A Modest Proposal (Part 1)

As written in the private journal of Thallis Stonecutter.

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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

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

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.

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"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

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.”

Nightmares

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

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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

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."

Investments

“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.

Rituals

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.”

Reminiscence

“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.

Bad Example

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.”