Paladins for Javelins

Quarantine

2010-07-14T11:11:00.004-05:00

The walls of the citadel were layered in ages of ice and snow, and the cold penetrated her armor far deeper than ever she had known. Luisette took hold of her helmet and gently eased it off her head. Strands of her fine, blonde hair had frozen to the inside of the plate, and they broke off with a barely-perceivable snap.

Her long, uncovered ears twitched in the cold air, and she leaned forward even closer to the small campfire the shaman in her group had generously built. She gingerly removed a plate gauntlet from her right hand and took in the sight. She wore hastily knitted gloves, a small protection, and they had been riddled with holes and exposed the tips of her fingers. Bruises covered her pale wrist and extended under the glove, where they lay hidden and out of sight.

“Even the smallest injury can go unnoticed, sometimes,” said the large tauren sitting next to her. He took her hand in his and covered it with his other, whispering a healing spell. His ears twitched as he inspected his handiwork; the bruises were starting to fade, and her hand felt not quite as cold as it had been.

Luisette looked up and met the tauren’s gaze, smiling. “Thank you, Ashmole.”

Ashmole returned the smile and patted her hand before returning to his modest meal: Northrend cod and a small side of vegetables. Fish were the easiest to transport, especially frozen, and over a small fire they could be spiced and cooked the same as easily as if they had not been in a dark, frozen hallway of the Citadel.

The wing of the citadel they huddled in had been closed off in a rushed quarantine. The abominations, Festergut and Rotface, had been struck down, but not without much effort. Their monstrous creator, the “Professor” Putricide, had also been slain, and his body still lay on the floor of his laboratory, pools of his own slime gathering and coagulating around his body. Everything—and, considerably, everyone—had been exposed to noxious gases and substances during the onslaught. And so, until the quarantine lifted, there the members of the Horde and Alliance were to stay.

The members of the Northrend Exploration and Research Foundation had been chosen to take part in this assault, and luckily, they had suffered no losses. They celebrated quietly with mostly smiles and relieved glances to their comrades as they clustered around the campfire, warming their tired bodies and spirits.

A blood elf with hair as red as flame came up behind Luisette and leaned down, kissing her cheek, before settling on the floor to her left. Luisette smiled at her childhood friend and greeted her warmly. “Sinu a’.”

Saeil hooked her arm through Luisette’s and rested her head on her shoulder. The thick hood of the cloak she wore gave small comfort against her friend’s plate armor, but she paid no mind. “Thank you for letting me fight alongside you,” she whispered.

Luisette kissed her friend’s temple in return. “It would be a great loss if you had not come with. The strength of our ranks is in part due to you.”

Saeil smirked and squeezed her friend’s arm with her own. “Flatterer.”

Luisette grinned back. “I know.”

A young tauren soldier approached the two with folded parchments in his hand. “Letters from home, Misses Redhawk and Dawnrise.”

“Letters?” repeated Saeil, eyebrows furrowed. “I thought we were under quarantine.”

The tauren nodded. “So we are, but these arrived before the quarantine was put into place. We were just given permission to sort and pass the mail.”

Saeil scoffed. “Permission, huh? Did you have to read through them, first?”

A wry smile passed across the tauren’s features. “Even if we did, ma’am, I couldn’t read that fancy elvish script, anyway.” He handed the letters to the two elves and promptly left them.

Saeil and Luisette looked at the front of their letters and then swapped them with smiles; they each had the other’s. “Apparently,” Luisette began in a fake condescending air as she broke open the seal, “we look the same to them as they to us.” The letter itself had nothing save her name on the front, and for a moment she had hoped it might have been from—

She pulled out the parchment and nearly dropped it. Saeil looked from her friend’s face to the letter. “What’s wr—” She recognized the perfect script as soon as Luisette had, and said no more. After a moment, she said softly, almost apologetically, “I didn’t think she would have sent you anything.”

Luisette shook her head. “It’s not like the location of our battalion is a secret within the military itself,” she said dryly as she stuffed the letter back into the envelope.

“You’re not going to even read what she has to say?” Judging her silence to be a refusal, Saeil took the letter from Luisette’s hand and reopened it herself. She glanced at her friend from the corner of her eye. “If you don’t mind,” she added, but the question was merely out of courtesy.

Saeil looked over the letter, two pages in length, eyes flicking across the words. Luisette leaned against the wall behind her and stretched out her feet. She tried to feign disinterest, but a twitch of her ear with the turning of a page betrayed her.

“Well,” Saeil started, a bit unsure of which information to disclose, “she’s still at home.”

“Your home.”

“Well, yes…” Saeil shifted a bit uneasily. “She does pay for a third of living expenses.”

Luisette scoffed, but said nothing further.

“She wants to begin anew, Luis.”

The blonde waved her hand dismissively.

“Damn it, Luis, I’m tired of playing messenger between you two,” snapped Saeil. “She’s trying, at least.” She pushed back stray red hairs from around her face to behind her ears. “You don’t live with her. You haven’t seen how she’s changed. Hell, she-- she’s almost back to normal—or as close to ‘normal’ as she can return.”

Luisette looked at the other elf sideways, finding it hard to keep her anger from dissipating. She broke her eyes away and stared hard at her hands in her lap. “I can never forgive something so… so perverse. So against all that we were taught to fight for. Something in league with what we’re fighting now.”

Saeil quietly placed the letter next to the other elf’s thigh as she stood up—a gentle suggestion. “I should probably go find where my mutt’s gone off to,” she murmured, if only to give an excuse to leave Luisette alone for the time being. She lightly caressed the back of her friend’s head, the only consolation she could give at the moment.

Luisette leaned back into the hand and sighed.

A Modest Proposal (Part 1)

2010-06-21T23:21:00.013-05:00

As written in the private journal of Thallis Stonecutter.

-----

Quite a peculiar thing happened to me today.

I was doing errands, like I’m oft wont to do when the front-job is slow goings, and I was hired by a nice young lord to retrieve a stolen item of his. He was paying his dues at the Raven Hill cemetery, he says to me, when a pack of thugs with shovels and shifty looks in their eyes came upon him. ‘You’re being robbed,’ they told him, or at least he told me that they told him, because I’m still in doubts as to whether a proper scoundrel would be so blunt and uncreative. But no matter.

‘You’re being robbed,’ they told him, and he handed over his coin purse to them, which had a pretty amount inside, from what I’m told. But then one of the robbers spotted the crest on his cloak buckle, and they demanded that as well.

