Disclaimer: I do not own WoW or any of its lore.

A/N: I have tried to find an accurate time line that says how long after the formation of the Horde the forsaken joined and then how long after that before the elves joined, but all of the time lines I've come across are rather vague on such points. For the purposes of my story, it took the forsaken almost a year after the plague was unleashed before they organized enough to catch the attention of the Horde, and then it was another 2 and a half years from that before the elves joined.

Death knights joined the Horde and Alliance somewhere in between those points. This fic starts 5 months after the sin'dorei became Horde and is originally set in BC, though it will move through to Wrath.

Reviews are always welcome.

Additional Note: I took this story down to make it into a book, but seeing as that is going to take a LOT longer than I thought, I am putting it back up. There are 40-50 chapters, and I'll be posting them all up in the next few days, when I have time.


Wren Duskflame stood in the doorway, peering into the alchemy and herbs shop with mild disappointment. The shop, Whisper's Vials, didn't look like anything spectacular. The showroom was lined with shelves, all covered with flasks and vials, as with any other alchemy shop. Near the back was an open doorway leading into a small laboratory, and on the right stood a glass counter containing different types of herbs. The counter had a large gap in the middle, leading to a closed door.

Wren glanced around, debating whether he ought to just go ahead in, or wait outside for the owner to come back. After all, his note had been very specific that he come to this shop on this day, so why would the sender direct him to an empty store? The alchemy lab was silent, making it doubtful that anyone was in there. His gaze returned to the door. Perhaps the owner was just beyond wherever that led?

A few passing guards inspected him with mild suspicion, and he decided that just walking into the shop and checking that door would probably prove a bad idea. It was his first hour in Orgrimmar, and he didn't want the grunts pegging him as a thief or degenerate.

Figuring that the door must lead to the next shop over—a small, orcish run engineering workshop—Wren turned to see if perhaps the owner were in there instead. As he headed the few short yards down the street, a sudden gust of wind sent sand sweeping up into his eyes and throat. Instantly, he was doubled over, coughing to get the grit from his lungs. As he straightened back up, his blonde hair fell over his shoulders, and he made a mental note to warn any other sin'dorei who might be interested in coming to the orcish capital to watch out for such sand flurries.

As he headed to the entrance of the engineering shop, he redid his ponytail, though he frowned as soon as he looked into the dimly lit store. The orcish engineers were eyeing him as though he were acting strangely. Hadn't they ever seen someone fix their hair before? To add to his unease, there was no door in this shop that would have connected it to Whisper's Vials.

Subconsciously bringing his hand up to his leather vest pocket to assure himself that the note he'd received was still there, Wren's frown deepened. It had been the oddest thing. One day, while staying late on the archery range, an elf he had never met before had hopped the gate and walked right up to him with an unmarked envelope. Even as Wren had torn it open and skimmed over the page, the courier had disappeared.

The note had been oddly vague and specific in one. Specific in the wheres and whens and even the why: he was being invited to try out for a guild named Impervious. However, it hadn't said anything about the how or who. It didn't reference who ran the guild, who the shopkeeper he was to meet would be, or even who the sender was. For all he knew, each who could have been a different person.

Even with so many details missing, he hadn't been able to help but acquiesce. Namely because of the mystique surrounding the simple piece of paper.

While the guild was named, the letter's mysterious delivery simply screamed Anonymous, the most famous guild of the Horde, which supposedly allowed only the most elite entry. They'd downed easily over half a dozen major threats to Azeroth, and that was just the known ones.

Despite their notoriety, however, they remained, as their name implied, anonymous. No one had ever seen their faces. As a result, they'd developed into somewhat of a modern legend. They could be anyone. They were rumored to be the strongest of the Horde, debatably the world. They had the best information network in the history of Azeroth, with connections in every faction, be they major players or not, and if they wanted to get in touch with you, they could quite easily.

