20XX: Vouy(ag)er

[Niethan]

Even now, it was possible to find a crack, if you knew where to look. A very tiny crack, to be sure, and so far buried that more than once Niethan had chided himself for going through the effort to find it. After all, it wasn't anything he needed or even wanted. Why dredge up old pains, old hatreds?

He knew the answer, of course. Hope and fond memories. He'd figured he should have known better by now, but despite every attempt by Fate and spite to stamp them out they still came creeping back. Like kicked dogs, he thought.

Niethan snorted, tasting sand even through the breathing aparatus strapped firmly to his head. He was digging up now, up and out, belly to the dirt and pride long since swallowed, ever since the tiny spark of an idea of maybe finding a picture of his oldest and dearest friends had started. First it was find a picture, then it was make a picture, and now finally it was see and hear and then take a picture.

He'd hit sand, finally. Tanaris had long since ceased to exist from where he'd started digging, but now there was sand and heat pressing down through his (by now) ruined clothes. The breathing aparatus beeped and started cooling the air it was pumping into Niethan's lungs. He almost laughed; a little AC wasn't going to hold a finger to the heat of a real desert. Ah well.

Sand abruptly caved in on him as he breached the surface, the temperature skyrocketing under the full glare of the Azeroth sun. Niethan clawed his way out, smacking dust out of his clothes and trying in vain to shake the grains out of his scales. He untied his pack from his foot and stowed the now useless aparatus into it, then paused and sucked in a deep breath.

It tasted like dust, like basilisk spoor and dry salt. It tasted free of pollution, and full of sunlight and honest sweat. And (he cringed at the stirring in his chest) it tasted like hope. Niethan started walking, unable to stamp down the unwanted feeling.

Loa, he thought. Dogs us all.

[Niethan]

He gave the beachfront home of the braindead Copy-Khiskiva and her hunter toy a wide berth, not from any fear of being discovered but that he might finally find his anger at her and put a bullet through her skull. He had a few fond memories of the shamaness, but far more plentiful was the store of jealousy and disgust that he'd tamped down during his friendship with her.

But of course his concience wouldn't let him have something to burn. Yes, he was disgusted by her Copy and what it represented. Yes, he had been and still was jealous of her (and how could she, after all this time take from him again the one thing he'd wanted?). But he also remembered how much he pitied her. So like Vilmah, unable to trust, but with more machination in her soul to let her make her mark. She'd hurt him very badly and he wanted nothing to do with her.

Niethan passed by Gadgetzan, keeping an eye out for an inattentive traveler from whom to 'borrow' money for the windrider. No, he thought, he wanted nothing to do with Khiskiva, past or present.... except maybe one picture, with the children. She was a very loving mother, and the good in her soul rarely seemed as close to the skin as when she was with babies.

One stolen pouch later and Niethan handed fare for Orgrimmar to the rider master, who grunted and took the coin without question. He'd aquire a picture of Khiskiva later. Just one. Maybe two. In the meantime, the orc city held old familiar faces, and Niethan spent the flight thinking of which ones he might see first.

[Sulajin]

Sulajin wandered, aimlessly. He was in a perfectly foul mood, and was busy using it to intimidate peons and the new elves. Despite this he found himself on his usual route to the unremarkable shop that sold a wide variety of treasures.

Elvin tables, dwarven benches, Gnomish... things, and even a human bed. All played set out before him in a wonderous display of history. One of the few things that brought a smile to his face, these days.

Well... his purse was heavy enough. Perhaps, in light of recent events, it would do him good to indulge. Just the ~one~ piece though. And only an end table... or that chair... A jar full of glass eyes!?

Well, if anything happened to these, someone would find out just why they should be so intimidated.

[Khiskiva]

"Ya betta nah be whe'e ah t'ink ya be.." Came an all too familliar voice, through the scarab beatle that sat atop Sulajin's shoulder. They were such filthy creatures, but damned if the Sandfury didn't consider them to be good luck.

"Ah 'ope ya 'aven' fo'gotten ta brin' back di linens ah be needin', 'usban'," she said in her constant scolding tone. "Choo dwon' kno' ha much clot' t'ree babies go t'rough.. an' while ya out, trah an' brin' back mebbe.. one o' dem dea' from Silve'pine. Ah'm still nu'sin' an' carryin' yet anodda one o' ya spawn an'.."

