Her eyelids began to droop, and she was only just able to hand the empty vial back to Lazre before her arm became too heavy to lift. "Th- thank... you..." she managed to say as the potion ate away at her consciousness, and within moments, she began to sway gently back and forth. She sat down in the grass, gathering the draping robe beneath her, and remained there, blinking in exhaustion for a bit, until even remaining seated became too much of a burden, and she slowly laid down on her side, pillowing her hands beneath her head. The woolen robe still enfolded her, itching across her bare skin, but somehow that mattered less now, and gradually her eyes slid shut. Before a minute had passed, Elly was fast asleep.

[Ellycia]

Sitting on the beach of Ashenvale, in the shadows of a great oak tree, Elly struggled with her sleeve and took a moment to wonder how this had all come to pass.

There hadn't been much time to wonder anything since Lazre had given her that draught. It had been exactly as he said, albeit more potent than she was expecting. Within moments, she was out, and the next thing she remembered was the druid stirring her awake, saying that fourteen hours had passed, and that they had to leave and look for Corwin now, before the trail got any colder. She felt like she'd only been asleep for a minute, but had risen without a word, only for Lazre to transform himself into an owl the size of a Hippogriff. She'd known, of course, that Kaldorei druids could transform themselves into other forms, but never in her life had she even seen such a thing, let alone imagined she would ride one.

The experience of flight, her first, had been nearly enough to send her back to sleep forever, as her empty stomach protested the trip in no uncertain terms, and she found herself hanging onto Lazre's feathers for dear life as they flew south for Ashenvale, her bare feet desperately searching for the surety of the ground. It was a relief in more ways than one when they had finally set down near Fallen Sky Lake, at the last place she had seen Corwin.

It wasn't hard to find, for the place, the image of Corwin not being where she thought he would be, was burned into her memory like a brand. Lazre had transformed himself to the form of a great Nightsabre, and to Elly's infinite relief, announced that he could detect Corwin's scent. She had uttered a silent prayer of thanks to Elune, to the Light, to anyone who might be listening, combined with a further request that Corwin still be safe, and they had commenced to follow the faint trail. As she suspected it might, it followed the footprints she had detected leaving the glade, and led them to the road that led south, to the Barrens. This was as far as she had gotten last time, for the Horde had fortified the outposts flanking the entrance thereto, but this time there was an Archdruid about, and he had easily lifted them up and over the fortifications, touching down in the broad, warm grasslands of the barrens themselves.

With a tug, the seam gave way, and the enormous sleeve of the robe parted. She let it fall, and switching her knife to her other hand, began picking at the other sleeve. The Barrens had always been one of her favorite places in Kalimdor, at least in brighter days, before the Horde had become so paranoid about ragged humans roaming about in their lands. Evading the guards, she and Lazre had followed the trail south, down the road. Still she refused to allow herself hope, as the trail led into and through the Crossroads, a place so dangerous that Lazre had insisted she stay back while he infiltrated it to investigate. The waiting had been the hardest part, but after what felt like eight years, Lazre had returned, saying the trail led on Southeast, towards the Goblin town of Ratchet.

Elly had seen Ratchet before, from afar, but never had dared enter the place, certainly not while in the company of her little brother, but by then she was ready to storm and burn it down if it returned Corwin to her. Fortunately that much had not been necessary, for the guards and mercenaries had given the two of them only a moment's glance. There, they had found Goblins aplenty, some willing to talk, others... less so. Lazre had loosened their tongues with a bag of gold a hundred times greater than all of the coin she had ever laid eyes on before, and when even that hadn't worked, through the simple expedient of threatening to break several of their limbs. Elly had done her best to look as intimidating as she could for the occasion, but compared to the Archdruid beside her, it was like Corwin's efforts at play-acting a Tauren, and she knew it. Fortunately it hadn't mattered, and they had retrieved two key pieces of information.

First, whoever had taken Corwin had delivered him to, of all things, an Ogre, by the name of Thruk, with whom the Goblins were familiar. The name meant nothing to her, nor apparently to Lazre, but merely having a name, to say nothing of independent confirmation that Corwin was alive, was enough to set her head spinning, enough to loosen, if only slightly, the terrible knot that her insides had been tied into for days.

