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Tablet 13: Klopotec 
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Officer (Retired)
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Joined: 2009 Feb 16 (Mon) 9:35 pm
Posts: 4550
Location: Berlin-Neukölln
Class: Paladin
Post Tablet 13: Klopotec
as recorded by ZALMOXIS (mcs):

Before the Argent Crusade and its allies assaulted the Lich King's stronghold, one of the Path's most loyal was lost...

‘What do you think?’ The Forsasaken warlock’s face was hard to read, but Yatzu thought he detected a hint of concern in her pale features.

‘Why are we standing out here whispering? I’ll just go find out what they’re saying.’ Before anyone could stop him, the rogue, another Forsaken, was already creeping off.

Stoppit! Getbackhere,’ Yatzu hissed. Despite Orcish being a notriously difficult language to whisper in, he somehow managed. The rogue merely waved him off without turning, and crept up to the door and started to lift the latch. All of a sudden, the pacing on the other side stopped, and the voices got louder. The rogue froze. Thórva’s was the only one they could make out clearly.

‘Then where did they come from?!’ He was shouting, which was a strange thing to hear from the rarely stoic but usually composed elf. ‘And where was the rest of the escort?!’ There was a long pause. Someone, probably Ekhan, sounded like he were trying to talk Thórva down. And then someone said something else, and the elf lost it. ‘Chasing down what?!’ Loud footsteps started hurrying for the door. The rogue had just enough time to move out of the way of the doors slamming open. Thórva exploded out of them, and then stopped and turned on his heel in the middle of the hallway. The others that were following him stopped as well, and even took an extra step back. Yatzu realized that the paladin wasn’t simply angry — he was beyond livid.

‘You,’ he said, gesturing at the huntress, ‘get back out there and keep the search going!’

‘But I told you, we’ve no sign of him, the—’

‘Those are your orders! And tell the death knights that I want them to find and bring me that orc — and I want him here now, do not pass the Filthy Animal, do not stop for a tankard! Ekhan, you’re with me.’ With that they stormed off, leaving the small hallway crowded and in an akward silence.

Finally, Yatzu asked, ‘what happened?’

‘Ambush,’ said Nimoe. ‘On our way out of the Tournament grounds. We were making for the rendezvous at the Silent Vigil when the Scourge patrol attacked. Zalmoxis and a few others had spotted an Alliance party heading off to the west and gone to investigate. Pick a fight probably. They were all drunk, had been dueling all day. We,’ she indicated the large Tauren who had left with Thórva, ‘barely made it back to the caravan. Kekrops is missing.’ She went to the door that led out onto the street and stopped. ‘We’re pretty sure that he’s dead.’ The door slammed shut behind her, leaving an icy draught in her wake.

Yatzu turned the to last waiting figure in the hall. ‘Well, that was unexpected.’ He gestured to the room Thórva and the others had burst from. ‘This is the refectory, where we usually take our meals, those of us in the city, anyhow. I’m sorry, there’s usually something prepared at this hour, but as you can see things are somewhat … disrupted today.’ Yatzu led the new troll priest into the larger, but still modest room. The others followed (save the Forsaken warlock, who swept out of the hall in the other direction muttering something about having business to attend to) and they sat at the large table in the middle of the room. It was old, and looked to have been in the mage city since before it was unilaterally teleported to the current location. Yatzu retrieved several flagons and tankards from the cupboard and laid them out.

‘I’m sorry,’ he continued. ‘There’s usually a short ceremony when we have the time. I suppose I’ll just have to give you these myself.’ From a small pouch at his belt he produced a wax seal of an eye and a small copper coin that looked to be standard Goblin currency on the obverse, but contained the eye symbol on the reverse. ‘We sometimes find it useful to mark messages or leave clues in difficult situations. It can help insure a certain level of security.’

The priest took the objects and put them in her bag. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

Yatzu poured out the drinks. It was a golden liquid that foamed gently and smelled very strong. ‘I’m sorry if this sounds imperinent, but have you lost many people so far?’ Yatzu stopped and looked at the priest again.

