Fhaliona

Den of the Enemy

“This armor does not fit properly,” Fhaliona complained to the Dwarf beside her, tugging at the neck with a gloved hand and making an exasperated face. “How am I supposed to fight when I don't have range of motion?”

The Dark Iron peered up at her with a chuckle. “Yer not goin' tae be fightin'. We're jus' goin' tae talk tae 'im, ye ken?” Moraghlioda turned her eyes down to the Lightforged's leg. “Yer not s'posed tae strain that anywho, jus' walkin' an' exercisin' it. And yer proper armor needs repairin'.”

“Yeah, yeah, more 'stay out of trouble',” the warrior sighed. “I swear everyone thinks I actually have a death wish.” She picked at the armor again and spoke more softly. “Do you really think this is going to work?”

Mora kept her voice equally low. “Everyone knows the guards who stay in the city 'ave no common sense. If ye walk by in Stormwind armor, they don't even look at yer face and jus' salute. An' my people aren't yet trusted; it's still perfectly normal tae lock up Dark Iron thieves.” She stopped and looked at the ground. “It's gettin' back out that concerns me.”

Fhaliona stopped beside the Dwarf, arranging the manacles just tight enough to look like they were doing their job, but not tight enough to cause discomfort, before pressing the key into Mora's hand. “You let me worry about that.”

“That's worrisome enough.” The pair approached the gate of the Stormwind Stockades and were stopped by the guards stationed there.

“State your business,” the guard said with a salute.

Fhaliona cleared her throat, trying her best to mask her accent from behind the ill-fitting helm. “This one was caught pickpocketing in the Blue Recluse. I was sent to escort and oversee her imprisonment.”

The guard shared a look with his partner, then opened the first gate. “King's honor, friend.” Fhaliona simply nodded, giving Mora a shove for show. The Dwarf stumbled and cursed, but it was all part of the act.

The first level of the Stockades was empty, save for a few stocks and weapon racks. Fhaliona breathed a sigh of relief and removed her helm. “I can't believe that worked!”

Moraghlioda winked and freed herself from the manacles, shrugging off the rags that barely covered her leather and chainmail. “Ah told ye, city guards are clueless. They get complacent, standin' behind the walls all day. Now let's get tae findin' yer Orc.” The guards in the lower levels were a little more suspicious, but said nothing and left them alone only to keep an eye on the unusual pair. They were used to adventurers entering the prison on interrogation missions or simply to prove their worth by beating on the more dangerous convicts. At the end of a long hall on the lowest level, numerous guards gathered outside the door and called for them to halt. Mora ignored them and crossed with as large of strides as her short legs would allow. “We're 'ere on King Wrynn's orders! Step aside!”

The captain of the Stockade guard spoke first. “We've received no such orders. Turn back.”

Mora was about to speak again when Fhaliona decided she wasn't wasting time on an argument. A gauntleted fist crashed against the stone, cracks spreading like spiderwebs and stone chips sprayed outwards before falling to the floor. Mora smirked as many of the guards visibly fought the urge to cower. “Unless ye want yer head to look like that, Ah suggest ye let us pass.” The captain sneered, but the crowd all but fled down the hallway. Mora took a station to the side as Fhaliona stepped up to the door and peered between the bars.

Saurfang sat silent with his eyes closed, chained to the wall. He made no signs of hearing the disturbance. Fhaliona cleared her throat and the Orc opened one eye. “Come to gloat?”

“I would not gloat at one who managed to wound me, regardless of how my hatred burns for your kind. I came to ask why. Why are you so set on destroying every world you set foot on?”

The Warlord sighed. “That is a long story I think you would not wish to hear.”

“I lost my home to the Burning Legion!” Fhaliona shouted, echoing in the depths of the prison. A few of the other prisoners stirred. “The same Burning Legion your Gul'dan served when he destroyed Draenor and killed my family! The same Burning Legion you served willingly! If I cannot have your head, I will have answers!”

“I DID NOT!” Saurfang roared back before regaining his composure. “Draenor was also my home, and the home of my clan. We were promised power, the power to hold our home safe from all invaders, the power to expand our holdings for the benefit of our future generations. It was all a lie, and by the time we realized, it was too late.” He hissed the last part. “The demon blood took control, compelled us to do atrocious things, honorless acts I am not proud of. This green skin is a curse,” he spat.

Fhaliona's eyes widened at his words, and her rage cooled slightly. “And yet you followed Windrunner's orders to create a weapon of genocide and burn the home of the Kaldorei.”

Saurfang sighed again, hanging his head against the chains. “She is my Warchief. I am too old to openly defy one more powerful than me, and take that mantle for myself.”

“Our Prophet is far older than you. There is still time to put that dishonorable wench in her place.” Fhaliona turned to Mora and the Orc shifted his head to watch her leave. “I have heard enough. Let's get out of here before the King is notified of our actions.” The Lightforged called over her shoulder, “Light be with you, Saurfang.”

Saurfang grunted. “The Light cannot save me, but you already know that, Draenei.”

Mora straightened from leaning on the stone wall and followed Fhaliona back through the upper levels of the Stockades. As they neared the gate, Mora paused. “Any idears on 'ow to get me back out?”

The warrior regarded the marksman beside her with amusement as she replaced the helm. “You are skilled in the art of camoflage, yes? I'll distract the guards and you can sneak past.”

Mora grinned. “Now that is a fine plan! Remember, this doesn't last long.” She carefully arranged her gear so as not to make a sound and slipped into the shadows.

As soon as the hunter disappeared, Fhaliona charged up to the gate. “Guards! The prisoners are rioting! All hands are needed!” The guards looked on with surprise as they opened the gate and rushed in. Fhaliona strode outside and closed the gate behind them, making sure Mora slipped through before the lock clicked in place. They were a fair distance away when the camoflage fell and Mora laughed. “Ye are goin' tae be in so much trouble fer that!”

Fhaliona returned with a grin of her own. “'Trouble' is my middle name.”

Mentions: Moraghlioda - WyrmrestAccord