Second, Thruk had taken Corwin to the Horde fortress of Zoram'gar, along the coast of Ashenvale.

So back to Ashenvale they had gone, this time with hope beating in her heart for the first time in a week, so much so that she had forgotten to be afraid as they hurtled through the air, crossing half the continent in less than an hour before landing on the Zoram Strand, beside the very tree she was sitting at. Zoram'gar loomed up in the distance, a massive citadel of iron and stone, looking out of place with the sylvan setting that surrounded it. Lazre told her to stay behind once again as he scouted the place out, and this time she protested. Sneaking about unseen was one thing she did know how to do, and this would not be the first time she had had to evade the Horde, but the druid insisted, and she had reluctantly acquiesced.

That was nearly an hour ago.

The other sleeve parted at last, drifting to the ground, leaving her arms free from the confines of the straightjacket-like wool. She'd been spending the intervening time trying to keep calm, trying not to let worry sneak back up on her again, but it was hard, now that they had a definitive trail to follow, to simply sit here, waiting for someone else to tell her if Corwin was there or not. She wanted to be active, to be searching, even if it was dangerous, for right now she was more afraid of things she couldn't see than all the Horde in Kalimdor. So instead she sat here, adjusting her massive robe so as to allow her to move with greater ease should it come to that. She'd slashed the hem of the robe off at her ankles, cut the midsection out of it to alleviate the terrible itching on her stomach and ribs, and had just finished tearing out the sleeves of the ungainly garment, enabling her to use her arms without them being swallowed. The impromptu tailoring had enabled her to avoid thinking about anything panic inducing, but the more time passed, the harder it was to avoid.

At length she stood up, cinching the skirt of the robe around her waist with a spare strip of cloth. There was still no sign of the druid, and the more she stood here, the less sure she was that this was the best decision. Ignoring the pending question of whether or not Corwin was inside the Horde fortress, Shari'adune had asked her to make sure that Lazre was unharmed, and while the prospect of him needing her help was laughable, she had readily agreed. At this point, there was little she wouldn't have agreed to if it meant finding Corwin.

Finally, she could stand the wait no more. Whether Corwin was inside the fortress or not, she simply had to find out for herself, to say nothing of the possibility, remote though it might have been, that something had happened to Lazre. Picking up her daggers, she stuck them into the waist of her skirt, turning them so that they wouldn't cut her should she have to break into a run. The sun was already setting into the sea, and there were plenty of dark shadows for her to use, and screwing up her courage, she slipped into one of them, and carefully began to make her way towards the fortress.

[Lazre Nightclaw]

The Druid had been skulking about the the fortress for the last hour, expertly blending into each shadow that he came to, listening and searching. While he could only make out the slightest bits and pieces of Orcish, he could gather enough to navigate around the facility with context clues. His strong senses carried him to a set of cages, where the boy's scent was the strongest. When the child was no where to be found, he worked on covering even more ground of the facility. Inside, outside, wherever he could get to reasonably, he search. Frustration began to grow in his mind, nearly causing him to slip from one shadow to the next too early.

When the Orc caught the blur of movement, it was too late. One arm circle around the stout creatures chest, the other across his forehead. Those arms cinched against the Orc's neck and he twisted. Luckily, he had made this mistake on the rampart of one of the walls, and simply letting the greenskinned humanoid fall over was the easiest solution. No time was wasted before he set back into his search, slowing his breathing and cursing himself for growing so careless. He calmed and was, once again, unheard and unseen.

As he passed from one room to the next, he saw the girl - and he nearly panicked. An orc had come around the corner and with her current position, their collision was sure to happen. Laz stepped forward, quickly, but quietly. His arms laced around her body, much like he did the Orc before and muffled her mouth with his hand. He drew her back into his body and they both fell back into a deep shadow. Once the patrol moved past, the Druid whispered, "He is not here - meet me outside, I will find his trail and we will follow it."

With that simple command, Lazre vanished and set to work doing just that, finding the boy's trail.

