Eleven

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Redblade Admiral Tuuroto,

In a recent affront against my lord, two of your captains have attempted an invasion of his privacy. As such, they have been punished. My master is not one to hide, so if you still wish to instigate, his ship will be waiting off the northern coast of Icecrown.

Eleven

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His eyes slowly opened and looked upwards at the sky above him. Oddly enough, he found that it was a deep brown, nearly black in color. The man blinked as he realized it wasn't the sky, rather, it was the deck of a ship, his vision mixed due to his being upside down. He tried to struggle and fall out of whatever trap he was in, before he realized his arms and legs were bound.

As his gaze turned upwards, he saw that his legs were locked together in chains, keeping him dangling from the tall mast of the ship, upside down. The more he moved, the more the chains dug into his flesh, small tracks of blood had begun to run down his legs, towards his waist. This wasn't helped at all by the churning of the sea, each wave that pushed against the hull would cause his chains to rock from one side to the next, digging into his skin again. An attempt to scream was stifled by the realization that his mouth was gagged, and for a moment, he allowed himself to simply hang there, mind frantic with curiosity and pain.

With the end of his struggle, blood continued to rush down to his head from his position, leaving his legs a pale color. All over his body, his skin burned, small markings cutting away at, lined with needle marks. His blood felt oddly warm and sluggish, as if it was starting to slow in movement. In another attempt to escape, he rocked back and forth, but was met with no success. His head, at the least, was temporarily alleviated of the pain that had begun to numb it, though his legs were torn again. There had to be a way to escape this torment, and he gazed past his body, towards the mast and sails.

There was a great crack as magical lightning went off again, the otherwise dark skies of Icecrown lit up for the briefest of moments. With the additional light, the bound captive managed to see that he wasn't alone in his punishment. Numerous bodies, some living and some dead, were among those chained and hanging from the mast and rigging of the ship. Some of them were bound by the legs, as he was. Others had a noose about their neck, or a hook through their bodies. The Undead that had been hung attempted to escape with slow bites at the air, as if it could possibly help their situation.

The only correlation the captives shared here would have otherwise separated them in the outside world. Each wore the colors of a different faction or group, one tabard bore an Alliance insignia, another the Orcish runes of the Horde. Still more wore the flag of Kul Tiras, Theramore, even the various Goblin Cartels. In total, there were nine of the men and women, besides himself. The manner of their dress and the markings on their bodies seemed to show that they were all, like him, a Captain to a ship or another. Or at least, they would have been, had they not been bound to this ghastly ship. His mind drifted to his home country, destroyed as it was. Gilneas was far away from this dreaded place, and the shipping line he was meant to be at was even farther.

The Undead had taken his homeland, and now, it seemed, were about to take his life and the lives of the others.

The man had begun to feel sickly from the visions, and he turned his gaze lower, to the deck of the ship. Men and women moved about down here as well, though they were much more unified in their visage. The Undead that apparently manned the ship gave no mind to their prey, instead they carried various items, barrels, gunpowder kegs, even cannons that were swiftly put into place. They moved the same way that an insect or Klaxxi might, mindless but clear in purpose.

"Eleven." A voice called, clearly in control. "This one yet lives, even with repeated injections. Come and finish it."

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The mail armored minion was hovering over one of the other workers near the cannons. It raised its head as it heard the command and turned around to glare through its helm at the man swinging from the mast.

With little hesitation in a show of agility, Eleven took hold of a nearby ratline and climbed its way up. Its feet hooked onto the intertwining ropes as it crawled along the net with ease. It grew excited - a spider that had captured something in its web. When it was finally in reach of the captive, it playfully pushed him with its gloved hand, causing the man to swing and spin. The chains cut even deeper from this motion.

The world spun around him. There were the icy waters, hanging bodies, a snowy cliff, dark skies, a face. Each time he made a full circle, Eleven leaned closer. He began to spin the other direction from the tension in his binds, but was stopped suddenly. His nose was touching Eleven's helm, and cold iron sunk into his chest. He could hear it whispering something, but everything faded.