‘It’s a family heirloom!’ he pleaded desperately as he told me of his plight. ‘I must get it back!’

I was about to tell him that a family heirloom shouldn’t be worn so conspicuously when he offered to pay me a reward of quite some weight. The specificities I shall not record here, dearest journal, but for a rough amount, it lasted a week at the inn and a night at the pub.

So I made my way to Raven Hill, my pony quite content to stay at the stable in Darkshire while I rode Nightmane instead—quick as the wind and as fearless as ever a horse I’ve known. We arrived to find the graveyard infested with all sorts of dark creatures, and I wondered if my employer had me sent here for sport. I dismounted Nightmane and led him to a large tree, and whispered to him gently. He would come for me if I called, but we both knew our limits and our priority to save our own hides.

I crept through the courtyard, blades at the ready and a piece of cloth tied around my face to protect against the foul stench on the air. As I crouched behind a tomb, in the near distance I saw a small group of men standing near a broken wagon, their voices heated but quiet. A glint of metal caught my eye, and the larger of the men had clasped together his tattered cloak with a fastening far too rich for his line of work.

I removed my bow from my back and notched an arrow, pulling the string back tight. I aimed and released it, and it struck him through the neck. He fell instantly, and after initial shock, his men unsheathed their knives and stood back-to-back as they searched the darkness in the direction from which the arrow came.

But I was no longer there, and when I appeared in front of the smaller man with blade at the ready, it was over much too soon. His stomach was sliced open before he could feel the blood flowing from the wound, and his partner made a few decent parries before I made his chest a sheath for my sword. Stepping over the two bodies, I knelt next to their leader and rolled him onto his back. The cloak buckle was covered in blood, and I wondered if the young lord would dock my pay because of it.

A skittering sound caught my attention, and to my right I saw a skeletal figure hunched in the darkness not ten yards away. Its head was rotten and eyes eaten by maggots, but yet it acted as if it could see me quite as clear as any other—living—animal. It chittered, and looked from me to the dead man to my side, and from the man to my hand which stayed unmoving over the metal clasp. My eyes darted to where its gaze fell, and when I looked back the vile thing had sprung towards me. I dove to the side and rolled upright, blades at the ready, when I saw that the creature had bit the heirloom, ripped it from the cloth it held together, and ran off with it in its mouth.

I must admit, dearest journal, that for a moment I was agape—eyebrows furrowed and the like—but that moment soon passed, for I sprinted off after the creature that was bounding away so hunched forward that his front arms dragged on the ground.

Like hell I was going to return empty-handed.

Business

2010-06-14T19:51:00.002-05:00

Thallis trotted her pony down the lane, somewhat unnerved but feeling hopeful. Making new business contracts was always risky, especially if the merchants weren’t advised from a trusted source, but there’s always something to be said about forging new ties—namely, to keep an eye and ear alert for any misgivings of merchant confidentiality. Ordering a half-crate of dynamite might not seem too odd for, say, a dwarven miner, but for a dockgirl who seemed to have barely enough coin to drink and sleep in a local inn each night? She could only hope that her dealings and mentions of outside work wouldn’t soon be called into question. She had many employers to be sure—albeit deathly loyal to just one—but it was also part of a successful job that neither employer nor supplier were to be linked to any of her deeds.

At least for the moment, she put trust in Adel and Tiforis, for they seemed to be concerned solely on what she had commissioned them to make, and not what the end-product was going to be used for. She silently cursed herself for dropping the slightest information of her dealings, misleading information or not.

“You’re a righ’ idiot,” she told herself in a harsh tone, “and if this goes south, you’ve only yourself t’blame.”

Stuck

2010-05-31T22:12:00.009-05:00

In an exercise to develop the personalities of two of my major characters, I decided to kill two birds with one stone (figuratively) and lock the two in a room (literally) to see what happened from there. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did envisioning it.

-----

"The lock is fortified by magic, you realize."

Thallis gave a sour stare to the night elf behind her.

"A lock is a lock."

Kestil sighed in mock defeat but continued to watch the human girl prod and poke at the padlock with her tools. The tools were eventually discarded and Thallis pulled a dagger from her boot. She jammed it into the keyhole and pushed her whole weight against it, turning the blade as far as it would go, and back again, and again and in and out and gods, it stuck.

Thallis stepped back and looked down at her handiwork; the padlock was whole, but from it the dagger stuck out straight. Kestil looked on as well and raised an eyebrow, amused, fighting to keep a grin off her face.

"Shut up."

The grin was released. Kestil held up her hands in defense. "I said nothing."

Letters

2010-05-29T22:45:00.003-05:00

Thallis leaned against a crate and pulled the crumpled letter from her shirt pocket, careful not to draw too much attention from the other dock workers. She unfurled the note and smoothed it out, its edges weathered from its trip in the clutched talons of a carrier bird. Cannonball stood at Thallis’ feet; his round, black eyes gazed intensely at his owner in expectancies of payment for a job well-done. Thallis raised an eyebrow at him.

“You expectin’ somethin’, then?”

She dug a nut from the leather satchel on her waist and flicked it at the macaw; he snatched it with his beak and began to bite and peck at his treat. Thallis turned her attention back to the letter.

Daughter—

Report received, request approved. Keep fourty.

Heading underground, contact T. in the main base.

Love, Da

She pulled a match from her pocket and struck it against her boot. It ignited instantly, and she held it to the corner of the letter. Soaked in kerosene and left to dry before applying ink, the note was gone in seconds.

The first half of the letter came as no surprise. Thallis knew her request to work on the Stormwind docks would be approved, so she hadn’t waited for the answer. After all, good coin and better information were too tempting to pass up. The second half, however… There was only one “T.” that was of any consequence, and Thallis grinned; she knew she had struck gold.

She toed Cannonball with her boot. “Go home,” she told him. “You’re makin’ me look suspicious.”

Topaz

2010-05-23T22:15:00.001-05:00

He held the bronze stone in his fist and clenched it tight. A swirling mist inside the stone’s jagged cuts moved in agitation, and a voice inside growled.

What be de meaning of dis?

Nusuth opened one finger from his fist and looked petulantly at the rock.

“You be talkin’ too much.”

The mist churned tumultuously.

You think I be talkin’ too much? I show you talkin’ too much! I be talkin’ all night ‘n’ day, “talkin’ too much…”

Nusuth stuffed the topaz stone into his sachet and pulled the strings tight. His long, troll ears flattened.

