This late at night the inn was mostly quiet except for the sounds of tankards being shuffled around, the crackle of the fire and the occasional whisper of conversation. The roughly plastered boarding kept most of the wind outside but even so she was comforted by the warmth it cast across the room. Ambience. A feeling of shelter against the darkness outside and a definite buffer against the night-time cold shared by a few regulars clumped haphazardly about, nursing their drinks. Something with kodo bones and Zehvra dung that seared your throat and left a glowing line of fire traced to your belly. Most welcome with the night time chill and she had a small glass set down beside her inkwell, but the food here left her with an ugly grimace. It was definately crunchy and one could go so far as to call it tasty. But a delicate finger gingerly folding back the doughy outer layer convinced her it probably better left unidentified.

Orcs would eat anything, she thought and shuddered anew, wiping her fingers on a napkin and returned to the letter she was drafting. No matter how many time she penned it this letter just would not read well. She either ended up sounding sycophantic, delusional or insane and none of those added up to the picture she wanted to paint for Varranda. Varranda. Not a name to roll easily off the tongue but there was something about it. Slipped into conversation, a few silvers across their greasy palms and you could learn anything about anyone. Goblins. Always for sale to the highest bidder. So now she knew Varranda was a one of the noble Tauren, a son of Ticonder and followed the ancient druidic paths. How very apt for one who's own path through life seemed to echo the intertwining of Malfurion and Illidan. Perhaps the key to unlocking these dreams would come from him and his connection to the book. But page after page of worthless words has been crumpled and tossed over her shoulder as she tried to comprehend and reason her way through this.

"Par'dn, Missus, but you have sum mail" a leathery green face at her elbow said as the goblin offered her a letter. A few copper in the outstretched palm - nothing was ever free with Goblins - and he scuttled away again. The paper was thick and heavy which the script her name was written in echoed. There was no compromise here. The seal was a red glob of red wax imprinted with the simplest of sigils that indicated allegiance to the Horde. She frowned for a moment. A signet which could be brought on any market day for a few coppers did not match the hand, but even so she sliced it open with a long fingernail and unfolded the letter. It was a brief note jotted in the same bold hand.

"Perhaps I could.... It seems my effort at concealing my work has been in vain. If you are intrigued, I suggest a meeting tonight. Come to Saltheril's Haven.

I will be meeting with my soldiers to discuss an important development. If you are itnerested in what we are up to I may let you in on the secrets of our guild.

Varranda Ticonder
Shadow Chief

Resurrection of Shadow"

Tasharin slowly sat back, her lips pursed in thought. He said little but implied much, leaving her with a mental maelstrom of conflicting thoughts. Soldiers. This implied war. Chief. And somehow a tribal leadership for a guild associated with shadow. Were they delving into realms that the Horde was all but shunning? And this - she leaned forward, holding the letter up to candlelight. Satheril's Haven. He expected her to return to Silvermoon. How did he know? Even were it impossible to meet with Master Thalarian was she willing to risk that? What was death to a Master of the shadow arts? Involuntarily she began fondling the small crystals she kept in her belt pouch. The soft almost liquid warmth of them - the essence of the souls captured within them - soothed her. They always had. One in particular she twined her fingers around enjoying the sensation of life's chaos that flowed from it as an almost evil smile crept onto her face.

Yes.

She would go. The answers she needed would be found in Satheril's Haven. The dreams would not let her do otherwise.