‘Some walkers of the Path encounter greater adversity than others. It is true that several have already reached the end ot their journey … but these are dangerous times, and we fight for others’ safety, not our own.’

Yatzu finished pouring the drinks. It was quiet in the refectory for a while, until the rogue pulled out a small pair of worn dice that looked to be of Gurubashi origin.

‘Anyone here of the betting sort?’

Image

The window of the room that Thórva had appropriated faced out onto a small courtyard that abutted a low wall, beyond which was the purple haze of the foggy skies above Crystalsong. It made the quarters quiet, which was how he liked them, but it also made them lonely. At night the high-altitude winds buffeted the pane, which no matter how many nails he drove into the damn thing always rattled worse than a Goblin printing press. Today the sunset over the Storm Peaks was particularly striking, and it shone in through the window, almost blinding him and the Tauren behind and warming the place up marginally. He turned back to Ekhan.

‘Let’s sum up, shall we?’ Thórva sensed condecension building in the druid’s voice. ‘One of our number, one of the older and more loyal, is probably dead. You’ve sent the search party back out at nightfall where, if the Lick King’s patrols don’t catch them, an ice storm might, and now you’ve send another two of your associates to arrest a third, who, whether I like him or not, has thusfar proven to be one of the most useful and one of the strongest supporters you or your brother have ever had. Am I correct so far?’

‘Don’t be melocramatic, I haven’t arrested anybody. But that … idiot has proved reckless and insubordinate again, and whatever my brother’s feelings for him I will not stand for it! It’s probably his fault that Kekrops is … well, missing, in the first place.’

Ekhan considered the young elf for some time before speaking. When he did, it was not the question Thórva expected him to ask. ‘Have you heard from your brother, then?’

Thórva turned back to the sunset. ‘No. No word for more than three weeks now. I even wrote to Iah, to see if he had perhaps come by the training grounds in Nagrand, and Oedra reports that all is quiet at Thalandiel House.’ Thórva squinted in the bright light. It was so foggy over the Peaks this time of year, and yet the sun was so bright, even now… ‘I think he may be gone for good this time. I think he’s given up.’

Ekhan stood slowly, the top of his mane touching the low ceiling. ‘I do not know Thoradiel like you do, my friend, but I do know him in my own way. You know, once, before all of this Path business began, he and I went to see Shian’tsu — do you know of her?’

‘That fortune teller in Orgrimmar?’

‘Fortune teller? Hardly. A mystic, to be sure, but no Darkmoon huckster. She predicted a winding path for us, for all of us. She said it went very deep and very dark places.’ Thórva suddenly remembered the dark halls of Ulduar, deep beneath the earth, and shuddered. He hoped never to go back there. ‘Whatever adversity we have faced so far, I know worse is to come. I feel it every time I see the Lich’s citadel looming in the distance, and yet I know that there may be worse lying in wait, biding it’s time until the Frozen Throne is no longer an obstacle. Thoradiel knows all of that, too. Whatever he does, he does for us — for the Path. He has not abandoned you or I.’

‘Yet.’ Ekhan grunted. Thórva’s mood had darkened further. ‘Maybe Kekrops is the luckiest of us, then?’ Ekhan did not reply, and left the elf standing alone, staring into the sun.

‘Kallbrand!’ Thórva called, without turning. The slim Forsaken figure soundlessly appeared in the doorway. ‘Catch Nimoe before she takes off. Tell her to call off the search.’ The warlock nodded and left, shutting the door behind.

He stared out of the window for a minute longer, and then, as if remembering something suddenly, began searching through the papers on the desk. A small tack-hammer was buried in the clutter, pilfered from the basement smith-shop, and he began rooting through the drawers for something else. But with the after-image of the sun burned into his eyes, he could not for the life of him find the small box of nails.


2010 Oct 12 (Tue) 3:46 pm
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