“Crazy talkin’ spirit.”

The Room

2010-04-13T15:36:00.013-05:00

Recently, Kestil and many of her friends and acquaintances have become haunted by malicious beings in an act of pure hatred and revenge. In addition to her nightmares, Kestil has been granted the presence of a jerk of a ghost, and goodness, has it been fun so far.

Thank you to Yva for giving me such a fun ghost to work with!

The start: http://bit.ly/kestilshaunting (Read first)

-----

It was happening again.

It started out mundane enough: A lack of a current assignment meant free reign around Stormwind, and Kestil was enjoying her time off, sitting on the dock near the Old Town with an enchanting textbook in lap, boots off and to her side to let her feet dip into the sun-warmed water. Myrra napped next to her, basking in the light and rolled over onto her back, tolerating the local fisherboys that played with her paws and ears and commenting on just how red she was. One scratched at her belly, and a roo-roo escaped her throat as she turned to give the boy a better angle.

The box on her waist crackled to life with activity and a voice came through. Kestil smiled upon recognition of its owner, and she greeted her mother with a smile. At first presentation of this small, mechanical box to her mother, she was met with uneasiness to use such a piece of “technology”—as they called it—but after the initial setup (“I think the operator is hitting on you, Mom,” Kestil remarked with a grin), both women had grown to enjoy the ease with which they could talk to one another at any time.

Her mother went on to ask if she “knew anything about cooking clams.” The fisherman down the way decided to shower his generosity on the Ravenoak household today and showed up with a basket full of his catch. “Being as old as he is, I couldn’t just refuse them,” her mother explained, almost helplessly, and Kestil laughed. She replied that no, she didn’t have any good recipes on hand, but she knew someone who would.

It carried on mundane enough.

Kestil headed into the Old Town, the Pig and Whistle her destination. Her visits there were much more frequent these days, and it had become a weekly haven in which she could relax and visit with friends. But today she hesitated. She stood outside of the entrance, and already she could feel her breath quickening, her lungs suddenly feeling tighter at remembering the night before last. Where the room had closed in. Where she realized she must be going mad. Where the headaches from lack of sleep became pounding like a titan’s hammer and her thoughts became rushed and panicked at the hint of going inside a building and she had to remember to force herself to breathe.

Breathe, Myrra seemed to command as she pushed on Kestil’s leg with her muzzle. I’m right here.

But she was right there that other night, sleeping under the tiny bed, crushed by The Room and leaving her master helpless and shivering in a ball in the middle of the floor when The Room granted mercy.

Kestil forced a sharp breath into her lungs, calling back to her primal senses and her Sentinel training to slow her breathing and relax her nerves. She closed her eyes and listened to the air whooshing inside her with every inhalation. Breathe in, exhale. One, two, three, hold; two, two, three, exhale. Calm. Normal. The Pig was not The Room.

She placed her foot on the steps to the Pig, and then on the second, and third, reaching the top and opening her eyes. Keep a sharp mind, keep alert. Quick in, quick out. She hastened her steps, now fully inside of the Pig, and she made straight for the kitchen, giving a brief nod to Elly before entering the back room.

Ye wanna learn how t’ bake clams, eh? Stephen had asked, and Kestil replied that she did. Kestil’s eyes darted around the kitchen, taking in its space, and she was pleased to find it adequate and open. The Pig’s kitchen was not The Room.

Oh, but it was.

Kestil turned her attention back to Stephen, but he was gone. She whipped her head around to the door and saw him in the main room talking to Elly, only vaguely remembering hearing something about “getting some cooking rum” from the front of the house. She sighed in relief, gave an embarrassed smile to Myrra who had flopped just outside the kitchen door, and turned back around.

The chopping table was directly in front of her now, pressing up against her legs. She muffled a yelp and here it was again, The Room, the hard-to-breathe thinning air, the constricting lungs, the table actively pushing against her and driving her into a back corner. She cried out for Myrra, but she was gone, Stephen was gone, the walls were filled in and the ceiling dropped to just above her head. The meat hook, which had been at the far end of the room near the firepit, was now swinging perilously in front of her, towards her, its hook still bloody with pieces of meat still wetly attached. The firepit consumed the south wall, and the flames licked at her legs as the room squeezed and the hook twirled on its chain and suddenly swung towards her like a hand had launched it.

The point neatly lodged itself into the mortar between the bricks near her face, and then everything was black.

Nightmares

2010-04-03T16:32:00.006-05:00

Prompt from http://toomanyannas.com/feature/friday-ficlet-nightmares/

-----

Kestil Ravenoak screamed as the agony took hold of every movement, every breath, every thought. Her arms were pulled behind her, contorted and bound, and with a deft pull backwards, the hand that gripped her wrists together pulled her arms from their sockets with a sickening tear. Another cry was forced from her mouth accompanied with sobs as she fell to her knees. Her arms fell limp to her sides as the hand that bound her released its grip, and their weight pulled downwards and the pain continuously shot up to her head, each pulse like a knife in the base of her skull.

"Oh god ohgodohgodohgod please no--"

The figure stepped around her convulsing body, kicking her limp hand as it passed. It stared down at her, its black, shadowy form like ink, and it kneeled in front of her. It whispered something, but she heard nothing, saw nothing; the pain commanded everything. The figure seemed to frown, and reached out its hand to her forehead. Her eyes shot open and her vision cleared.

"That's better," she heard from the figure, but the voice was in her head now. It stretched out a claw now, and it traced down her the center of her chest, past her breasts, over the space between her ribs and over her stomach. A line of blood started to appear before the skin tore open. She wailed in agony as her organs pushed their way free and spilled out from her body, and before her she no longer saw the figure but Myrra, with a hunger in her eyes and spit dripping from her jowls. Myrra snarled and pounced, tearing her teeth into Kestil's insides and skin, her claws into her chest and back, digging them in to the hilt of her paw...

Kestil awoke with a scream, her voice sore and raw, her hair matted to her face and back, her entire body dripping with sweat and fear as it soaked the sheets beneath her. Myrra worriedly nuzzled into Kestil's arm, quietly mewling and panting from stress. Kestil looked down at her lynx companion, and, with the dream still fresh in her mind, she yelped and jolted out of bed, falling to the ground.

She took in her surroundings frantically, checking herself and finding bloody scratches over her arms and chest that she had made herself. She could no longer hold back, and tears spilled from her eyes.