Supposedly, if one caught wind of a problem, one need only drop a note dictated to Anonymous in a mailbox—any mailbox—and they would get it. Sometimes they would even respond. Though the envelope would supposedly be blank, the letter would always somehow end up where it was meant to be.

Needless to say, most of what he'd heard had to be mere myth. Perhaps the guild had even spread the rumors themselves. However, when he'd received that note, he couldn't help but wonder if Impervious was somehow related to Anonymous. To further add to the mystery, it didn't say how they'd scouted him, merely that they had, and they were impressed.

Thus, with little more than curiosity as his motivation, he'd headed to Orgrimmar.

While he paced back to the entrance of Whisper's Vials, he considered heading off, since it was still empty. However, the allure of the unknown overrode his disappointment and suspicion that perhaps this had been some sort of prank.

Perhaps the owner wouldn't mind if he waited in the shop for their return. If any guards asked, he would just tell them the truth. Just as Wren was about to head in and take a seat to wait for the owner at a little table near the laboratory room in the back, he was startled by what sounded like the swish of a tail.

…Which was followed by what sounded like a sharp, sucked in breath. Even as he narrowed his eyes and inspected the shop more carefully, a voice interrupted his scrutiny.

"Are you going to stand there all day?"

Wren turned to see another elf standing a few feet behind him. The man had spiked his brown hair so that his ears just barely poked out above it. Like Wren, he had a simple rucksack—the note had explicitly stressed he travel light—but this elf had plate armor as opposed to leather. Wren frowned, shifting his bag into his bow and jerking as it bumped into his ear. The other elf smirked, seeming to think him incompetent.

Fucking paladins.

As a farstrider, Wren knew he shouldn't pick any fights with a blood knight, even if he did think the man a condescending prick. The sin'dorei hadn't been members of the Horde for long, and they didn't need a simple brawl making it harder for them to get along with their new allies by making themselves look un-unified.

The paladin was losing his patience.

Wren motioned toward the shop, forgetting the noises he'd just heard. "Don't see your rush. No one's in there."

The paladin frowned and stalked up beside him. As he peered in, he gave Wren a look of mild disgust before pushing past him. "Nice try."

Wren turned and followed him in, surprised as he looked past the paladin to see that the shop was no longer empty. A tauren woman stood behind the counter, her tail swishing back and forth slowly as she ran a dust rag carefully over a few vials.

Had she come from that door? He hadn't heard the door open or her hooves as they clopped against the stone...and he could hear people whispering almost four buildings down. One of the problems with Orgrimmar. Everything was so much closer together than in Silvermoon. Of course, the orcs probably didn't expect to be allied with elves when they were building their home and thus hadn't considered that elven hearing would practically rewrite their concepts of privacy. Well, their privacy was still fairly intact, seeing as there were so many noises in such small spaces that it made it a bit hard to concentrate...perhaps the reason he'd missed any signs of the tauren before?

The paladin had already walked up to her, leaving Wren to fend for himself. She paused in her cleaning as the brunette elf cleared his throat and then gave her a flourished bow.

"Hail stranger," he began. He rustled through his bag, before pulling out a note. Wren's eye twitched. There was no way he wouldn't have had that somewhere he could easily reach it...was there really such a need for pageantry? It was not like a damn cow would find him charming or endearing. The tauren seemed to note Wren's presence for a moment, but her eyes never quite left the elf in front of her. The paladin held his note out. "I received instruction to meet the owner of this shop about a guild interview..."

"Well, that would be me," she crossed her arms slowly, crinkling the leather of her shirt. Wren had been rather preoccupied with his newly acquainted adversary when he had to bite back a laugh. He hadn't realized tauren could actually be spotted, and the honey colored patches of fur along the lady owner's arms made him imagine cows grazing in a pasture.

Not to say he'd ever seen real cows before...just a few polymorphed elves. Some of the magisters were rather creative with their spells from time to time.

