Acaidie pulled the hood of her robes tighter around her face. The wind from the seas whipped at her face, tugged at her hair. She looked down at the voidwalker and a smile touched her lips. Around it’s “wrist” was the trinket box that held the draenei’s magic. The men at the docks laughed at her for trusting a demon with such a precious gift, but she knew. The demon was bound, and therefore loyal, only to her. She summoned it, she controlled it. She was it’s Master. It wasn’t sentient, it didn’t have free will. It served her well and kindly through many years.
Feralas was ahead. She could see the greenish mists from the coast. The ship wouldn’t take her any further up the coast than that, and there were very, very few suitable ports or traversable passages north of Feralas anymore. Acaidie smiled. No bother. She, unlike much of Azeroth, could afford the cost of travel, both monetarily and in time.
Under her breath, she spoke in demonic to Naglasik. The crew of the ship visibly recoiled as the strange and verboten language passed her lips, but she barely noticed. The voidwalker seemed to nod it’s ethereal “head” as it recognized the words. With a wave of it’s arms, it disappeared from sight, into the Twisting Nether, where no one could find it but Acaidie.
When the band of thieves hired her to steal the draenei prisoner’s magic, they had underestimated Acaidie’s intent. Decades spent being mistrusted meant that Acaidie was not to be trusted – but most didn’t know that. She quoted them double her normal rate for use of her powers, and insisted on half up front before the ritual. After doing the deed, she was able to steal away in the middle of the night with the trinket box, with only her hired crew. And she paid them well for their discretion. Not a word would be leaked to her whereabouts.
The trinket box itself was an interesting find, and with a little modification, Acaidie was able to turn it into a reliquary of sorts. Inanimate objects were notoriously terrible at holding things ethereal, like magic, but this one was different. She had dug it up near the Exodar crash site many years ago, so it retained the traces of draenei technology and mysticism. She was nervous to test it on the prisoner, but was pleased, nevertheless. It was, it seemed, the perfect container for a draenei mage’s arcane magics. Even better, it seemed to have imprinted the draenei’s location. The box all but pointed an arrow north, and west, to the isles off the coast of Kalimdor. Rumor had it that the few draenei left on Azeroth controlled much of the gold, hoarding it from other races as they seemingly turned their relations inward on themselves.
As the ship anchored at the old Feathermoon Stronghold, Acaidie stepped lightly onto the decaying wooden dock, hiking up her robes as to not get caught. Her eyes glowed wickedly under her hood as she approached the man holding the reins to a horse. She cooed flirtatiously, even while grimacing internally at such banal negotiations, slipping a small pouch of gold into his pocket and smiled before securing her bags and mounting up.
She nudged the horse northward and started on her journey.