"Oh... god, oh Elune," she managed to whisper as she started to sob hysterically into her hands.

Friendly Fire

2010-02-26T17:30:00.004-06:00

A knock at the door.

I muttered a curse, arms and legs working to untangle themselves, and a giggling from below. I blindly reached to the bed and pulled off the sheet, wrapping it around my torso and nearly tripping as I made my way to the door.

Saeil’s face greeted me. “Well there you are. I’ve been looking for you – Kaz told me to check here first.” She trailed off and took in my appearance. “Oh, goodness, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No, of cour—yes, yeah, you kind of are.”

Her grin only widened. “Well good for you. I’ve been telling you to go out and—”

“Saeil, why are you here?”

“I brought you a visitor.”

I sighed. “Sae, I’m not really prepared to receive visitors at the moment.”

A wark! at my feet caused me to look down and see a baby hawkstrider looking back at me with perfectly round eyes. His rump wagged in recognition and he waddled past my feet into the room.

“I thought you said you could take him for the week!”

Saeil shrugged her shoulders in apology. “I know, and I’m sorry. But Shif was called away to the battlefront and I’ve been requested to accompany her.”

My eyebrows furrowed at this. “That’s odd; they’ve never asked you to do that before.”

“That was before the night elves started torching the healing tents.” She put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. “Look, I’ll make it up to you.” And with a smirk she added, “Just promise me that you’ll teach to whomever’s in there those moves I showed you a while back – you know the time.”

“Sae!”

She laughed and patted my arm. “Don’t worry, he’s not much of a starer,” she reassured, referring to the ball of feathers who was now gorging himself on uneaten bread and jam.

"He just likes to burrow under the sheets. Watch out for your toes."

Brand

2010-02-23T16:23:00.004-06:00

I winced as the writing brush made its way over my hip, slowly and deliberately, the power-infused ink fusing itself with my skin. It felt like lightning.

“Sorry,” Närcyssa whispered as she made the final stroke. She set the brush down on a cloth next to the ink well and gingerly brushed two fingers over the rune she had drawn, whispering a healing word.

The pain subsided in an instant, and I whirled my head around to look at her, eyes wide, speechless. “How did–?”

She gave me a small smile. “The Light forgives more easily than you, sister.”

-----

Note: The rune that Närcyssa drew can be seen on the major glyphs for paladins.
Picture here: http://twitpic.com/14uohk (Half-nudity, semi-NSFW)

Curiouser and Curiouser

2010-02-20T01:47:00.009-06:00

Joint RP with Quaunaut of http://www.quaunaut.com/

-----

My breath quickened in anticipation. She wasn’t like any of the other competitors I had seen today, this Draenei woman with a wild look about her. She eyed me once over from the top of her Wintersaber, and craned the large cat’s neck, turning him into position. The hawkstrider beneath me flapped his wings impatiently, adrenaline from the past three fights rushing through him as it did me, but hardly exhausted. He crowed -- a sharp, brittle sound piercing the silent air.

My opponent charged.

I instinctively raised my shield, its weight on my arm barely noticeable from years of training, and with my lance raised I kicked the sides of my mount and shouted, “Hyah!”

She thrust out her lance in a jab, a low grunt escaping her lips, an attack full of strength.

I don’t joust linearly. The birds of the Sin’dorei are bred for agility, a swiftness of speed. It would be a dishonor to their nature not to use it to one’s advantage. I quickly squeezed the sides of the bird beneath me with my thighs and leaned to the left, strafing out of the way of the frontal assault. Her lance grazed my shield, and I inwardly cursed. She was faster than I had anticipated. I rounded, the hawkstrider’s talon digging into the dirt, and faced her once more, sending my mount into a full gallop, wind catching my hair and throwing it behind me.

My opponent barely had time to turn around. The Wintersaber was fast, but it was lumbering trying to turn around, and I knew I had the advantage. I grounded myself in the saddle, putting my weight behind my right arm, and I thrust out my lance, hitting her shield squarely. The adrenaline pumped through my veins, and as I felt my lips spread into a grin, I realized that I hadn’t had this much fun in weeks—

She forced back her shield and knocked my lance to the side. Taken off-guard, I knew I wouldn’t be able to counter her attack. I kicked my mount into a side run to gain distance, bringing my lance up to my shield to create a defensive wall, but she was catching up. Fast. In seconds she was parallel with me, and she swung out her shield. I blocked with my own, but her speed gave her strength, and I felt my right boot slip from its stirrup. A swear fell from my lips, in Common, a habit I had picked up from the goblin sailors.

I tried to throw myself back upright onto my panicking mount, when I felt the saddle slip sideways and underneath the bird’s abdomen and drug me down with it. I hit the ground, left foot still caught in its own stirrup.

“By the Light-damned Well!”

I pulled my boot free in time to see my opponent riding up to my side. “I... well, sorry then. I don't usually let the fight get to my head,” she apologized in Common, smirking as she said it and wiping the sweat from her forehead. Her light blue complexion was flushed with exertion, and her long, grey-blue hair was as tussled as mine.

I pushed myself off the ground and brushed off my pants. Embarrassed, but certainly not giving in completely, I looked to the mounted Draenei and smirked back. “One should be humbled now and then,” I replied. “Well done.” She may have won the joust, but I would be damned if I let her embarrass me further. I deliberately set my lance and shield on the ground and patted the beak of my unhappy hawkstrider who was fidgeting and picking at the slipped saddle with his beak. I unhooked the straps and started to fit it properly between the bird’s wings.

The Draenei started to turn her mount away, but hesitated. “You... you speak Common fairly well. You don't see many Blood Elves who still do.”

I glanced towards her. “I was raised a member of the Church of Light. We attended often.” I refocused on the saddle, setting it square on the bird’s feathered back. “At least, until the war in Lordaeron.”

I gave a small laugh, pushing my hair out of my face. “I am sorry, I did not mean to tell you my life history.”

“No, no. I ask about your history, you tell me about your history.” She dipped her head and took a deep breath before dismounting from her own saddle. “I’m Israia,” she offered softly.

For the second time today, this Draenei woman—Israia—had caught me off-guard. It was true, at the Tournament we were all fighting towards a common goal, but we certainly wouldn’t be considered allied…

Unsure of her intentions, of my intentions, of everything in this moment, I felt myself lower my eyes and make a slight bow. “Luisette,” I heard myself reply, “of the Dawnrise family.”

Israia offered her hand to me, the faintest of smiles upon her lips. I offered my own hand in return. “A pleasure,” I said in Thalassian, a customary greeting.