He forced a smile as the shopkeeper noticed his movement and stepped forward, easily pulling out his own note. "I, too, received an invitation. My name is Wren Duskflame."

"And I," the paladin said, quick to regain their hostess's attention, "am Sethyl Sunblade."

The tauren gave them a curtsy, her mane slipping over her shoulders as she dipped down. "Whisper Windsong, at your service." Her voice trailed off for a moment. "Though I'm not sure that I can be of much help."

"What?" Sethyl demanded before she could explain herself.

Whisper ran her hand over her mane once and smiled apologetically. "Please don't be upset, but I'm afraid a certain turn of events left all guild recruitment on hold."

Both elves paused, intrigued. At length, Wren had to ask, "What happened?"

"The guild leaders were called away at the last minute, and I've no clue when they'll return."


A flailing tentacle-like vine slammed down into the earth in front of Gorgon Hellsblood, though he didn't bother to move or even flinch. He already knew he was out of range of the strange monster.

Gore—as most everyone knew him—had served Thrall for all of his free life. He had risen to be a commander under the warchief, his main priority keeping Orgrimmar safe. While his job could be demanding—when the Alliance dogs dared to try and trespass into the city—he was not alone in his endeavors and was, every so often, given time to himself. These days, never more than four or five together, were never used for idle relaxation. It was a fool's notion to think any orc worth his salt would waste such precious time in such a manner. On the contrary, Gore used his free time to travel Azeroth, investigating what might be growing threats to the Horde.

It was such a quest which had brought him to the northern parts of the Stonetalon Mountains. However, he was beginning to think that this was more and more a waste of time. Something about the whole affair seemed off. The worst of which being that he couldn't seem to get a hold of his wife back in Orgrimmar. Sham was, in a word, his strength, and if he returned home to find anything had happened to her, there would be hell.

Thoughts of threats aside, Gore ran his hand over his face as he watched two of his guild mates swing through the air, held up by the massive tentacles that they had come to investigate. The first, a larger-than-most green troll rogue who went simply by Haa'aji, had been the one to come to him with this problem. There were reports of strange vines growing from the ground and attacking people. According to the rogue, a Horde outpost would be in imminent danger, should they not deal with the problem.

How was it, then, that they'd had to skirt around a nearby Alliance town just to get here? There were no Horde establishments of any kind for miles.

As the orc let his hand fall back to his side, he stared up at the two and frowned. Haa'aji looked like he was trying to have a bad time, though he wasn't succeeding. The rogue always had fun when things went wrong...to the point that it could be a danger to group with him. If a delivery through Alliance territory was going too well, he was known to head to the nearest settlement and blatantly steal from their enemies, just to get the creatures' guard up. While he at times drove other guild members to threaten to quit, he was one of—if not the—best at gathering information and that made him invaluable to the guild...so long as you could keep his attention.

Knowing this, Gore had had little reason to doubt the troll when he came to him with this threat.

The other guild member being held hostage by the strange tentacles was an elf, Liila Dragonlily. Since she had joined the guild, joined the Horde, really, she had often shown her displeasure with any decision or situation by dropping any indication that she was capable of expressions or emotions. Her latest void tantrum, as Haa'aji called such moods, had lasted almost five months now...basically since the sin'dorei had officially been invited into the Horde. While some joked she didn't like having to share her Horde with other elves, Gore hadn't been able to get her to confirm or deny the joke.

To go with her utterly blank look, she spoke in perfect monotone during her tantrums. As a result, it was somewhat unnerving to keep company with her during her mood swings, even if she was a priest. As with any other day in the last few months, Gore couldn't tell if she was upset with her current predicament or just life in general. Her shoulder length white-blonde hair hid her ears as the tentacle held her upside down, her feet just barely poking out above the monster's grip.

A raspy, withered sigh caught Gore's attention, and he looked to his side to see that Gregor Smithson had taken a seat on the ground, propping his head up so that he could watch the rest of their party as they flipped through the air. Gregor and he co-led the guild, though everyone always joked that Sham was the real leader.