It went on like that for several minutes. Khiskiva's wrath was not to be stifled by small things like distance or time.

[Niethan]

All Niethan caught was a flick of cloth and an achingly familiar scent, but that was more than he needed to identify his oldest friend. The fact that the mage was heading into an antique curio shop only served to confirm his deduction. Niethan made to climb up the side of the small shop and perch on the roof to wat, but a sudden thought stopped him. If he was going to go through all this trouble to see his first friends, then why should he take back such boring pictures as as the top of Sulajin's head as he left?

Niethan leaned up against the outside wall, not three feet from where Sulajin was admiring an end table inside. Since he was here, why not take pictures worth taking? All it would mean would be following around some of the most paranoid and observent people he'd ever met without being caught. Most of Niethan's schemes tended to bloom in such a way, but for once he could easily brush off the feeling of looming ill fortune. Stalking it was.

Niethan started heading around the building, searching for a window to climb through.

[Sulajin]

Sulajin snorted as he turned over the jar in his hands. "What difference do it make where I be? An' I haven' fo'gotten, don' t'ink I eva goin ta fo'get afta ya t'reatened ta be usin my silks in dere place."

And even though he said such things it wasn't long before he sighed and let the tirade wash over him. Despite her objections he found the jar in his hands, and then shortly after that on the table before the vendor. One of the few in Orgrimmar who knew Sulajin well enough to see through his usual gruff demeanor and into the antique loving soul that lurked beneath.

He dropped his coins onto a section of sleave, hoping the cloth would dampen their clatter enough that Khiskiva wouldn't notice over her righteous indignation. A pregnant Trolless was never a fun thing. Well.... maybe when she started to feel like she needed to use her body for something other than carrying the child it was. If you didn't mind a few cuts, bruises and the occasional broken bone.

Sulajin hefted the jar of eyes before his face and let the glass orbs stare at him as he wandered aimlessly back out into the streets.

[Niethan]

Niethan watched Sulajin as he browsed, even as he argued with his wife through the transmitter on his shoulder (did those Scarabs have a visual functin? He didn't think so). A rusty smile stayed on his face the whole time the mage grumbled and indulged his hobby in secret. What a delightfully strange obsession Sulajin had carried! Niethan almost resolved to go find the mage a clock to take back to his incarnation, before remembering what exactly Sulajin had been doing when Niethan had left. He scowled, deciding not to unless he felt better about Sulajin later.

Niethan looked out from his thoughts in time to see Sulajin's hem vanish out the door. And unfortunately out into daylight. Witness hadn't 'unpacked' the selection of skills filed under Roguery yet from the mental box they'd been stored in, but a little shadowing shouldn't prove too difficult.

Niethan stood up from the corner he was crouched in, pacing across the length of the store and out the door to follow Sulajin. He ignored the startled shopkeeper, honestly not expecting that the man behind the counter would have any way to alert his friend. And if he did, so what?

Niethan slipped out the door, glancing both ways down the dusty street before falling in pace with his escaping mage.

[Sulajin]

Linen, yes. Sulajin needed linen. Rather, the children needed linen. And the mage gave a mental shudder to think what should happen if they didn't get it. He had no doubts at all that Khiskiva was serious about her threats, and some of those cloths he'd stashed away were too valuable to even think of losing like that.

Well, there was linen applenty to be found in Orgrimmar. If you knew where to look. THe Orcs didn't seem to have much respect for the finer points of such work, and as such had relegated the storage and economics of such interactions to the drag, in order to free up space for axes.

Sulajin's voice echoed slightly in the stone canyon, a cacophony of hexes relating the use of "sharp rocks on sticks" accompanying him as he went back to the store that sat dangerously close to the cleft of shadows. He was being watched, he knew. But when wasn't he being watched here?

Still, to make sure that any would be attackers didn't get the wrong ideas about it, Sulajin fired off a gout of flame towards the Cleft.

[Chikt]

Diomades had been walking through Ogrimmar from the Sanctuary guildhall when he spotted Sulajin throwing fire around. It wasn't unusual for the troll to be in a bad mood, but he couldn't help but find it unusual that he'd start throwing flames around like that. Approaching the troll quietly, he waved slightly.

"Hello Sulajin. Who's the fireworks show for?"