“I’ve never heard of the Dawnrise family,” Israia suddenly said, “though I’ll admit, most of the High Elven literature that was in the Keep has mostly been… burned.” Her eyes broke away from mine.

I shook my head reassuringly. “No,” I said with a soft laugh, “a small priest family from an even smaller town might not be referenced much.”

Israia nodded. “Ahh, right.” She hesitated, and I bit my lip, suddenly nervous and feeling hesitant myself. “Well, uh, good fight,” she said abruptly. But quietly, she added, “I hope to see you out here again,” and before I could say anything else, she swung herself onto her mount and started back towards the stables.

Suddenly remembering where I was, I took in my surroundings, and caught another combatant looking my way. My face flushed, feeling hot, and I pushed back my hair again and grabbed my provisions and setting them on top of the saddle. I was in no state to ride.

I was… curious.

Investments

2009-12-06T18:37:00.005-06:00

“Närcyssa, sweetheart, it’s been ages!”

The death knight startled at the pet name and turned in the direction of the voice. A petite elf with copper hair smiled when Närcyssa’s gaze met hers, and she strode in the direction of the blond.

“…Letitia,” Närcyssa stated, recognizing the family banker.

Letitia nodded once and beamed—was that smile false? “Good, good! I had worried you had forgotten me. After all, you haven’t sent me anything to invest or to sell recently.”

“I’ve nothing of worth to invest at the moment.”

Letitia’s smile faltered, and her gaze had cooled. “Oh, indeed. I understand you’re living with Shifgrethor at the time being, are you not? Income must be slow, forgive my presuming.”

For a brief moment, Närcyssa lost her composure and gave the elf in front of her an incredulous stare. Letitia took advantage of this silence, smiling once more and taking Närcyssa’s hand, patting it.

“Every little bit counts; I'm sure you understand. You’ve recently taken up the art of inscription, correct? Just send me your extra herbs, dear, and I’ll fetch you a good price. Help me to help you, sweetheart.”

She let drop the death knight’s hand and took a step back, half-turning. “I must take my leave; I have auctions to attend. But do take care to remember my two rules: no loans for slackers, and no private enterprising—undercutting is not looked well upon, you know! Al diel shala!”

Letitia gave Närcyssa a fleeting smirk, her friendly façade all but gone, and she began to stroll in the direction of the auction house.

Speechless for the first time in months, Närcyssa could only watch as the distance between her and the family banker grew, briefly wondering how her father could have left financial meetings with his limbs and pride still intact.

Reparation

2009-10-14T15:09:00.001-05:00

Närcyssa lifted up a corner of the fabric of the parcel, and her eyes darkened with recognition. Her eyes snapped towards mine and she sneered, “I do not accept; I will not be indebted to you.”

I slid the bundle back closer to me and slowly unwrapped it. “I am not giving this to you, Närcyssa Deathsong,” I countered, not meeting her eyes. “I am giving this to my sister of twelve years age whose viol was tossed into the firepit.”

I met her gaze then and saw the suspicion in her stare. “Now take it; my debt is repaid.”

Rituals

2009-10-02T14:45:00.006-05:00

The air was crisp as I rode south towards Tranquillien, the distinctive smell of death and of the Scourge still lingering. The same as last year. And the year before. And the year before that. Six years since the day our world was ripped in half, and the land still refuses to heal, the air refuses to change.

Stagnant.

The broken spires of the village came into view, and I urged my talbuk faster. The woods were still unfriendly, and although I did not travel unarmed, I did not wish to stray from my purpose of visit to embark on a holy crusade against remnants of the Scourge still festering across the Ghostlands.

As I neared Tranquillien, I saw a black shape running swiftly towards me, and upon recognition of it, I smiled, bringing my mount to a gentle stop. The large, Darnassian cat quickly closed the distance between us, and affectionately made circles around the legs of my talbuk – the latter of which was none too pleased, for he started to lightly stamp his hooves impatiently as he kept watchful eyes on the cat below.

“Greetings, Ivan,” I said softly to the purring cat as I reached down to lay my hand against his head. “Let’s go find your mistress.”

I clicked my tongue and my talbuk – all too happy to begin moving again – started walking once more in the direction of the village. Ivan ambled at our side, but his eyes and ears were alert for any possible threat. As we passed the first building of the town, weary and broken, I couldn’t help but mourn the beauty of what once was. The town’s namesake, its once peaceful and tranquil ambiance, was now felt in the current atmosphere for all the wrong reasons.

But there, in the center of the square, sitting of the base of the toppling statue, were the only two that could convince me to traverse once more through the Ghostlands. Ivan, content there was no immediate danger, broke away from the feet of my talbuk and ran ahead to rejoin his mistress. Saeil softly smiled, bent down, and reciprocated Ivan’s nuzzling with her own, burying her face into his white-spotted, midnight fur. Shifgrethor stood up, brushed off her robes, and walked forward to meet me.

“Sinu a’manore, cousin,” she said, beaming, as she took my hands and helped me dismount. She patted the dark muzzle of my talbuk affectionately before she took my hand within her own one more. “I’m so very glad you’re here.”

“As am I,” I said, returning the smile as she linked my arm around hers and led me towards the statue.

Saeil left the affections of Ivan and stood up to meet me. She kissed my cheek, embracing me close. “Thank you for coming.”

I sadly shook my head. “You needn’t thank me. You demanded nothing of which I could refuse.”

We broke the embrace, and I took hold of my talbuk’s bridle and led him towards the inn. The building could hardly be called such at first glance, but it was still standing, and that’s all what mattered. I tied his reins to a post outside by Paniar, the stable master. He assured me my talbuk would be well-taken care of, and I bowed to him for his services.

I rejoined Saeil and Shifgrethor, and we took the road heading south out of Tranquillien. It was a silent journey to our destination: a short walk to a debris-filled clearing southeast of the major town. The closer we arrived, the more distinct the pain on Saeil’s face made itself known. Shifgrethor gently took her Other’s hand and tenderly kissed her fingers. We are still here, she seemed to say, and Saeil gave her a sad smile in appreciation.

Once, this clearing had been the site of a proud ranger’s Lodge, a small outpost with a large love of their duty and community. But once, this clearing had been the site of a massacre, rangers old and young alike slaughtered by the unforgivable and unstoppable might of the Scourge.

Those caught in the battle didn’t stand a chance.