Eleven wiped its dagger on the dangling corpse and inspected the others like it. With a nod, it climbed most the way down the mast's rope then jumped the last few feet to the deck. It would wait a few moments for any acknowledgement or command before getting back to its previous tasks.

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"Attention ev’ryvone, dah!"

Tuuroto stood atop of the bar counter at the Blue Recluse, folding his arms across his chest and clearing his throat in preparation of yet another rallying speech for the Order of the Redblade. There was no "varm pleasure smile" on his visage; rather, the Draenei Admiral stood firm, attempting to exude an aura of confidence and leadership, though his Draenic hooves, much to the dismay of a frowning Joachim Brenlow nearby, had begun to splinter the recently finished wooden countertop. A certain Cornish Rex kitten was lackadaisically slouched over Tuuroto’s shoulder, though its oxymoronic presence was shadowed by the spectacle of glowing, mana-infused tarot cards that swirled like clockwork around Tuuro.

"Ze situation in Northrend has gotten vorse…" the Draenei stated loudly yet sternly while genuinely trying to keep the nuances of his thick Draenic accent to a minimum, "… for our culprit has been identified. A vell known menance to both our Order and ze Alliance as a whole."

"A man named… Altherion."

Immediately as the name of that Death Knight had left the Draenei’s lips, a scattering of loud whisperings erupted from the patrons of the Blue Recluse. At an arm’s length from Tuuroto sat some members of the Redblade, all of whom were donning their white and red tabards and were easily distinguishable amidst the other patrons of the tavern. Of course, there were a few other Redblades (or ex-Redblades) who treasured their anonymity more than gold itself and, thus, were lurking elsewhere in the tavern.

"This man, Altherion, not only is responsible for slaughtering innocent lives at Vestguard Keep," the Draenei continued, his pace slowing as if nerves were starting to get the better of him, "but he also… is responsible for gravely injuring our very own members: Miiister Ark and Quartermaster Rose." Tuuro paused for a moment, his mind racing to the countless times Madam Stormguarde, Ranavos the Lich, and other associates had warned him about what Altherion was capable of.

Tuuroto shook his head and continued, "Thus, we vill be sailing to ze northern shores of Icecrown TONIGHT." He looked into the eyes of his fellow Redblades, expecting them to be incredulous over the thought of actually sailing for the first time since Raventy’s reign.

"Dah, Tonight." Tuuroto reiterated in a more solid tone, "I have already made arrangements to have vone of our ships arrive at Stormvind Harbor by MIDNIGHT."

A pause.

"I encourage ev’ryvone to drop vhatever you are doing to begin gatherin’ your belongings and your reagents for combat." The Draenei continued, "Space is liiimited, and time is of ze essence. If you do not come prepared, you may as vell be valking to your grave."

Another pause.

"And zhis time… expect bloodshed."

At that, Tuuroto snapped his fingers, causing the tarot cards around him to gather into a single deck at his palm. Then, the Draenei hopped down off the counter and strode towards the tavern exit, ignoring the many questions being bombarded at him by his comrades. He noticed some Redblades hastily making their leave, while others remained at the tavern in order to fully digest all that had transpired.

As usual, the Draenei Admiral’s speech was loud enough for practically anyone in the tavern to hear, not just members of his organization. From the watering hole regulars, to the vigilantes and cutthroats, to even the mercenary guilds who stop by Stormwind City less frequently than the Darkmoon Faire, anyone could have caught wind of Tuuroto’s information and use it to their own advantage. Perhaps this was the tarot-reading Draenei’s strategy: to get as much people involved as possible in order to overwhelm Altherion and whatever tricks he may have in store.

Or, perhaps it was an act of naiveté that would lead to the Draenei Admrial’s untimely backstab.

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Cyllos leans forward into his chair in the corner as he drags the smoke out of his cigar in deed thought. It was happening again, same story new group. Altherion was attacking and he has to once again decide to join his friends or to try to talk some sense into him. The recent battle between them leads him to believe he doesn't have much of a choice. Many of the Redblades will most likely get killed unless he did something about it.

