Conflict and hatred afflict the world of Azeroth, a disease that has been spreading for generations. Horde and Alliance march to war endlessly, and no accord seems to put an end to the hostilities.
Teldrassil has burned.
Lordaeron is in ruins.
But i...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Argheros would've never thought he would miss the fresh air of the sea. He wasn't a good sailor, one of the reasons Syla and him couldn't fully connect, and he found the naval life to be dull and repetitive. Even though his training as a Paladin required a certain routine and a lot of discipline, Irondawn always found a way to make each day different than the previous one. But sailing... yes, each day was an adventure, but there was a moment when adventures were all the same. Syla thought he couldn't be more wrong, but that was how he felt about sailing.
"Ah, it's so good to be back at the sea", the woman said with a sarcastic taunting voice as she approached him.
"Yes, it is", Irondawn responded, enjoying how confusion and disbelief were imprinted on Syla's face.
"Who are you and what did you do to my Argheros?", she joked, throwing a soft punch to his shoulder.
Immediately after, she looked away, and the Paladin hinted a sad smile. They both had realized she had said my, but they would of course ignore it. They hadn't been so much time together since the Third War, and Argheros hadn't realized about it until a few days ago. Suddenly, he had found himself spending more time with her, laughing and joking as if nothing had ever gone wrong between the two of them. In a way, it frightened him. He didn't want to go through all of that again.
Fortunately, he had several distractions to occupy his mind. The group of Ambassadors had been hiding near Fuselight over ten days, working for the goblins with the utmost stealth and secrecy. Dhondril and his helpers had worked as their liaison with the Cartel, since the Titanguard had no quarrel with the group of dwarves.
While Brogim and Turuk remained as messengers, the Architect had taken a quick trip to Loch Modan. There, in the mountains near Dun Morogh, he had a small lounge he called home. He wanted to get some supplies, all of his remaining blueprints and plans, and a portion of his small fortune. Dhondril returned after a couple of days, with a big smile and a couple of casks of ale. Argheros had always liked dwarven beer, and the Architect's gift hadn't been disappointing.
On that night, after enjoying a small and well deserved feast, Syla had approached him and she had fallen asleep leaning her head on his shoulder. For a few moments, he felt an exciting warmth within his chest, but the memories of their failed relationship crawled to his mind bit by bit. After that episode, Argheros had kept his guard up.
Focusing on the goblins' tasks had been a good way of staying busy with other thoughts. The Cartel had insane jobs available, but few were willing to accept them. They wanted from the simplest trinkets to the most rare and bizarre objects.
Dunris and Orato had climbed the peaks, shattered years ago by Deathwing himself, which were still burning. All because some goblin alchemists wanted sand infused with the dragon's fire. Wolfeye was convinced said reagent would have no properties at all, but the pay was extremely abundant.