Saeil walked ahead and knelt before one of the larger, fallen stone columns that had once proudly been at the forefront of the building, her bright red hair falling forward and blocking her vision even more than her tears were starting to. She reached into her bags and pulled out a small bowl filled with flowers, herbs, and fruit. She sat down and gently set the bowl on the ground in front of her, a small offering to those who, six years ago this day, lost their dreams and lives unjustly. Ivan, familiar with this annual ritual, lied down at Saeil’s side. A shuddered sigh escaped her lips, and Saeil reached down to stroke the fur of the cat that had been with her during that nightmarish day.

She remained silent, mustering up control over her voice. Finally, she smiled, hot tears rolling down her face, and she began to speak:

“Dad? It’s me… happy birthday.”

Questions of Morality.

2009-09-14T18:28:00.010-05:00

(Note: This post is written OOC.)

When I first started this blog, I had intended it to be for strictly RP-writing -- to express ideas and to flesh out the lives of my characters. However, while leveling up my hunter, Saeil, I found that there were certain quest lines that I was extremely reluctant to do as they would conflict with Saeil's own views concerning morality. Both quests lines in particular are in direct service of the Royal Apothecary Society, and although I, as a player, have completed them both, I felt awful.

The most recent one involved the poor, ill Tauren -- Thersa Windsong -- in the RAS's headquarters. After I handed the filled vials of Azsharian water to the chemist, I knew from earlier experience leveling Luisette what was inevitable. I comforted Thersa, handed her the elixir which was "meant" to cure her, and felt like an absolute sellout as I handed in the quest for a measely 75 silver. Immediately I thought of Saeil's reaction -- here was my naïve, little hotheaded hunter, trying with all her might to do some bit of good in a world that calls her to kill 8 times out of 10, and... reality struck.

Saeil was never one to completely trust the Forsaken, as her hunting lodge was utterly obliterated by the Scourge attack on Quel'Thalas, but because Sylvanas was such an inspiration to her -- to all rangers, I dare say -- she accepted their tasks and carried them out with perfection. But ironically, Saeil is quite possibly the first of my characters to realize the evil behind the RAS, and to develop heavy doubts about Sylvanas and her agenda.

Which leads me to my question: Do you avoid quest hubs or specific quest chains for the sake of roleplay?

Personally, I'm a completist, going for Loremaster on Luisette and subsequent alts; and as much as I hate feeling like an absolutely horrible person (e.g. slaughtering members of the Quel'Lithien Lodge in the Eastern Plaguelands all to retrieve paperwork), I will still enter "player-mode" and complete the quests... trying not to think about how much of their "soul" my characters have lost.

Perhaps I've watched too much Reboot as a child.

Reminiscence

2009-08-14T18:16:00.011-05:00

“That’s my girl.”

Lana’iel looked up from the infant cradled in her arms and smiled at her husband as he entered their bedroom. Renir returned the smile, absolutely beaming, as he sat down on the edge of the bed next to his wife. He kissed her head and caressed her now empty, still-swollen belly, whispering words of comfort and healing to ease any lingering pain.

“A fine daughter you’ve borne us, my dear,” Renir said affectionately. He winked at his wife. “Perhaps next time you can bear us a son.”

Lana’iel laughed. “If the Light provides.” She gazed toward the sleeping infant and gently stroked her soft cheek with a finger. The newborn awoke at the touch, but did not cry. Her light blue eyes, as light as a summer sky, observed her surroundings and pondered this new face in front of her.

“She will be a fine healer,” Lana’iel said proudly. “Her touch is already delicate and her eyes are full of wonder and knowing.”

“Indeed,” said Renir as he leaned over and kissed his daughter. “And what is her name, love?”

“Närcyssa, with the hopes that she’ll have just as much mirth as the flowers after which she’s named.”

Renir cupped Lana’iel’s face tenderly and kissed her once more. “She’s beautiful. I’m truly the luckiest man in the land to be surrounded with such pretty girls.”

A noise from the hallway caught his attention, and he chuckled as recognition came. “Luisette,” he called, “I see you peeking; when the sun shines on your hair like it is now, it absolutely glows.”

I poked my head around the door frame and peered into the room. I looked at my father, and then at my mother, and last, at the child in her arms. I looked at my mother once more and asked, “Minn’da, may I see her?”

My mother smiled. “Of course you may.”

I hesitantly stepped into the room and slowly made my way to the bed. My father made way for me, and I climbed onto the bed. My mother turned her arms toward me, and I was able to see the infant – no, my sister – for the first time. Our eyes met, and she smiled.

Explanations

2009-07-23T21:56:00.014-05:00

Earlier today, I received a letter; it was from Närcyssa.

Naturally, I was hesitant to open it, especially after what had occured only a short time prior – but after letting it rest on the foot of my bed untouched for several hours, I decided to read what she had to say. After all, her mere presence in Shattrath was unnerving enough; what more could be revealed that would lay ruin to my already fatigued mind?

There were no salutations. Instead, the first line – written in that perfect script of hers – jumped off the page and hit me with a force I was not expecting.

I remember the cold... it read.

(Read the rest here.)

Resolution

2009-07-14T20:15:00.006-05:00

I heard her before I saw her.

“Luisette Dawnrise, I am going to kick your scrawny ass!”

Without moving from the spot in which I lay on top of a goblin shop roof in Booty Bay, I called back, “Saeil Redhawk, perhaps you should look in a mirror before you make sweeping generalizations about my assets. I could say the same about yours!”

I heard her huff with indignation as she stormed up the ramp and across the bridge which led to a walkway at foot-level with the shop’s roof. I sat up and looked at Kazdormu, mouthing a silent apology for what was most certainly to come to pass. He gave a small smile and returned to his book – I didn’t blame him. I spun myself around just in time to see a fiery redhead, hands on her hips, peering down at me and absolutely glowering. Alyosha – her handsomely black wolf companion – wagged his tail nervously behind her, torn between offering greetings and staying loyal to his master, foul mood and all.

Saeil hopped across the gap between the walkway and the roof and threw a bound letter onto the ground in front of my feet.

“How could you?! – you’re much too predictable, I knew exactly where to find you – she’s your cousin, your blood!

“No sooner had I received this letter than did the sender show up in person, looking absolutely haggard and like she had been sobbing the entire trip.”

