I could be secretive, but hey, it’s pretty obvious that it’s Collins this is about since it’s rogue-business. He just goes under a different name for a bit because he’s sneaky like that.
He called himself David, and he thought of himself by that name. It helped to get into the role properly, so that you did react when somebody called you by your alias.
Together with two other rogues, who called themselves Marcus and Shaun respectively, he left Ravenholdt Manor early one evening, dressed as simple travelers. They reached the Foothills just before the glow of the sun rose over the horizon, through a thick cover of clouds.
At that time, none of them knew that the time they currently lived in would later be known as the Third War. The rest of Lordaeron was far away from Hillsbrad Foothills though, and after all, Prince Arthas had gone off to find a way to save his country from the dark forces. However, even so there was a stirring in the air. Hideous, undead creatures found their way through Silverpine Forest all the way here – not many, but enough to make people worried. There were strange things going on, far too close for comfort.
A caravan with materiel to prepare for war had come from Stormwind – at a price, of course – via Ironforge, and it would bring people with it back. Those who could, and knew to be careful, gladly took the chance to send their families towards a hopefully safer place.
However, the road through the Foothills had never been safe, not since the Second War. Not since Alterac fell to pieces and the Alliance created a whole new problem for themselves while trying to deal with a traitorous nation. Stormwind didn’t care much, of course. They had enough to do with their other creation, the Defias Brotherhood, to care about peasants in far away countries being plagued by a similar – if more disorganized – foe in the form of the Syndicate.
That was why David and his companions now rode into Tarren Mill, as the town council had decided to call in at least a few experts to help protect the travelers.
At this point, the Forsaken did not even exist. The whole thing would seem very ironic, as well as tragic, a few years later.
About a dozen wagons lined the road leading southwards from the town, and both townspeople and caravan guards were working to unload crates and sturdy boxes. Children and dogs ran around the scene, most of them keeping a distance. By the looks of that, there had been stern instructions to not get in the way. Even those who obeyed those orders, though, stared with great interest at the men in leather and mail armor with swords at their sides and bows slung over their backs. Most of the kids had probably never seen anybody from such a distant place as Stormwind, before.
A light rain fell over the scene, just a breath away from being thick mist. However, the air was warm which created a stiffening humidity in combine with the rain. The people worked mostly in silence, set on getting done with the job so that they could go and relax inside with a cool drink.
Thanks to the fact that there were so many people focused on the wagons, the rogues could make a discreet entry to the town.
David was prepared for the reaction as he and his companions were let into the town council hall to meet the caravan master. He turned out to be a broad shouldered man named Andrew Renfair. And since David had been ready for the predictable, he managed to keep his face passive when Renfair’s first reaction was to speak his mind.
“Only three?!”
“Ravenholdt has its own troubles to attend to,” David said in a calm voice. He’d always been good at hiding his emotions. It was very handy in situations like these.
Renfair rubbed his face, sighing deeply. He had dark lines around his eyes, and from the look on his face he had hoped that the arrival of Ravenholdt agents would help him feel more at ease.
“I guess it’s better than nothing,” he said after a moment. “And I guess you’ll all play theater to the rest of my people?”
“It will be easier to counter attack a possible Syndicate assault if they don’t know that we’re there.”
Grunting, Renfair nodded and went over to a table where a map of the Foothills laid. He put a big finger on Tarren Mill, then moved it along the road first to Southshore, and on to Hillsbrad Fields.
“We’re taking this route, as quick and straight as possible. After dropping our wares and gathering up everyone who is coming with us, we’re heading back towards Arathi,” Renfair said, watching the three men intently. “How great do you think the risk is that we get into trouble with the Syndicate?”
“Normally I wouldn’t say it’s great, Sir,” David said, pursing his mouth. “Their fractured groups don’t have the manpower to attack anything like a caravan this size. However, lately there’s been a little rascal leading his own band that are a bit more daring.”
“Named Eventide or something, was it?” Renfair said, his eyes narrowed. “I heard about ‘im. They said he’s a sneaky brat.”