Gore's frown deepened as he thought again of his wife. He pulled a small glowing stone from his pocket and checked to see if it had chimed, indicating that Sham had tried to contact him. It had not.

Gregor drummed what was left of his fingers against one of his knees as he watched their guild mates with a look of pure annoyance. "We should just leave them."

Gore ran a hand over his graying hair, and swung his axe down so that he could lean against its shaft. Haa'aji and Liila were somewhat the trouble makers of the guild...well, really it was just Haa'aji, though Liila liked to keep his company. While Gregor was usually a patient man, he had picked up on the same sense of wasted time that was nagging Gore, and as a result, he was easily ready to leave the village idiot to fend for himself. Liila would be fine as well and, while she was loathe to do so, could heal the two of them if it really came down to it. Gore forced a smile as he looked down at his rotting, old friend. "It doesn't matter where you leave them...they'd still find their way back to Orgrimmar."

"Yes, well, forgive me for thinking we should teach them a lesson for running ahead of the tank," Gregor muttered. He'd already strapped his shield to his back and sheathed his sword. He didn't understand it. His family was living, safe from the plague, in Stormwind, where he would never see them again. So why was it he was always having to play the father figure and get the children to behave? "I'm done with these two idiots for the day."

Haa'aji let out a cry as the tentacle holding him flipped him through the air, and another one caught him. Unlike Liila, his hair maintained its sweptback shape, with sideburns still facing forward. Gore didn't waste time pondering the troll's resistance to gravity, though, for as Haa'aji became the world's largest hacky sack, a terrible ruckus came from behind him.

The orc swung up his axe and whirled about in time to see a raptor crash down through the woods to stop a few yards short of the two warriors.

Another troll swung off the raptor as a second dinosaur ran up, this one lacking the feathers and decorations of a mount. Ta'lim Bonesplitter sauntered up to his guild leaders, offering them a quick wave. A few braids of dark blue hair fell over his slouched shoulders as he came to a stop, and he paused to eye the situation before shaking his head and motioning toward the east.

"Da ting controllin' dis mess seem ta be hidin' ova yonda."

Just as Gregor muttered something about finishing with this lunacy, Gore shook his head and looked around again. Everything seemed too easy, too perfect. He couldn't keep his suspicions to himself any longer. "This doesn't feel right. I don't understand who called us out here. If anything, this seems like it would be a problem for the Night Elves, not the Horde."

As Gregor and Ta'lim gave him questioning looks, both Liila and Haa'aji's attention snapped toward the orc, unconcerned with their tormentors. Haa'aji got an arm loose and waved frantically for Ta'lim's attention as the troll furrowed his brow and shook his head.

Ta'lim, a loyal guild member, was often one of the ones to help bail Haa'aji out of whatever he'd gotten himself into. While Gregor might be content to let them fend for themselves at this point, the hunter couldn't see letting either Haa'aji or Liila get hurt. After all, a guild was like a family. As Haa'aji kept at his frantic motions, Ta'lim forced himself to dismiss it. He'd save those two in a moment. Gore wasn't making any sense, and he wanted to figure this out first.

"Watcha be talkin' bout?" Ta'lim stretched up and rested his pole arm across his shoulders. "Haa'aji been sayin' Sham sent us hea ta mend de spirits."

Gore was still for a very long, quiet moment. Even the tentacles seemed to grow silent as though to allow the orc time to examine the pieces of the puzzle and see that he'd been given the wrong picture.

There was no way in the void his wife had sent them on this mission without him knowing. He turned to slowly look back at the two being held in the air, and they instantly found reasons to give their attention elsewhere.

Ta'lim shrugged and scratched his chin slowly. "I taught it be weird ya wanted ta go trekkin' tru da wildaness, what wit de invites been given out alreadeh." He patted his raptor as it trotted up next to him and eyed the tentacles, which had resumed their flailing. "But I not gun ta be arguin' wit Sham."