He catches up with Admiral Tuuroto and in a hushed voice , speaks to him as they walk. "Do you think it is wise to send our members after him? I mean , most of them aren't trained in the art of war." What he said was true. More than likely most of the redblades have never waged in a battle, at least not that he has ever seen them fight. He just feels if anymore die, there blood will be on his hands. " Are we really doing this?"

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If the reason for Reroma's arrival at Stormwind made her tremble with fear on the inside, then the Draenei's speech made the blood elf feel sick just to think about. It had been a long time since she had heard from Altherion, and only recently, through a newspaper, did she realize why. He would never want her to know this. It seemed he had done everything to keep her from knowing, including refusing to speak to her anymore. Reroma bit her lip to keep another sigh from escaping her when she remembered that fact.

But mourning the past wasn't what she was here for. The whole time, she had cast her camouflage on herself, with Loc stealthed as well outside the inn. So as Tuuroto was taking his leave, Reroma stealthed just close enough for him to hear her, in the short hallway close to the entrance of the Blue Recluse. It was then she allowed her camouflage to fade, with a dark hood covering her head. Any potential passerbys would assume the mage was speaking to a high elf. "It doesn't have to be this way, you know." Just by looking at her anyone could clearly see that some of the huntress's usually vibrant skin had faded somewhat, and dark circles had formed under her eyes. Even her stance was off; where most blood elves stood tall and proud, this one's shoulders were slouched forward some and her hair as left unkempt at the ends, as if it was brushed hastily and without thought.

"I could try to talk some sense into him, Tuuroto. Altherion... He would never hurt me," she said to the Draenei as she looked him dead in the eye, "This doesn't have to end in bloodshed like you claim."

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The Draenei Admiral was quite conscious of the panic he had caused with his rally to arms, for it was all part of his plan. ‘The louder, the better,’ he thought. He wanted people to hear: yes, he wanted them to eavesdrop, to meddle, or to blindly follow his lead, so that in the impending battle against Altherion at least numbers will be on Tuuroto’s side.

Tuuroto didn’t slow his pace when he noticed Lieutennat Cyllos A’duun rush up to him. The fellow Draenei’s words rang loud and clear, but it was his furrowed look of dread that spoke the loudest. Nevertheless, Tuuro maintained a macho façade, pretending to dismiss Cyllos’ concerns regarding the sudden charge into battle. Are Cyllos’s fears correct? Is the current generation of Redblades prepared for frontline combat?

Probably.

“Are we really doing this?” Cyllos pleaded.

“It is final, dah,” Tuuroto replied coldly to Cyllos as he gestured him to return to the table to meet up with the rest of the Redblades. He counted on Cyllos to rally the other Redblades who remained inside thet avern.

Now, Tuuroto’s intense focus toward his rousing speech madeh im neglect the presence of the Sin’Dorei beast mistress lurking by the doorway of the Blue Recluse. The voice was familiar: familiar enough for Tuuroto to immediately recognize as Reroma's, despite it being over a year since he had lost contact with her. The Draenei Admiral paused in place for a split second, initially surprised by Reroma’s presence in Alliance territory. However, his surprise subsided almost immediately, for, in all reality, the Draenei had suspected that Reroma would get involved. Altherion’s involvement in the Westguard slaughter had gone public: it was only a matter of time until she would come out of the woodworks to come to his aid.

“This doesn’t have to end in bloodshed like you claim,” Reroma implored, to the point of potentially letting her guard down.

A brief silence. The evening bells from Stormwind Cathedral gonged from afar.

“If you vish to negotiate… Miiis Reroma,” the Draenei teased in a lingering, almost sadistic tone without making eye-contact with the Sin’Dorei, “… zhen I suggest you follow me to ze harbor zhis very iiinstant.”

The Draenei walked a few steps more, paused, then turned his head towards Reroma.

“…and make sure we are not followed, dah.”

Tuuroto continued to walk out to the Mage Tower pavillion, faking a casual saunter as he took a quick turn towards one of the lesser known alleyways of the Stormwind Mage Quarter.