[Ellycia]

In a way, it was a bit of a relief to be doing something, anything, whether she was meant to or not, anything at all that might lead to where Corwin was. Only a bit of a relief, of course, but anything helped at this stage. The shadows enveloped her like a warm blanket, as she pressed into the fortress, evading the guards that stood at the entrance to the pallisade without difficulty. The guards had the glazed look of long-term sentries everywhere, and it required only that she wait her chance to easily slip past them.

Once inside, it was not so easy. The fortress was filled with Horde, orcs mostly, with forsaken undead and trolls scattered throughout as stiffening. Under normal circumstances, she would not have tried to infiltrate something this well defended, but circumstances hadn't been normal in so long that she was beginning to forget what they were like, and if Corwin was in here, she would do whatever was necessary to find him. Unfortunately, she hadn't the slightest idea of what that might be, and so, keeping her eyes as peeled as she could, she slunk from shadow to shadow, searching for Lazre, for Corwin, or for a sign of either.

Of Lazre she saw nothing. Whatever method the druid used to disappear into the darkness was that good, and neither footprint nor sign of his passing was evident anywhere. Of Corwin there was nothing either, though the inside of the fortress was stocked with crude steel cages that might well have once served to hold him, or those like him. Unfortunately, all were empty now, and she pressed on, deeper and deeper into the fortress, infiltrating the keep itself, her bare feet padding softly over the cold stone of the orcish citadel as she tried to focus on what she was doing. A single mistake here could mean a blade in her belly. Fortunately, the 'altered' robe no longer restricted her movements, nor distracted her with its weight or itch, and her bare arms and stomach were free to feel the flow of air and the tremors of the stone walls for anything approaching.

Ahead, she heard movement, the clinking of mail and the tread of heavy boots, reinforced with iron or some other metal. Silently she slipped forward, and saw ahead of her a pair of orcs seated on benches at a rough table, drinking something foul-smelling from stone tankards and chattering to one another in an Orcish tongue. Elly understood a few words of Orcish, but not enough to follow whatever they were discussing, whatever it might have been, and she was about to turn around and seek her fortune elsewhere, when she spotted something tucked into the nearer orc's belt. It was a piece of parchment, folded and crumpled, and yet important enough to keep around, and that alone spiked her curiosity. Waiting patiently, she stood where she was, in hiding, for several minutes, until the further orc got up to replenish their tankards from a nearby keg, and while he was turned away, and the nearer orc had his back to her, she glided up to him silently, and with all the skill she could muster, swiped the parchment from his belt and was gone.

She withdrew several chambers away, hiding in the deepest shadows she could find, before cautiously unfurling the parchment. It was, predictably, covered in orcish script, which made no sense to her, nor would any other sort, but at the bottom, the writing devolved into a series of crude pictures, no doubt for the benefit of any who could not read or speak Orcish. The pictures were those of a handful of stick figures, each with crude but effective markings to show what they were, that one with the long ears of a night elf, this one with the stocky construction of a dwarf, that one there with the horns of a draenei and right at the end, last of all, was a stick figure with no obvious features save that it was roughly half the size of all the others.

By itself, that could mean anything, that the artist was trying to represent a gnome, or run out of ink, or was trying to indicate that the last person was less important than the others. Or just maybe this was the artist's crude attempt to represent a child.

Her eyes widenened at the thought, and her pulse quickened in her ears, as her eyes flowed over the page to the long arrow drawn between the stick figures, which was pointing towards a strange symbol, that of a stylized hammer drawn in purple. And it was as she was trying to decypher what that could possibly mean, that something grabbed her from behind.

An impossibly strong arm, powerful enough that in her panic she assumed it had to be that of a Tauren, seized her around her midsection and pulled her off her feet. She might have cried out in surprise had not another hand clamped down over her mouth, muffling her cry as she was dragged back. One arm, the one that held the parchment, was pinned to her side by the unseen assailant, but with the other, she moved with ferocious instinct, and drew one of her daggers from the side of her skirt, a curved blade, unadorned but wickedly sharp, and she might have plunged it backwards into the person who grabbed her, save that she recognized the scent of the leather armor the attacker wore, and looked down to see that the hand grasping her was purple.