She squatted down to eye-level with me and snatched up the letter. “I’m not going to let you read it – obviously – but if you did, you’d notice the ink was blotched all over and some words were smeared from being dripped on and I’m ever quite sure she wasn’t writing this in the rain!” she shrieked, shaking the letter in front of my face.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but Saeil narrowed her eyes and covered my mouth with the letter. “Shifgrethor never cries in front of others,” she began, quietly, but with no less ferocity. “You know that. And yet when she landed in Revantusk Village after a non-stop journey from Arathi, she sobbed in my arms. And it’s all”—she smacked the letter against my head—“your”—again—“fault,”—and thrice, so hard I flinched.

“And furthermore—” Saeil paused in her assault, finally noticing Kaz sitting a few feet away from us, still reading and seemingly unruffled or uninterested in our [rather one-sided] conversation. “Who is… you know what, it doesn’t even matter,” she said, tearing her gaze from Kaz and refocusing her attention onto me once more. She huffed a bit, exasperated and upset, threw her hands up in the air, and hastily sat next to me. Alyosha, who had been lying on the ground with a frantic pant and ears pressed down, took this as a cue as good as any and moved to flop between the two of us, resting his head on Saeil’s lap.

I jumped at the lull in Saeil’s speech and asked softly, “How much do you know?”

Saeil sighed and tenderly ran her fingers through Alyosha’s fur absentmindedly. “Of course, everything,” she replied, looking at me sideways. “God, Luis, a full-out brawl in Shattrath? What were you thinking? …No, don’t answer that, I already can figure for myself.”

I turned to look out towards the bay, and I heard her sigh again.

“Shif’s pretty shaken up about what happened, you know. She was given forced leave by her commander because of her condition, and by the Well, you and I both know we don’t need a loss of a healer – a damn good healer at that – from the frontlines with some of the idiots fighting for our side.”

There was a long, awkward pause.

“You were supposed to be the mature one,” Saeil added softly.

God, did she know how to cut to the quick.

“I know,” I finally answered.

Saeil faced me then. “No,” she countered, “I don’t think you do. We’ve been friends since childhood, but damn it, Luis. Do you know how much shit I put up with from the other rangers for even being seen with you after you and Närcyssa left the priesthood? ‘Fallen priests,’ they said. ‘Traitors to our cause.’ ‘Can’t be trusted; they’re as black-hearted as the blood they name themselves after.’ It was only by the Well’s good grace that my lodge accepted Shifgrethor as my Other even after all that happened.”

She smiled bitterly and continued. “I vouched for you and Närcyssa, time and time again. You don’t think I feel just as betrayed by her as you? You three were like sisters to me.”

I felt my anger spark slightly at this. “You mean to tell me you would have just welcomed her back with open arms? After she willingly became a lapdog of the Scourge?”

Saeil’s eyes burned back into mine. “God, you’ve still a temper.”

“You’re one to talk,” I bit out sardonically, and I regretted it.

“No, I don’t know what I would have done if I met her after her pardon,” Saeil sighed, frustrated. “Hell, I might have even helped you. But her honor is not the one I’m here to defend.”

Alyosha whined, and I patted his rump. “Sorry, love, didn’t mean to upset you either.”

Saeil smirked a bit. “I’m going to go ahead and attribute that apology to myself as well, since we both know just how awful you are at making apologies to people that actually deserve one.”

I gave a small, embarrassed smile, and we sat in silence for a while. Resolved in my own thoughts, I placed my hand on Saeil’s arm. “Thank you,” I admitted softly, not meeting her eyes. “I deserved that, and I’m glad it was you.”

She gave a quick nod, and looked out towards the bay. The sun had started to set, and it covered the ocean in hues of orange and crimson. The normally brown and tan buildings were tinted copper, and small waves lapped up against the dock.

“I can see why you come here so often,” Saeil remarked. “It’s absolutely gorgeous.” She rubbed Alyosha’s shoulder, and he rolled onto his back, thumping his tail against the roof. “You know you’re going to have to come back to Silvermoon with me.”

I nodded and replied, “I know.”

Confrontation

2009-06-18T00:58:00.005-05:00

“And what will you have today, sweetie?”

“I’ll have the usual, Kylene, thank you,” my cousin, Shifgrethor, said smiling.

The barmaid nodded and turned to me. “And for you?”

“Just a flask of port, thanks.” I turned to Shifgrethor after Kylene had left. “‘Just the usual,’ eh?” I grinned. “How often do you come here, exactly?”

A small smile appeared on Shifgrethor’s face, but her eyes were laughing with a childlike-mirth despite so much of her life being spent in battle. I envied her.

“Enough for the barmaid to know my usual,” she finally answered.

I laughed. “As if that wasn’t obvious.”

Kylene returned to the table and set a bottle of Pinot Noir in front of my cousin, and the port in front of me. I laughed again and shook my head. “I should have known! You were always the classy drinker.”

Shifgrethor smiled as she took a sip from her drink. “Dearest cousin, I spend most of my days in dirt and sweat and blood from the battlefield. Let me have my moment of refinement.”

Conceding to her reasoning, I nodded my head and smiled back. Suddenly I was appreciative of my current situation: here I was with the last remaining member of my family, having a drink without a care in the world. It was just like old times, our lives before… No. Such things mustn’t be allowed to ruin such a rare state of tranquility.

“The World’s End Tavern… wow, I haven’t been here in ages,” I said, turning my thoughts away from unpleasantries. “But, why here? Surely there are taverns in Silvermoon we could have visited in; there’s no need for you to travel so far.”

Shifgrethor’s smile faded slightly, and she set her drink down. “I’m going to be honest with you, cousin. I had previous business in Shattrath.”

“‘Previous business’? With whom?”

She turned to a table in the corner behind us and beckoned. “With her.”

I looked to the hooded figure sitting alone; I had not noticed her presence earlier. Pale hands reached up to the hood and lifted it back, revealing short, pale blond hair and eyes the color of ice—

In my rage I smashed my mug on the floor and toppled my chair as I stood up. “Närcyssa… You traitorous bitch,” I growled as I unsheathed my sword and shield.

The figure in front of me stood up in a flash and frantically held up her hands, showing her empty palms. “Sister…”

“My sister is dead,” I snarled, and I launched at her.

Närcyssa unsheathed her massive axe and, to my surprise, held it to merely block my attack. I inwardly laughed – nothing she could do would save her.