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"There should be only one being following us, and he is under my command," Reroma replies as she follows him out of the Blue Recluse, straightening herself a bit and keeping quiet so as to not draw anymore attention to herself. Upon hearing the footsteps of his mistress outside, Loc lifted his head from where he had been resting and waiting for her. Still maintaining his stealth, he gets up and stalks the blood elf and draenei, trailing behind the two as they made their way to the rather suspicious alleyway. He let out a quiet, low growl to Reroma to keep her guard up. The huntress only nodded in reply to the spirit beast--a sign that she both heard and heeded his warning. Tuuroto may be able to sense the still hidden Loc nearby.

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Cyllos sighs and heads back inside the tavern with a gloom face on. But as he looked at his fellow redblades he straightened up and changed it to a look of determination. He now knew what he had to do, and now was the time. "As the Admiral said, we are going to battle against Altherion. The battle will be harsh, and the weather harsher. Any of you who wish to stand aside will not be judged, but hear me those of you who choose to fight."

Cyllos closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and then exhaled. "As you may have guessed, Altherion will have many 'Allies' by his side this battle. They more than likely, would be undead as that is his strength." He looked around to see the redblades looking at him, some with concern and some with determination and nodding.

"In the event, that they are undead, there may be a chance that you will die. And when you die, you may rise against us as undead. Make no mistake, people will die." Most of them looked down in thought thinking of what they would do. "But even knowing that, we shall not back down!"

Cyllos raises his voice to get everyone's attention again. "Altherion has done us wrong, and attacked our fellow Redblades . He has murdered and killed those at Westguard Keep, including others in the past. There is no end to his torment among the living and he kills without remorse." He finds determined faces again among the crowd. "And he will continue to kill, until he , or all of us are dead!"

Cyllos voice fills with anger, " So, are we going to wait here until he does? Or are we going to take the fight to him?!" The voices in the tavern shout out their answers . " Then he shall pay for his crimes and treason! Altherion will pay!" The voices roar with vigor and Cyllos walks outside. Others will fight alongside him, but only he will fight Altherion. He will see to it.

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Cara rolled her eyes at Cyllos. The two of them had a hard time getting along, as was typical of a death knight and a paladin. She actually didn't get along with a lot of people, and the Admiral and certain Redblades were certainly not exceptions.

The dwarf assisted the group in the Westguard investigation but had little knowledge or history with this "Altherion" person. She wondered how Tuuroto came to this conclusion since the group last spoke of the recent events. While she wasn't one to get riled up in a crowd, just talk of combat was enough motivation to join the cause.

The concern of being risen as undead made her quietly chuckle. "It's not so bad."

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Tuuroto let out a quick sigh as he saw Cyllos retreat back into the Blue Recluse, relieved that the Paladin was willing to comply with orders.

Thus, Tuuro continued strolling down the Mage Quarter, the intentional bounce in his step concealed the severe tension that had been swelling within him. He occasionally turned his head to make sure Reroma was following and not drawing any unwanted attention. For a moment, Tuuroto deliberated on what Reroma meant as "the other one following them," but he later shook his head, realizing that it was too late to dwell on that detail.

Tuuroto, Reroma, and Loc would arrive in a dead-end alley in the Mage Quarter surrounded by towering brick buildings. The pathway of grass that lined most of the district gave way to scattered sections of dirt, mud, dead leaves, and trashed newspapers and parchments from the Hero's Call Board. Pitch darkness nearly concealed the alleyway, where the only sources of light were the moon and a single lamppost illuminated by an arcane orb.

Tuuroto suddenly stopped and pivoted on the edges of his hooves, which got dirtied by the mud below. Adjusting his Admiral’s hat and starting intently at the Sin’Dorei, he nodded at her and silently beckoned her to speak whatever plan she had in mind.

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Reroma took a moment to scan her surroundings and, once she deemed it safe, looked back at Tuuroto. She had to admit, for the first time ever she felt intimidated by him. Nevertheless, she took a deep breath, sighed, and righted herself once more before explaining herself.

"First of all, you're going to sail your crew to their doom and only give him more corpses to work with by trying to fight him. I could go to Northrend with you, where I have a chance of actually bypassing his undead and getting to him safely once he realizes it's I who wants to see him. From there I could try to talk to him--I could convince him to surrender and no lives will have to be lost." While she spoke, Tuuroto might notice that she was grabbing onto a tuft of the now revealed Loc's fur. For a moment her head hung and she stared at the grass, "Best case scenario... He gets arrested. I will not even begin to justify his actions anymore." Her voice wavered on the last sentence, and it would seem like there was more she wanted to say, but she kept quiet.