Relief flooded through her as she realized what had happened, combined with the hot shame of having been detected by anyone, even the Archdruid. If she had hoped not to be left behind like a child herself while the Kaldorei found Corwin for her, this was not the way to have done it. But as the orcish patrol passed, and the grip that bound her slackened, she had to push all of that aside. If the symbol on the parchment was that of a child, then there was little likelihood that it referred to anyone but Corwin. And if that was so...

"Wait," she whispered as the druid began to withdraw, and extended the parchment towards him. "I... I found this..."

[Lazre Nightclaw]

The Druid had already started away from the human woman, but paused when she spoke. A bristle of frustration had begun to creep along his spine as he pivoted, half turning to stare across the corridor at her. Laz's eyes narrowed on her smaller frame. He was not happy with the woman, in fact, he was growing less as they pressed on. She asked for his help and he had come to offer such, but she had disobeyed him. Although, he knew she had no real reason to listen to his words, they were strangers. He wanted to scold her, to berate her for her decision to follow in after him, but he chose to remain silent.

He closed the distance between them, reaching to pluck the parchment from her fingers and unfurled it. While he knew Orcish script to some degree, he was by no means fluent in it. From top to bottom, he scanned the document trying to decipher it into something usable. Once he finished reading the document, to the best of his ability, he moved to find the boy's scent again.

[Ellycia]

Lazre had no need to vocalize his frustration, for it was obvious enough from his posture and expression, and beneath the druid's visible disapproval, Elly seemed to wilt, her face flushing red and her form seeming to shrink, as if she wished nothing more than to vanish back into the shadows. Well cognizant that he had told her to stay behind and that she had not, she had no excuse save desperation to find Corwin, and the simple mathematics that two sets of eyes were better than one in this regard, even if the first set was that of an Archdruid and the second set that of a ragged human girl with no experience in tracking captives across the face of Azeroth. She said none of this, of course, as the Druid seemed to elect to remain silent and she decided to leave well enough alone. Whatever she might want or need to do, she was entirely dependent on Lazre to have the slightest chance of finding Corwin, and she knew it.

The parchment, indecipherable as it was to Elly, was not a complex document. In fact it turned out to be a set of orders written by an orc named Grimfang, copied by slave-scribes in bulk and distributed to the various warriors that comprised the fortress' garrison. Though not all of it was decipherable, and much of the document seemed to be taken up with various threats of punishments to follow should the orders not be obeyed, the actual instructions were themselves mercifully clear.

It was an injunction to all of the soldiers of the fort, Orcish, Troll, or Undead, to leave the Ogre-Cyclops Thruk alone, and to let him come and go as he pleased. It also indicated that Thruk would be ferrying various slaves with him, that were being kept in the fort temporarily for safekeeping, and that these too were to be left strictly alone, with particular injunctions against eating any of the slaves. The last instruction would not have been particularly noteworthy, save that the orders saw fit to call out in particular one or two of the trolls in residence by name, threatening that the most exquisite of tortures and punishments would be meted out against those trolls in particular if anything chanced to happen to the "human whelp" that Thruk had brought with him. Finally, though the orders did not indicate who this Thruk was working with, if not the Horde itself, it once more made reference to something that, with a rough translation from the Orcish might have referred to a "Hammer of Dusk" or "Hammer of Sunset", along with the previously seen emblem of a large double-headed warhammer, painted deep violent and surrounded by what might have been flames.

As to Corwin's scent-trail, it was difficult to find, much more difficult than it had been before, despite being (presumably) fresher, partly because of the ambient scents that surrounded the garbage middens encircling the Orcish fort, partly because here, on the coasts of the sea, there were so many other scents to be discerned. Ultimately, however, Lazre was able to discover that the scent led north, along the nana-infested coasts of the Zoram Strand, but only for a little while. For shortly after leaving the fort, the trail dipped between the tide marks of the Zoram beach, where all traces of Corwin's scent, or anyone else's for that matter, instantly disappeared, thanks to the inexorable actions of the ocean tide.

It was as though someone did not want to be followed...