“Luisette, stop!” Shifgrethor yelled, anger coloring her voice. But nothing she could do would—

Where sword should have met axe there was instead an invisible barrier. Närcyssa sighed in relief, but I was furious, realizing what had happened. I tossed my shield to the side and raised my sword once more with both hands this time. I made another swing, and Närcyssa readjusted her stance to better prepare for the incoming blow. Sword met barrier again, but I was confident.

“I wield the Red Sword of Courage, dear sister,” I spat as I pressed my blade harder against the shield. “And it’s seen the end to many cowards such as yourself.”

The shield was starting to visibly crack; Närcyssa noticed and swore under her breath.

“Do you really think your pitiful excuse for a weapon can hold up against my own?” In a final effort, I threw my weight against my sword and smiled triumphantly as the shield shattered under the force. Närcyssa had readied her axe to block, but I was too strong, too enraged to let my attack be parried like she were my equal. We crashed to the ground, and I could feel Shifgrethor’s hands on my arm, trying to break us apart.

“Luis, stop this!” I heard her cry out. “She’s been given a full pardon by the Warchief himself!”

Now, admittedly, this startled me more than it should have. I had worked with the Knights of the Ebon Blade many times before, but they were different, they weren’t… family. But in the midst of my rage, this split-second lapse in concentration was enough for Närcyssa to capitalize on. She pushed back against my sword with her axe and, combined with Shifgrethor’s efforts, I fell backwards onto the floor. Suddenly aware of my environment, I took a quick glance around the room and noticed the tavern’s patrons had mostly fled – it wouldn’t be long before a Shattrath peacekeeper arrived.

Närcyssa pushed herself off the ground, holding her hands up once more, this time in surrender. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

I curled a lip in disgust. “How can I trust anything you say anymore? You weren’t forced to fight in the ranks of the Scourge – you joined them willingly!” I had had enough. I turned my attention from her to the opening of the tavern. “Kaz!”

At my call, a tall figure dressed in elegant robes strode calmly into the tavern. His copper hair was half pulled-back, and in the dim light his blue eyes glowed—

Shifgrethor’s eyes widened and she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “Quel’dor—”

I angrily whipped my head to face her. “As if I would associate with such scum!”

Kaz spoke in even tones to me, as if the scene in front of him fazed him not. “You summoned me, Lady Dawnrise?” He walked up to me and bent down, extending his hand to me. I took it, and he helped lift me off the ground. Eyeing Närcyssa warily, who was now standing next to Shifgrethor, I resheathed my sword and tied my shield across my back; Närcyssa kept her gaze lowered, unwilling to meet my own.

“Luis…” Shifgrethor began quietly, as if she was unsure of how to continue; the abrupt arrival of an unfamiliar party had derailed the previous tension. “Who is your companion?”

I sighed, pushing my tousled hair out of my face. I couldn’t stay angry at her – I was never able to stay angry at her. I wanted to storm out of the tavern, leave her question unanswered, but I could feel my shoulders relax as I gave in; I nodded to Kaz. Taking his cue, he faced my cousin and bowed. “I am Kazdormu of the Bronze Dragonflight, my lady. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” He turned to do the same to Närcyssa, but I grabbed his arm and shook my head.

“Come, Kaz,” I said softly, feeling defeated, and I started for the entrance. I heard a quiet sob behind me, and instinctively I turned around. I saw Shifgrethor – my beautiful, strong cousin – with eyes full of sadness; and my sister, with eyes full of regret and abandonment… the same look I saw within her when our father left for the Outland to follow Kael’thas. A sharp ache gnawed at my gut, and I forced myself to look away.

It’s no use mourning for the dead twice.

Heated

2009-05-12T22:57:00.003-05:00

I hate Dalaran.

Let me rephrase that – I loathe Dalaran.

The level of noise gives me frequent headaches. The congestion forces me into close quarters with those I would instead slay in battle. However, those issues pale in comparison to the outright hostility exerted from nearly every corner of the city.

It’s that damned Silver Covenant.

As if dealing with the mages of the Kirin Tor on a daily basis wasn’t already a fine test of patience for both parties involved; humans I can handle.

Sanctimonious “cousins” I cannot.

Remind me to raze their hunter’s lodge in the Hinterlands sometime.

Turning Point

2009-05-05T01:55:00.000-05:00

“Luis, I—”

I smacked her hand away.

“Don’t – don’t touch me. Please.”

Shifgrethor kneeled down in front of me and tried to catch my gaze; I looked away. There was silence between us, uncomfortable, raw; and yet none of us could bring ourselves to disturb it.

Time passed, and quietly I managed to force, “I couldn’t save them.”

My cousin gathered my hand into hers. She paused. “You did your best.”

I faced her now. “My sister, your parents… my best ended in failure.”

She gave me a hard stare. “So what are you going to do about it?”

Bad Example

2009-05-02T00:08:00.000-05:00

Caiya furrowed her eyebrows, questioning me. “Are you sure this is OK?”

“Sure it is,” I said, scanning the skies. “Hold on tight.”

I pulled on my wyvern’s reins, making him bank tightly to the left, underneath the Aldur’thar Bridge and landing on a small ledge that jutted out from the rest of the rock foundation. I scanned the skies once more, the ground, the bridge above. Satisfied, I lifted Caiya down from the wyvern and then dismounted as well. She brushed off her skirt nervously, shivering a bit from the cold, but her eyes sparkled with excitement. “You know, the other orphans won’t believe me,” she whispered.

I removed my helmet and shook out my hair, and looked down towards the girl. “It doesn’t matter what they think,” I said softly, smiling. “You’re never going to learn anything if you don’t experience it first-hand.”

I untied the strings strapping the SGM-3 to my back and I gently set it on the ground, turning it on and making adjustments. I kneeled to the ground, propped it up on my knee and looked to Caiya. “You see those Skybreakers flying around?”

She nodded.

“Well, Korm Blackscar – that big ugly orc on the flying ship,”—Caiya giggled—“wants us to shoot them down. They work for the Alliance and they’ve been very naughty.”

Caiya thought for a moment. “So we’re punishing them? Like putting them in time-out?”

“…Right. That’s a very good way to put it. And, well, since you’re such a big girl, I thought that you might like to help me.”

Caiya smiled, then beamed. She nodded, and I beckoned her closer.

“Good girl,” I said, and showed her how to hold the end of the launcher, how to look through the crosshairs, and pointed out the auto-target feature. She repeated the process to me, and pleased with her answer, I pushed the yellow button on the side. “Safety’s off,” I reported out of habit. I locked eyes with Caiya, and we both grinned. “Whenever you’re ready, just aim.”