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Cyllos walks fast paced to the harbor to where the ship would dock. Nobody seemed to be there yet, making Cyllos feel very anxious. "Where is Tuuroto ?" He thought aloud. He sighs shaking out his arms to keep himself distracted from the task before him. He was finally going to put a stop to his old friend, the man he let slide past him for many years not thinking anything of his actions.

I guess he just played ignorance, or perhaps he really did trusted Altherion. He felt that his friend had some goodness within him, even when he shrugs it off as if he was doing it for himself. Which I suppose was partly true. My gods what happened to him since they met that lead him down this path. Is he really working on his own , or is there someone else behind the whole thing. Making his friend do unspeakable things, or rather influencing him to do so.

No he couldn't think it that way, he was evil now. He must kill his old Friend. Its the very reason now Altherion is out hurting his Fellow Redblades , and Slaughtering people left and right.

But then again, perhaps something did happen...Perhaps it was his past relationship with Nalta that ended sour causing him to fall . Maybe it was something that happen, a betrayal among our members in the 73rd or outside it. Or...Is it that there is something bigger that he has found, that we all cannot see? A new evil, a new enemy, another end of the Word Scenario?

No, he shook his head again and grabs his hair looking at the moonlit sky above him as he breathes deeply from near panic. No...He must be stopped.

He takes out a cigar and attempts to light it with his engineered lighter to lit it up. After many failed attempts he bites into the cigar and throws the damn thing into the ocean . He then punched a nearby wood beam with this Engineered cyborg arm causing it to explode in splinters.

He takes several steamy breaths as he plops down leaning against the splintered beam. "Why must I ...Have to kill those dear to me.." He whispers to the moon.

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“Ev’rytiiing you claim, I agree.”

The Draenei Admiral nodded firmly, his left side of his calm, slightly smirking face illuminated by a nearby lamppost. Tuuroto then extended his arm as a flurry of tarot cards assembled into a single deck on top of his open palm. Meanwhile, a certain Cornish Rex Kitten climbed out of the Draenei’s Netherweave Bag, clawed onto the Redblade cloak on Tuuro's back, and eventually made his way onto his usual perch upon Tuuroto’s shoulder.

“Dah. I vas trying to hide it, Miiis Reroma.” Tuuroto continued, “…but I too prefer if we didn't go to combat vith Altherion. I zimply prefer zhat ze Redblades prepare for ze vorst, if ze vorse vas indeed to come.”

There was a pause in Tuuroto’s speech. A strong gust of wind penetrated into the lone alleyway, almost blowing the top few cards of Tuuroto’s tarot deck.

“Zhere is no doubt zhat your presence in Icecrown can turn ze tides of ze conflict,” Tuuro replied as he took two slows strides towards Reroma. He then placed his right hand on the Sin’Dorei’s shoulder, naively assuming that Loc would not react aggressively to the supposedly harmless gesture. His grip was a tad hard, his hand almost covering the entirety of Reroma's shoulder.

“However, zhere is many questions zhat I have regarding you, Miiis Reroma.” Tuuroto uttered calmly, his grasp loosening.

“My comrades need to know zhat you are zomevone ve can trust: someone who is not hiding any secrets…”

Taking a deep breath, the Draenei let Reroma speak.

*Meanwhile*

“Hmph, I thought I’d be the first one here.”

A blond male human with a goatee and sideburns threw down his knapsack of medical supplies and his trademark Scarlet Crusade tower shield onto the wooden dock. The scowl on his face suggested that he wasn’t particularly pleased to see the Draenei Paladin Cyllos, who was already waiting at the naval vessel that would set sail for Northrend.

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Reroma couldn't help but smile a bit watching Velen's Beard climb onto his owner's shoulder. She was made to focus once more, though, when Tuuro grabbed her shoulder, and she looked up at him in slight confusion before he explained himself. It was as if she hadn't had anyone this close to her in a long while. Loc grew tense for a moment, but calmed once he saw that the draenei wasn't going to harm Reroma.