"Invites..." Gregor's voice trailed off before he smacked one of his palms against his forehead. His shaggy hair fluttered lifelessly from the force of the motion as he shot to his feet. "Those idiots." He paused and looked at Gore before heading back up the slope, to where they had left their mounts. "I thought we agreed to keep the guild interviews a secret."

Gore followed, even as Ta'lim pointed over his shoulder and asked what to do about the other two. "We did."

"Then how did they find out about it?" Gregor paused and looked at Ta'lim. "How did you find out about it?"

Ta'lim cocked his head. "E'rybody be knowin' ya recruitin' some elves for da guild." He paused. "Somethin' ta do wit 'equal representation'?"

"It be a status quo, mon!"

The three turned to see Haa'aji struggling to break free. "Dun be le'in dem leave! We dun be needin' no damned panseh elves in de guild!"

Gregor scowled and pointed accusingly at Liila. "Dragonlily's a damn elf!"

As if on cue, the tentacle righted the small creature, and she stared blankly down at her guild leaders. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible over the swooshing of the slithery limbs. "I be a troll, mon."

"Damn straight!" Haa'aji yelled, managing to free both arms. He cursed again as he realized that both of his daggers were somewhere in the underbrush below.

Gregor let out a few hissing expletives as he turned his back to them and picked up his pace. Gore joined him, pausing only to look at Ta'lim. "Stay and help, or leave them. At this point, I don't care. But if I find out you were involved in this, too..." He didn't need to finish his threat. Ta'lim gave them a quick salute, but hung back.

It wasn't until the two guild leaders had a decent head start back to Orgrimmar that Liila and Haa'aji managed to free themselves. Ta'lim stood waiting for them, having gathered their raptor mounts ahead of time. While he would never abandon them, he doubted his guild leaders would want Haa'aji running to the nearest Alliance outpost today. Thus, he'd decided to give the duo time to save themselves, and free them only if they really seemed to need it.

He sat picking his teeth and rifling through his bags for a loaf of bread as Haa'aji slammed into the ground. Liila descended slowly through the air to come to hover just above the grasses beside him.

"Oh, nah t'anks Liila. Ah nah be needin' nah lev a nuttin..." Haa'aji muttered. Liila simply shrugged and walked through the air to her raptor. Unlike the trolls' mounts, hers looked as feral as Ta'lim's pet.

The hunter eyed the two, watching Haa'aji stealth and go back for his weapons. "So...it still be takin' a few days ta get ta Org from hea. Ya tink it be time enough for dem elves ta get bored 'n leave?"

Liila shrugged again, swinging up onto her mount. "I have no idea."

Haa'aji reappeared, grinning as he flipped his daggers into the air and then sheathed them. "It be cool, mon. We got a two-pronged attack, yeh? Dey can' be making no decisions 'til Sham get back."


Mitchell Ohara frowned as he realized he'd completely picked out the hem of his sleeve. Despite the straps crisscrossing his face and covering the hollows where his eyes should have been, he saw just fine—something that had always baffled Shadow Deathsrain, the tauren death knight riding beside him.

Shadow glanced down at the nervous mage, the undead's frown contagious. "Stop it or she'll figure out that something's wrong."

Mitchell's skeletal fingers dropped his sleeve abruptly, and he looked about, desperate for something casual and non-incriminating to focus on instead. At length, he cast a wary glance over his shoulder. A few yards behind them, Sham was riding along, speaking with Khai'rhi Bonesplitter, Ta'lim's older sister. The two seemed lost in talk about the elements and different ideas for totems they'd been researching.

Mitchell shivered and looked ahead. "I keep thinking that I'll look back and see her fire elemental coming for us."