“Reports say he admires Perenolde, Light knows why.” David allowed himself to curl his lips in disdain. “Probably just kissed Perenolde’s ass to get some soldiers to play with.”
But the fact of the matter – and it had most of Ravenholdt very, very upset though none of them wanted to admit it – was that young Roland Eventide somehow managed to lead his men into blitz attacks on travelers, townspeople and agents (when found) alike. And he got away with it again and again. Lord Jorach Ravenholdt had raised the price on the damn brat’s head twice over the summer, and yet the son of a once noble Alterac family kept eluding them.
The last thing Ravenholdt needed was a budding master tactician to hone his skills and grow from a headache to a real problem. And they definitely didn’t need one who might actually support Perenolde’s ambition and help further the cause of pulling the infighting ex-noble houses into an organized force. The Syndicate was enough of a problem when it was as much at war with itself as everyone else.
Renfair sighed and rubbed his face again.
“Well,” he said. “We’ve got several scouts. Even if you’re keeping a low profile, your best bet to do any good is to keep up with them.”
All three of the rogues were too professional to roll their eyes at being instructed about the obvious.
There was a knock on the door and at Renfair’s call, a thin middle-aged man in a priest’s white, embroidered robes was let in.
“Renfair, I will need–– oh, pardon me,” he started, noting that there were more people present only after he had started talking. He smiled apologetically.
“No matter, we were just finishing,” Renfair said. He motioned at David and his companions. “This is Father Berling. He will make sure that everyone is well cared for during the trip. Father Berling, these are the Ravenholdt agents I told you about.”
Less than ten minutes after they had talked about keeping a low profile. David swallowed his annoyance and just nodded politely to the priest. The older man’s nod back was a lot stiffer, and his smile had disappeared the moment Renfair revealed that there were three thieves and murderers in the room.
Considering that Berling didn’t say anything about it, though, his reaction was pretty restrained.
David didn’t think too much about it. In his experience those blessed by the Light always took the same view of him and his kind – a borderline necessary evil. The people of the Foothills generally had a more positive view of Ravenholdt since they fought the Syndicate, but David had yet to meet a priest or paladin who thought of him as any better than a skilled street thug.
He avoided priests and paladins as much as he could.
Especially paladins. At least priests sometimes had it in their heads that they ought to be humble and polite.
It was easy these days, thankfully. In these unruly times most of those named champions of the Light had better things to do than run around backwater villages, chasing roving bands of robbers. There were bigger battles to be fought elsewhere.
Leaving Renfair to his discussion with Berling, the rogues left the council hall and went to work with blending in with the caravan, offering help with unloading the goods that were to stay in Tarren Mill. The townsfolk would think they were from the caravan, and the caravan guards and drivers would assume they were from the town or some smaller settlement nearby.
Once Tarren Mill’s share had been unloaded, some of its people climbed into the wagons under Renfair and the guards’ watchful eyes. There were mainly women, elderly and children, but also some men both young and middle-aged.
Shaun took it upon himself to be extra friendly towards those men, while all three of the rogues agreed to keep an extra eye on them. The first information Shaun got was that most of them had family in Southshore and Hillsbrad Fields they wanted to help move or protect, while a few of them wanted to join the Stormwind military for training.
“I’m glad we let you do the talking,” Marcus muttered to David as the caravan began moving. “I could hardly keep my face straight with Renfair towards the end.”
“Could be worse,” David said. He climbed into his horse’s saddle and urged it forwards. Shaun had already moved to the front of the caravan to keep an eye out there. “At least he’s smart enough to know that there could be trouble.”
“Yeah, but this seems a bit too much to chew for most Syndicate bands,” Marcus said as he glanced over the caravan, in a far more positive tone than David could muster up. The other rogue was glad that his friend didn’t tempt fate by saying something like ‘this should be a breeze.’ True that there were a whole lot of people here, and the roving groups of Syndicate thugs were known for only taking on what they knew they could easily defeat. Still, one never knew.