To the suggestion of answering questions, the blood elf nodded and replied, "I will answer any question you wish."

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Tuuroto didn't hesitate to bombard the Sin'Dorei with questions:

"Where have you been all zhis time?"

"Does Altherion know you are safe? Zhat you are here?"

"How exactly are you goin' to convince him?"

"Why are you helping us...and zhus going against your husband and father of your liiittle Korian?"

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Reroma was taken aback by how quickly he interrogated her. She had to take a moment to register it before taking a breath, clearing her throat, then answering.

"I've been either at home or travelling alone all this time. Altherion hasn't been back home since last year. I don't think he really cares about how I've been doing or where I am, especially since I have no way of contacting him anymore. I'm going to try to talk him out of doing what he's doing--he blew up his last base for me."

"As for going against him..." She went silent for another moment, biting her lip before going on, "Right now, he is not the man I married." The huntress shook her head, "To be honest, Tuuro, this is just a last ditch effort to get that man back..." It was then when Loc licked Reroma's hand, and she sighed before getting a hold of herself again, this time looking Tuuroto in the eye. "This isn't him. I'm not even sure how well my plan will work but if I don't try, it's going to get people killed!"

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Cyllos looks up at the blond man who just arrived at the dock. He wasn't familiar with the man so he asked the obvious. "Who are you? I'm not sure we met before."

He looked off into the distance to see if the ship has come yet, it had not. He then turn his attention back to the man. "Why did you think you were to be the first here?"

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A cloaked figure stepped away from the tavern, moving through the streets of Stormwind at a brisk pace; it was a brown and travel-worn article of clothing, not ominous by any means, and it was draped over a steel-colored suit of armor that could be glimpsed through the opening in the front with every step.

As she passed the Cathedral, Evellin pulled her hood down, letting it bunch up around her shoulders. Her face was worn and weathered; older, almost, though the thirty-five year old Death Knight had not truly aged since her death those many years ago.

And zhis time… expect bloodshed.

Eve had heard the speech; it was hard not to, her curiosity drawing her nearer and nearer. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about the whole thing; tempted to sit it out and wait for the news, tempted even to take a skiff and sail it north, ahead of the crew. To kill him or to join him. The former captain wasn't so sure anymore; she slowed her stride, stepping along the docks and spotting the two figures up ahead.

Evellin cleared her throat as she approached, brushing her cloak back to give the men a convenient view of the arming sword sheathed at her hip; it wasn't quite a threatening gesture as it was an educational one. She didn't need to make any noises to alert them of her presence, though; the clomping of her armored boots would no doubt be enough.

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There was a quizzical look on the Draenei Admiral’s face as he silently listened to Reroma’s explanation. His eyes were squinting: a combination of the lack of daylight and his growing uncertainty towards the current situation. After Reroma finished speaking, Tuuroto remained quiet but kept eye contact on her. The only sound that could be heard was the howling gusts of wind against the alley walls and the constant shuffling and reshuffling of Tuuro’s tarot card deck.

Suddenly, Tuuroto broke the silence.

“I zee.”

He waited a few seconds, though the awkward silence felt like minutes.

“I’ll be honest: zhere’re a couple of tiiings zhat do not convince me…no offense Miiis Reroma,” the Draenei said calmly so as to not insinuate anything negative towards the Sin’Dorei maiden, “but you are ze only concrete plan I ‘ave, so I guess it’s vorth a shot. I shall save my other questions and inhibitions for another time.”

Another pause.

“If anytiiing, it is not me you’ll be needin’ to convince: It’s ze REST of ze crew you should be concerned about.”

With a faint smile, Tuuroto stuffed his tarot deck into his pocket and began waving his free hand in the air in a circular pattern, conjuring a piece of parchment to float in front of Reroma.

“Ze ship is harbored in Stormvind and vill be leaving immediately.” Tuuroto continued as the floating piece of parchment made its way to the Sin’Dorei’s fingertips, “Give zhis to Miiister Prattvorth and he vill let you aboard.”

“I trust you remember Vyatt?”