While Sham was a quiet orc, once she was pushed over the edge, things tended to get a little crazy. That's not to say such things happened often. In fact, Mitchell had only ever seen Sham summon her elemental once, and that had been because Haa'aji had tricks-of-the-traded Ragnaros to her. Even so, once he knew that she was capable of snapping, Mitchell always had a foreboding fear that something might set her off again.

Like leading her on a bogus journey through Feralas.

"She'd have to go elemental for that," Shadow muttered, patting Mitchell on the head, who in turn scowled as the tauren flattened his Mohawk.

As Mitchell re-spiked his hair, he shuddered. "I told her there was a re-infestation in Dire Maul. What are we gonna do when we get there and there's nothing there? Tell her it's the squirrels that are plotting against us?"

Shadow rolled one of his shoulders slowly. At first, he reached up to hold his weapon for a while, as it was starting to weigh down on his back, but stopped. While he might have been better at containing any paranoia that their pseudo guild leader might go ballistic on them, he didn't want to draw her attention by drawing his weapon. Thus, he let the ache in his shoulder continue. "We could always say that we guessed the Alliance took care of it."

"She specifically asked me if we had any idea if the Alliance was planning on dealing with this. I said no."

"Then I guess I can get separated from the group and raise a few Shen'dralar."

Mitchell shook his head slowly. "I don't know. Doesn't it feel a little weird, though? Trying to keep elves out of the guild?"

With a sigh, Shadow paused to tuck a low hanging vine up over a branch. He didn't want Sham and Khai'rhi yelling at him again for damaging the plants. "I don't care that they're elves. I care that if they join, Haa'aji will throw a temper tantrum the likes of which we've never seen. Anything we cherish will be stolen, the guild vault will be emptied, and he'll be in the wind." The tauren shook his head. "I think he would've joined the Alliance when the sin'dorei joined us, if he could have."

Mitchell fumbled through his pack and pulled out a needle and some thread, determined to fix his sleeve, lest he start in on the other one. "What does he have against the elves, anyway?"

"No clue," Shadow shrugged and watched a small snake slither across their path. "I heard a rumor though, that he's not actually a Darkspear."


"Genji was saying he's a runaway Amani. That would explain the hostility toward the elves, I think."

"He's too scrawny to be an Amani, isn't he?" Mitchell couldn't help but wonder out loud, though he supposed Haa'aji could have been the runt of the tribe...or whatever. And the troll was greener than most any other Darkspear, though the mage had never given it much thought.

"Just saying what I heard," Shadow shrugged, deciding not to point out that, "small" as Haa'aji was, he was the largest of the trolls in their guild and that he could still easily break Mitchell in half.

Mitchell bit off the thread and tugged at his sleeve to make sure it would hold until he could properly re-sew it, dropped the needle and spool back into his bag, and flipped the satchel shut. "It still doesn't make sense. He's like best friends with Liila."

"Life's full of mysteries."

"Ah give ya a myst'reh."

The two stilled, subconsciously jerking their mounts to a halt before turning slowly to see that Sham and Khai'rhi had caught up. Khai'rhi was holding a small, glowing stone in one of her hands with the other one on her hip as she glared up at Shadow and then down at Mitchell. "Explain ta me how Sham hea lost ha guild stone." When both men shrugged, her eyes flickered red for a moment. "A'ight, den. Explain why me brudda jus' called to say de guild leadas been trekkin' tru Stonetalon on sum fake expedition."

Mitchell and Shadow both donned deer-in-the-headlights expressions, but said nothing.

Khai'rhi wagged a finger at them. "Ah tink, ya be tryin' da same stuff on Sham. Ah tink, ya be tryin' ta keep ha outta touch wit ha husband, so dat ya lot can sabotage de guild intaviews."

Sham blinked, looking from Khai'rhi to the overly guilt riddled duo. Her braid swung back and forth against her back as she furrowed her eyebrows. "The two of you would really stoop this low?" When neither answered, Sham crossed her arms slowly. "Who are you more afraid of? Haa'aji? Or me?"