David chose to just nod, staring at the road ahead as he ran a hand through his sand blond hair. He hoped that there wouldn’t be any trouble, but he was far too cynical to believe it.
At noon, Renfair ordered a break for lunch before they continued for the last couple of hours it would take to reach Southshore. The horses were steered off the road and into a circle on the meadows lining the road. A cool wind started to blow while the travelers prepared for cooking the shared meals, chasing away the last of the rain and making the air easier to breath. Still, it turned out to be no easy task lighting the fires.
Most everyone who wasn’t cooking took some time to stretch their legs and converse with their fellow travelers while they waited for the food. The guards, however, positioned themselves at the front of the wagons or in other places where they could keep an eye on things outside of the protective circle.
David appreciated the sight. He had had his doubts about Renfair for a little while, but it showed that the man was strict about security.
The rogue walked around on his own, covertly studying faces to make sure he was familiar with as many of the people as possible. Marcus was right that this was probably a bit too big for a full assault from the Syndicate. Their bands were seldom bigger than a dozen people strong. Even so, they could try other tactics, like infiltration to try to make off with some weapons or other goods.
For now, though, everything seemed peaceful.
There was a small group of children gathered around a young man who couldn’t be older than nineteen. The sun filtered through the clouds and glistened in the tiny drops of water on their clothes and in their hair. Most of them were blond, that being the most common hair color up in the north. The young man was the same, though a darker blond than most of the kids.
David recognized him as one of the scouts.
His eyes were narrowed in concentration, tip of his tongue sticking out as he juggled four cloth balls while the children watched with delight. At least they did until one of the bigger boys piped up:
“That’s nothing, I saw a guy juggling five balls and an apple that he ate at the big market last year!”
The other kids looked at him, then all turned towards the young man with expectations written all over their faces. He swiftly caught two balls in each hand with graceful downwards swings of his arms, giving his demanding audience a slanted smile.
“I can only keep four things in the air,” he said.
A chorus of disappointed “aww” followed. The man shrugged and dug out an apple from one of the bags by his belt.
“I’m saving this for later so I won’t eat it, but I can try to juggle it at least.”
“But that’s still only five things,” the loud boy complained.
“Tell you what, I’ll let you borrow these,” the juggler said, a smirk in the corner of his mouth as he stuck the apple under his arm so he could wave the balls at the boy. “And when we get to Ironforge I want you to show me how to juggle six things.”
The boy looked stunned for a second, but then squared his shoulders and put on a smug, determined expression.
“I’ll show you!” he declared.
Still watching from a little ways away, David let himself have a rare smile at the spectacle. If the boy did learn how to juggle, then good for him. David doubted it though. Hopefully the scout would be nice about it when he asked for his toys back.
“Alright then,” the scout said. “But first…”
He took the apple in one of his hands along with two of the balls and started throwing all five items into the air. As soon as he added the fifth to the act, though, he lost his pace and all but one of the balls and the apple fell to the ground. While some of the children groaned in disappointment, some of the others scrambled to gather up the balls and give them back.
The scout tried again and again, but he never managed to keep the balls and apple in the air for more than a few seconds. After the fifth attempt he gathered up the balls and stuck the apple in his pocket again, shaking his head.
“Nope, this isn’t working,” he concluded and handed the balls to the loud boy from before. “You’ll have to show me how it’s done.”
Several of the children started calling for him to play with them, getting every last one involved in that plea. But he shook his head again.
“Sorry, everyone,” the scout said. “I have to work. Have to go and look out for bad people so you’ll be safe.”
David’s hint of a smile faded as reality reared its ugly head. Studying the scout’s face, even from this distance, he saw the grim twist of the young man’s mouth just before he started laughing and backing away from the protesting children. They did not know it, but he did, and David did. If there was anything dangerous out there, the scouts would likely be the first to know – and their report might very well be delivered by their inability to return to safety.
Turning around, David walked away from the homely scene and continued through the camp.
There’ll be a lot less exposition from here on out, promise.