Pausing a moment, he finally noticed the scarab upon the trolls shoulder and smirked slightly, laughing softly. Recognising it from only a few days back when Khiskiva had come to offer him advice in the same form.

"Ah, and Khiskiva. Hello."

[Khiskiva]

Khiskiva heard Diomade's voice through the psychic link she held with the scarab. Stifling a grin at her friend, she nodded to nobody in particular as she rocked T'ief back and forth in her arms while Gomzal and Iyaz fought valiantly over a stuffed raptor.

"'allo, Diomades!" she said through the bug, which brought her grating voice between his ears. "Lwooks lahk ya doin' betta! Ah'm glad ta see it. Ah was jus' mehkin' sho' dat dis 'usban' o' mahn rememba ta brin' 'ome swome linens fo' di chi'drens."

[Sulajin]

Sulajin scowled vaguely at the scarab.

"Fo' anyone who be gettin de idea ta be tryin ta take sometin from me. Don' know why dey afta linen, but somet'in was followin me."

Best not to mention the jar of glass eyes. Not yet.

[Niethan]

Niethan sulked in an alcove, pressed as far into the stone as his lanky form would allow. Apparently he'd have to wait for Witness to finish retrieving his stealth skills. It was a good system, really-- in order to keep his head from being too cluttered (and to keep himself from mixing bits of training together at the wrong times) Witness had devised a way to store away unused memories, learned skills, and anything else that was getting dusty on his mental shelves. Of course, there was occasionally the time where he needed something that was still 'missing,' but... well, maybe this one wouldn't go quite so horribly wrong.

Niethan resisted the urge to tap his claws in irritation. Sulajin was too paranoid to follow without re-learning his better sneaking skills first, and that would take some time. Of course, it wasn't like he looking at a deadline, but Diomades had just showed up, and he wanted to hear the shaman's youth in his voice.

Maybe he could just stay here and watch until they left.

[Chikt]

"Following you? You're extremely paranoid, Sulajin. But I won't doubt your instinct. Why would somebody want your linen? You're sure it's not somebody you know?"

Diomades looked around quietly, as though trying to spot the culprit before shaking his head and smiling at the scarab.

"Thanks Khiskiva. I'm doing a little better. Haven't fully forgiven myself for what I did, and I don't think I ever truly will. I lost something very important to me with that mistake, and likely made any chances of getting it back mean moot. I can't forgive myself for wasting something like that. I at least got Ahua, Petaga, Icutu and Tate back. I don't know what I'd do without them."

Pausing a moment, Diomades sniffed the air, his ears swivveling as though trying to catch a sound that didn't exist. All he could smell and hear though was the usual scents and sounds of Ogrimmar.

"I don't know how you can tell if anything is following or watching you though, Sul. I can't sense anything over Orgrimmar. Why not just open a portal and go home? I mean, it's not exactly like they can follow you through that."

[Sulajin]

Sulajin shook his head. "Still got shoppin ta do. Besides, I won' be chased out of hea by a few cut-t'roats. I need ta get dea' fo' Khis."

He sighed and packed the linens around the jar, hoping it wouldn't clatter too much. So she had said not to find it. He'd never seen anything like this before. A jar full of eyes made of glass! Quite a rarity, Trolls were never the best of glass blowers (though there were stories of a few artisans), and so mostly what happened was a chipped stone eye, or carved wood. Neither, he had been told, was very comfortable. Besides all that Trolls healed better than most races.

"Anyways, I still be lookin' around an' havin a good time scarin a few of de fools dat clusta in Orgrimma'."

[Fallacy]

A metal clank, the hum of electronics that should not exist in that time, given off by a being emerging from the dark depths of the Caverns, marked his arrival. He looked like a man, but, with a close look, it would be easy to tell otherwise. The feline, metal feet, the pale, misconstrued skin, the lack of a mouth or nose, and eyes that shown with more than reflected light. He didn't belong, and, yet, was allowed by the dragons guarding the entrance.

Those inhuman eyes flitted over the sand dunes with a sight unlike any that the present was capable of providing. They settled on a disturbed patch of sand, and the footsteps still left behind by what from had emerged from.

"Entry point determined. Temporal traces marked." The being let out a sound similar to a chuckle. "I found you." The being set out with an unnatural grace, leaving behind a cloud of dust as he followed the trail he had discovered.