Shadow nudged Mitchell and nearly sent him flying off his mount and into the underbrush. "I think the lady needs a port."

As the forsaken cast with a speed which none had previously thought possible, Khai'rhi addressed Sham, her voice thick with disgust. "Ah tink ya should be takin' dea guild stones. So dat dey can' be warnin' nahbodeh." She flashed another angry stare in their direction as a portal to Orgrimmar blinked into existence. "Ya know it ain' jus' dem involved."

However, even as Sham shook her head and said that she doubted taking the guild stones away from them would actually be a good idea, both culprits vanished into the portal, not waiting to make sure the others would make it through.


Whisper had just offered both elves tea at a little table near the back of the shop when the trio heard a soft ping. With a quick smile to them, Whisper reached into her pocket and pulled out a small glowing stone. Runes flashed over it quickly before fading out. While neither elf could see what they'd said, Whisper abruptly snapped to her feet, her hooves making dull clacking noises against the stone floor.

"I'm sorry gentlemen, but I forgot that I have to pick up some herbs from one of my suppliers. I'm afraid I'm going to have to close shop early. Perhaps you would like to come by tomorrow to see if anyone has arrived by then...?"

While Sethyl seemed more than a little annoyed, Wren stood up and politely nodded. "Sure...is there any time that would be best?"

Whisper was throwing a few belongings from behind the counter into a sack, and the elves couldn't help but wonder why she would need so many potions and flasks of water when she was just going to pick up some herbs. "Um...I think about one would probably be best. If I'm not back, one of my guild mates should have opened shop by then."

She stood expectantly by the door and hurriedly ushered the two out. "There's an inn, close to the entry gates. I'm sure they'll have room for you two." She locked the door behind her and gave them a quick smile before practically bolting down the street. "Good luck."

Whisper didn't wait to see if the elves would take her advice, instead making a beeline to the other, closer inn. As she entered, she located two warlocks sitting at a table in a corner, playing cards. The first one to see her was Timmons Burlaste, the only guild member to never remove his hood or helm for anyone at any time. The forsaken turned toward her, and his hood bobbed once as he acknowledged her presence. "Well met, shaman."

"Yeah, yeah. I need a summons stone for Liila and Haa'aji." Whisper barely took in a breath before adding, "And I know you've been messing with the invisibility potions again. Mine gave out while the elves were standing right there."

The other warlock was Enlyhn Bloodfist. He was probably the only orc she knew who didn't have any type of scar on his body. He ran his fingers over his less impressive Mohawk—in comparison to Mitchell's— before laying a few cards on the table, and laughing. As Timmons' lips dipped down at the corners, the orc looked over at Whisper. "This is why you should just ban him from the shop."

"Very funny," Timmons muttered and flipped a few deep purple shards across the table to the other warlock.

Whisper ignored him and dropped into an empty chair at the table. "Timmons, c'mon. You owe me this. Honestly, you owe Liila and Haa'aji this, too, since it was their plan you ruined."

The forsaken scooted his chair back and stood up. "...Fine."

Enlyhn slipped the shards into a small pouch, pausing to examine one. "Really? You're not going to try to get..." He squinted, and a figure's wailing face appeared behind the glass for a moment. "Whitemane back?"

Timmons merely shrugged. "Always another day, another game."

Whisper stared from one warlock to the other, but said nothing as she slowly rose to her feet and followed Timmons out into the open. As Enlyhn tailed them, Whisper glanced over her shoulder and frowned. "I don't need two..."

"You should help us summon more. Takes three to call the stone," Timmons muttered and began to cast.


Ta'lim stared at the space where Liila and Haa'aji had been for a long moment before it finally dawned on him that he wasn't getting a summons as well. It no doubt had to do with his alerting his sister with what was going on, but then, they didn't have to live with her. He would rather have Haa'aji mad at him than Khai'rhi any day.

With a sigh and a curse, the troll ducked his head low to his mount and started a quick pace back to Orgrimmar.