[Lazre Nightclaw]

Lazre huffed a sigh standing among the surf where the trail ended. All four of his massive paws sunk into the sand a little more each time the waves rolled in. He turned to look further up the coast where the trail had been leading. Suddenly, he was even more frustrated at the task at hand. It was proving to be more difficult than he anticipated and was drawing him away from the other tasks that he had to do. His head craned to look back at the outpost. It was time to make his search a little more violent.

A pang of guilt washed over him as he pawed back towards the iron structure. He chalked it up to just being frustration and scolded himself silent. He did not yet return to Ellycia, rather he took flight again - this time as a large raven. His wing beat against the air as he circled around the facility, spying for a horde that he wanted. Circle after circle, then he decided and swooped down latching onto a particularly small framed Orc, compared to the rest. His claws dug into the greenskins shoulders and he lifted him, beating quickly to compensate for the extra weight.

They flew a short distance away, making sure to pass by Ellycia as he did so, to draw her attention away from the facility. He had taken a chance, if the Orcs sent a scouting party, he would have to deal with them. The Druid was not afraid, or worried about that. Nature was his battleground and the copse of trees he landed in would suffice to decimate any enemies that presented themselves; he hoped. There was plenty of struggling, twisting and turning by the Orc that he carried, but those talons dug in deep, half wrapping around the collarbone and embedding into muscle. When they touched the ground, his captive turned abruptly after being let go to find that the raven had become a towering Kaldorei. Orcs weren't often afraid and for now, neither was this one.

They locked into combat - Lazre using only his fist, which cost him a blade lodged into his shoulder. There came a grimace before he pounced forward, dragging his opponent to the ground. Fist after fist met the jaw until the Horde was a crumpled mess on the ground. Words came then, broken Orcish, "Where is Thruk?"

By the time Ellycia would arrive, if she came at all, she would find Laz straddling the Orc - blade buried half tang in his flesh.

[Ellycia]

It was obvious why Lazre stopped in the middle of the surf, even for one who, like Elly, couldn't actually detect the trail they were following. She knew that a scent could not be tracked through the ocean, and for a moment, she felt like her insides had turned to stone. If the trail had given out, then her chances of finding Corwin at all might have just vanished entirely. The back and forth of it all, the rush of hope followed by crushing disappointment, was almost worse than the last week had been. Her heart ached, and her guts seemed to be freezing solid, like a spike of ice was working its way deeper and deeper into her midsection. She'd barely eaten in days, and yet she felt sick to her stomach, carrying on by force of will, panic, and adrenaline. But with her last lead expended, she was unsure what she could possibly do now.

Turning to Lazre to ask that very question, she discovered that the druid had assumed yet another form, that of a gigantic Raven, who flew off towards the fortress once again without a word, leaving Elly standing alone in the sand, with the rippling waves washing around her ankles, splashing the hem of her tattered skirt.

Taking and releasing a deep breath, she stepped out of the water and followed Lazre up the beach and onto the grass, heading towards the fort. The loam of the forest dried her feet rapidly as she dropped down into a half crouch as she approached the gates, but before she could truly hide, the enormous bird reappeared, carrying in its talons, of all things, a squirming, struggling orc.

Well that was an idea...

She turned to follow the flight of the enormous bird, listening as carefully as she could for sounds of pursuit from the fortress. Nothing seemed to be forthcoming, and she quickened her pace as the sounds from ahead became frantic and violent, drawing her daggers as she ran towards the commotion.

Still, she could only move so quickly, and by the time she arrived in the small clearing, the fighting had passed, and Lazre was standing up from the orc he had just beaten into submission with his bare fists. Her eyes widened as she saw the blade sticking out of Lazre's shoulder, and she froze momentarily, unsure of what to do, and it was an embarrassing space before she remembered that Kaldorei druids were able to heal themselves and others with seeming ease. Even so, she couldn't help herself from breathlessly asking "Are you alright?", And mentally cataloguing the herbs she would need to gather that might be found nearby to prepare a healing potion or poultice.

The orc, meanwhile was in seemingly worse shape, having been unceremoniously bludgeoned into submission by Lazre, and the druid growled down at him, demanding to know where the ogre they were pursuing was. The orc seemed nearly past speaking, but confronted with the prospect of further beatings, if not worse, managed to cough out a single name. "Blackfathom".