*Meanwhile*

The blond man rolled his eyes at the cybernetic-armed Draenei.

“Hummm? You don’t recognize me? I guess the rumors of Draenei intelligence are true. Ah, but I guess that banter is best for another time.”

The human leaned against a nearby stack of crates as he combed back his neatly trimmed hair with his palm. He occasionally made a double take on Cyllos’s arm, as if waiting for the right time to make witty jab at the mechanized contraption.

“Dr. Wyatt Prattworth of Strahnbrad,” the human uttered half-heartedly, “Please do put an effort to remember this time.” A bored look on his face, he began to rummage through his belongings while ignoring Cyllos’s original question. After much searching, and ignoring all attempts of meaningful conversation and team planning, Wyatt pulled out what appeared to be a draping white linen lab coat. He then gingerly cloaked the lab coat over his body.

“A bit chilly tonight,” Wyatt finally said, his tone suggesting that he was simply humoring the fellow Redblade with small talk.

Wyatt had no idea that he would be seeing “good ol’ Eve” very soon.

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Reroma remained still during Tuuroto's scrutiny, unsure of what exactly to do next. Her ears twitched at the sound of the wind coupled with his card shuffling until he broke the silence between them. Hearing that he still barely believed her, she sighed, "Just ask me when you feel like it. If your crew has any questions about me, tell them they can feel free to do the same." With that, she took the parchment in her hands and nodded when Tuuro gave her the directions. "Wyatt... The name sounds familiar, yes," she replied, and the huntress patted Loc's side as she turned to leave, headed to the docks.

Once there, she pulled her hood forward to further conceal herself as she made her way to the ship. Loc had hidden himself again, and Cyllos and Wyatt would only see a hooded elf with a bow on her back and a glowing red hand axe on her hip. She clutched the bottom of the hood as she spoke, handing out the parchment. "Hi. Which one of you is Wyatt? Your captain has given me permission to board. Name's Reroma."

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Evellin stopped short a few feet from the trio, catching wind of the elf's remark and narrowing her eyes. "What-" she started, but it came out as more of an irritable grunt before she stopped herself short and shook her head. Of course she recognized the name.

Run her through. Gut her. Here and now, it'll spell everyone's end if you don't. Treachery. Can't be trusted.

The Death Knight rolled her shoulder, fingers curling, and relaxing. More thoughts flitted through her head; He let her, why would he let her? Even he's not so daft. Is he? No. Bait? She walked too freely, but she pondered the Draenei's potential for mind-control. Bait... or... a devious plot. Her muscles stiffened, her jaw clenched, and she counted to five before forcing in a breath.

"Ahoy," she announced flatly. "Didn't know any of you lot knew how to run anything bigger'n a skiff."

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Reroma gasped, and stood straight the second the recognized the death knight's voice. She's still around? But Mera told me she left... Either way, the blood elf knew not to get on Evellin's bad side--well, more than she was now. "... Hi." Loc sensed his mistress's fear and unsheathed his claws as he growled at the other woman. Reroma lightly tugged on the spirit beast's tail. "Hold," she commanded. Loc let out something akin to a groan of annoyance, but huffed and complied, taking a more relaxed stance but keeping his claws out.

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Longdang slowly made his way to the dock Master Tuuroto told them to meet. He thought about everything he had been told and learned up until now. With his shamanistic training and recent Battle Front experience Long didn't doubt his combat and sailing abilities. As he approaches the dock, Long notices an anxious Cyllos. As he comes to the end of the dock Long sits down and exclaims "Please give me a moment of silence .... I need to contact the Elements and make sure we have no surprises on the seas." Sets a large totem with a blue symbol down beside him, as his eyes begin to glow the same shade of blue. After a few brief moments the glowing stopped and Long replaced the totem in his bag. Long stands and glances at Cyllos "The Elements shall protect us, but we should still be on our guard. Where are the others?"

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Carabeving was the next to arrive, her deathcharger clopping against the stone path as they approached. She stopped a short distance away and scanned the group before turning to watch the docks. Everyone seemed to know each other. Cara shrugged and remained silent, showing little interest in the tense conversation.

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