The Gnome Effigy"You just had to take the Tram; couldn't stay around Kharanos, oh no, not you, too curious for your own good, and now look where it's gone and gotten you!"
The jarring voice of Digna's common sense was the first coherent thought that popped up once the blinding terror had subsided.
She recalled stepping onto the Tram platform at Ironforge and only having a brief moment to look around before she felt as though something invisible had hit her; following that, an overwhelming urge to run away, no matter where away happened to be.
She had tried to do just that only to find herself unable to move.
Just prior to that sickening fear, Digna could have sworn she heard someone hiss--something--in an unfamiliar language. She had no idea what might have been said, only that it caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up in addition to a very sudden onset of a cold sweat.
Now, finding herself unable to move and still quite frightened, the Gnome looked around, trying
Moving"So, I suppose I should have asked rather than told; you don't mind moving from the Ghostlands, do you?" Despite the concern indicated by the words, Calleo's tone remained matter-of-fact, and the fact of the matter was that Aglac was living with him free of charge. He'd go where the house went or he'd more than likely end up inn hopping again.
That, however, wasn't relevant on several levels; the Elf was certain that Orc would follow him just about anywhere.
Even to a place with "Bilgewater" in the name.
"No, that's fine. Why are we moving?"
Calleo stopped mid-stride and turned to grin at the Orc, "Ruthless business opportunities and cheap, sugared up booze not enough reason?"
Aglac's eyes widened in mock-surprise, "We're closer to good drinks -and- we get to engage in questionable business practices?!"
"Mm," he chuckled and backed the other warlock up against a building wall, "the kid can even do some grifting; she's good at it, she pulled in over a hundred gold in an hour
Aggression“A raging felguard is reckless, but not stupid. It coordinates well with its allies, and usually obeys orders (if it can hear them over its deafening battle cries). A felguard loves battle, sometimes refusing to flee from a combat that it believes it has a chance of winning. Demonic generals know and accept this limitation, and plan their strategies accordingly.” 
Calleo cast his Felguard, Shaadhun, a quick, but stern, look before turning his attention back to the lump of unearthed ore, “Stay here, and keep alert while I--”
“--dig around in the dirt like a kobold?” Shaadhun finished, somewhat unhelpfully.
“Funny. Just kill anything stupid enough to try and stick a spear in my back.”
The demon was bored.
No, bored didn't quite encompass the entire level of this; it was bad enough that his Master had a tendency to make him sit around the house and watch accounting work being done, but this was just intolerable.
They had passed se
Appearances"I could break you, Elf."
He'd lost track of time.
In fact, the last thing he could coherently recall was the Elf answering that he'd 'see about that'.
Every movement, right down to the act of breathing, hurt.
From what he could see, however, there were no physical wounds or marks, just an overall feeling of crushing fatigue mingled with a pain that turned from dull to stabbing with any subtle movement.
He had his armor, his weapons were well within reach, and he had absolutely no memory of how he'd ended up alone, in an unfamiliar building, and with an Elf.
At least the overstuffed chair was comfortable, if a bit small.
He shook his head, hoping that a good jolt of whatever the hell was causing that stabbing feeling would clear his mind or, if not that, at least momentarily take his focus away from the Elf that had been talking at him.
This situation was inconceivable to him; the creature circling him, he was certain, couldn't have even been six feet tall and, even worse, looke
The Morning AfterThat's odd; where are the portals?
Calleo stood, somewhat dumbfounded, staring at the now empty spots that used to contain portals to all major capital cities. He turned, shooting an unfounded, accusing glare at A'dal (who more than likely didn't notice the look, let alone the Elf), grumbling under his breath.
The consistent background 'chime' of the Naaru in the area didn't do much to help the warlock's mood; most found the sound soothing, he supposed, but the noise, to him, was nothing short of grating. Certainly, it had nothing to do with a mild hangover as a reminder that he'd spent far too much time in the Lower City the previous night. He tried vainly to tune out the noise by digging through his bags and muttering to himself.
Then his pockets.
Damn. Out of teleportation runes.
Briefly, very briefly, he considered making the trek to a shop in Shattrath to pick up a few more, but the thought of having to deal with the gutter trash that infested mos
A Quiet AfternoonCalleo leaned back against the wall, shooting the table a mildly annoyed glance; Orgrimmar was still where he spent the bulk of his time, but that sure as hell didn't mean the city was designed for anything shorter than an Orc. Sitting--on the floor, of course. Skins, evidently, pass for furnishings even now."-- he cleared the edge of the tables in the Wyvern's Tail just enough to see anyone across from him.
If there weren't pots, hookahs, candles, a brazier, or any steins in the way, of course. There were two tables that sat mostly underneath the stairs to the upper level, and it was always one of those he tried to grab. Easier to watch people that way, and less chance that anyone could actually sneak up unless they could teleport through solid wood. He smiled over at the floppy-hatted Orc to his right, "See anything interesting yet, Ag?"
"There are a number of people here that I'd like to punch. I gather that doing so would allay some of my boredom."
"Mm, I suppose