Of course he did so in orcish, which Elly did not understand, at least not well enough to recognize the name. She could only turn to Lazre and ask, lamely, what the orc had said.

She did not get an answer.

All of a sudden there was a small puff of wind on her neck and a second later, an entire axe came flying past her head, embedding itself in a nearby tree. She whirled around to see a jungle troll emerging from the bushes, another axe raised and ready to launch, at her or Lazre, she could not tell. It did not matter. Almost by reflex she dove backwards, flipping her dagger around as she did so and throwing it back at the troll, where it buried itself in his chest, knocking the wind and balance out of him and dropping the troll to the ground.

Elly landed on her back in the grass and could only watch with mounting horror as three more horde soldiers, two orcs and an undead, came boiling out of the foliage with weapons drawn. Desperately, she tried to scramble back to her feet, knowing as she did so that she could not get up in time to stop the three Horde before they arrived at Lazre... or at her.

[Lazre Nightclaw]

Crunch. The sound of Lazre's boot crushing the windpipe of the orc on the ground was the only sound that filled the silence between when the other three had arrived. With a quick turn, the Druid shape-shifted, his body growing in size as hair rippled forth over his form. His mouth elongated into a vice of large dangerous teeth. Large bear paws mat the ground and kicked up dirt as he barreled across the ground, dirt kicking up into the air and the orc corpse beneath him rolling several feet away.

When he intercepted the two closest Orcs, he belted a savage roar. Their weapons collided with his hide, but bounced off harmlessly as bark grew in platelets. Wood splintered into the air from the blows, showering Elly and the orcs with the remnants of the natural armor that he had grown with his Druidic magics. Each of those claws were as long and as sharp as daggers, and they eviscerated the flesh of the oncoming Orcs. One after the other they crumpled into a mess on the ground, bleeding onto his stark white fur.

The Undead got the better of him, with a heft of a large broadsword it drew a line across the bear's muzzle, barely missing his eye. His flesh opened up along the bridge of his nose and his lifeblood splatted across the floor. As that tainted blade burned his flesh, he staggered to the side momentarily before rearing up on his hind legs, towering nearly fifteen feet in height. The Undead didn't stand a chance, and was crumpled under his weight like the corpse he was meant to be. A moment passed and when Ellycia looked up, no longer was there a bear. Rather a white stag stood in it's place, blood still oozing from the wound on his face.

He towered over her, waiting for her to compose herself. Thunk! Thunk!  Two arrows embedded themselves half-shaft into the Druid's thick hide, which caused him to turn to look in that direction. Elly heard in her mind, "Come - quickly, let us be off!"

[Ellycia]

It was all over so fast. Just as the three horde soldiers were approaching to finish them off, Lazre suddenly transformed into what was, without exaggeration, the largest bear that Elly had ever seen, a towering monster of a polar nightmare that shredded the two orcs in half a heartbeat and sustained a horrific blow to the face before literally crushing the undead warrior beneath his massive form. In no time at all, all of the horde were dead, and Elly had just enough time to rise to her feet unsteadily and withdraw her dagger from the fallen troll before Lazre transformed again, into the same form of the stag he had held before.

She had heard tales, and even spied from afar on the Druids of the Kaldorei, but never had she seen anything like this. A thousand questions burned through her head, but the arrival of a pair of horde arrows, stabbing into the druid's flank like a pincushion, made it abundantly clear that this was not the time. She scarcely needed the telepathic message from Lazre that it was time to leave, and tucking her daggers back into her skirt, she quickly climbed onto the stag's back.

"Hurry," she said breathlessly, "they're comi- AUGH!"

Her words dissolved into a formless cry of pain as another feathered arrow lanced out of the foliage and struck her square in the thigh, pinning her skirt to her leg and sending a shock of pain screaming up her body. She cringed and tensed and almost fell off Lazre's back, but managed, barely, to hang onto Lazre's neck for dear life. More shafts flew past in every direction, but all she could do was hold on tight and hope that Lazre knew what he was doing.