Post your Role Play Stories here for the contest

[Melrouphos]

Please post below.  Thanks! Mel

[tessacbryce]

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My name is Jessamine. I have no true title, because I am not a noblewoman. Despite all this finery, the noblewoman act is a sham. I paid to have the papers forged. My family and lands do not exist. The King long ago stripped my adoptive father of his titles as punishment for piracy. He never produced any heirs, much less myself.

The rubies in my cufflinks are glass. The gold tips on my collar are plate. The pearls on my doublet are paste. But there is no gilding or ornamentation on my sword. We can dress ourselves up, but we can't hide what we really are. That is a lesson. Make of it what you will. Some people have made much of it, but their fate comes later in my story.

The beginning of my story goes like this:

Once upon a time there was a poor pig farmer with three little girls. Seven years after the birth of the youngest, their mother was trampled to death by hogs. You needn't feel bad. Any woman brain-burned enough to go after a breeding sow in her own pen has to take what she gets. Don't feel too sorry for the girls, either. The pig was a better mother.

This pig farmer had no sons, so the girls worked day in and day out until they were dirty as peasants, which they were, and strong as mules, which they, unfortunately, were not. They worked so hard they went to bed every night too tired to speak. The father sold the hogs and farrows, and carted off what scraggly crops they raised, but never bought them anything with the money they earned. Not even a new bed. The girls took turns sleeping on the floor but never complained, since the floor didn't have fleas.

Does this sound terrible? I'm afraid it is. I can't say peasant life has much to recommend it; especially not life with the Stonecheats, Menethil Harbor's most miserable clan.

Anyway, as I'm sure you expect, the pig farmer drank to excess and whored extravagantly in Menethil's seediest tavern. In time, being greedy as well as stupid, he married one of the tavern’s three whores, hoping to get a share of her profits.

But there was one bright spot in all this tarnish. One of the stepbrothers, named Rand, had taken some blade practice for the local militia and knew a little about fencing, and was eager to share this knowledge to anyone who would hold still long to listen. The eldest girl, that's me, decided that Rand's skill should not be lost if he got killed sneaking up on one of Farmer Taeger's sheep, which seemed likely to happen any day.

Rand imparted this swordsmanship to me whenever I wasn't hog-swilling, clod-breaking, or stone-piling, and by the time he stopped fencing with me, I was still terrible with a sword, but I at least knew what end of a blade to hold.

By the time I turned fifteen, Menethil had become a small city because, in a stroke of luck, the Alliance decided that the horrible, tangled forests around the town had a use: timber for ships. A shipyard went up before anyone could really blink. Of course, this did nothing to improve the atmosphere. The only thing worse than a horrible, backward town full of idiots is a horrible backward town full of idiots stuck in the middle of a razed forest. Nobody cared, though. They were all too busy working at the shipyard.

My sister and I sanded boards at the yard three days a week so that rich people wouldn't get splinters in their asses when they humped like crazed weasels on the deck of their luxury ships. This work was better than breaking dirt clods and slopping pigs because it was new and different, but not as good as doing no work at all.

To make things worse, the shipyards paid our father, so we were lucky to see a copper tick of the cash. But everyone else got rich. More workers moved in. New inns opened, new houses went up, and new whores -- some even had all their teeth -- started working for the local pimps.

The town got so rich, in fact, that it was attacked by genuine, for-real pirates.

I was sixteen, and it was summer. That day I was off from the shipyard to tend the hogs. As I hauled water from the well to the trough, a shadow passed over me and across the waving tips of the crow-picked wheat just over the fence. I looked up and saw a ship, a big zeppelin with a war-keel and four spar sails. Its hull was tarred pitch-black. I said to myself, here comes one of those stinking goblin bastards to look at his stupid ship, picking nits before it's done. And now he'll want something changed, and everyone will be cranky for a week while the foreman works it out. And I turned back to watering the hogs, because I didn't want to think about it.

It was nearly an hour before I saw the smoke. I thought someone had caught the flour mill on fire again. It had happened two years before when Tem, the moonshiner's son snuck in to drink at midnight, and knocked the lamp over. Did you know flour dust will not only burn when exposed to open flame, it will explode? Apparently he didn't.

Anyway, I thought it was the mill again, only I hadn't heard an explosion this time. Then I saw that the plume of smoke rose from the shipyard, and I ran for the horses. My sisters were there.

I galloped for town as fast as the horse could take me, scattering chickens as I went. Halfway there I ran into my father with my stepmother on his arm. He was breathless, sweating, and splashed with blood that wasn't his. I almost ran him down, but he flung himself into the ditch before the mare could trample him.

"What's happening?" I cried, reining the horse in.

"Pirates!" my father howled, hauling himself out of the blackberry briars into which he'd fallen. My stepmother just kept running as fast as her fat thighs would carry her -- as if the pirates would want her when there were perfectly good sheep around.

"Where's Kida at? Where's Marni?" I demanded, instantly scanning the horizon for my younger siblings. "Dead, for all I know! For Light's sake, girl, give me that horse!" He lunged for the reins but the mare shied at the blood-smell and he sprawled in the dust, red-faced and angry.

"Dammit, Essa!" he barked, using the nickname I hated. "Gimme that horse and let's get the Hell out before they come for us!"

He hadn't even looked for them. He'd run and left his littlest daughters to death or worse. He reached for my mare's headstall and what felt like a million years' worth of rage and disgust boiled over. I kicked him in the face and he staggered back. My horse took off under my frantic kicking, and her backside knocked him over again as we raced away.

I was terrified. Running toward pirates isn't on the list of best ideas ever. But Marni and Kida were somewhere in town, and I knew that my stepbrothers might very well throw them to the pirates just to get a chance to escape.

As I rode closer, the column of smoke widened, darkened, and spread low over everything. It looked like some hellish, cindery black mist had descended on the harbor. The river was stained black from the rafts of ash and debris floating in it. The shipyards were burning merrily.

In town, everyone was running around like crazy, flailing their arms and screaming. The flower shop, the butcher's, and blacksmith’s were all burning fiercely, along with several houses. About a dozen people with buckets were trying to stop the flames before they spread to the tavern. Even as I tried to decide whether I wanted them to succeed, a group of men on looted horses charged down the street and crashed into them, waving torches and swords. Pirates!

People scattered. Some weren't fast enough. The pirates cut down the butcher, and decapitated his son's.  I trembled with a mix of terror and nausea.

It’s not like I hadn’t seen dead people before. There was that time that old Sheb's porch collapsed on him and Vird Haggan when they were trying to get to the last bottle of moonshine. My father and I'd been the first ones to find them squished, and that was gruesome. We never could separate what was left from Sheb's pair of prize hounds.

 But this was different. Do you know what a big sword will do to someone? Of course not. Not if you're rich and perfumed and only see that sort of thing on stage, or in a dueling ring. Believe me; it's different when they aren't all in one piece.

I must have spent nearly a minute staring at the bodies before I heard a scream I recognized. It was Marni, my next littlest sister, shrieking like Arthas was letting all her blood out, and I was only half sure that wasn't true. I mean pirates in Menethil? Anything could happen. Heck, it wouldn't have surprised me to see Varian Wrynn himself come riding in on some sun-white stallion.

The closest thing to a stallion I got was some hulking brute in chainmail and - Light preserve us - leather pants dragging Marni along the dusty road. He had her by a fistful of her taffy-blonde hair and she was kicking, biting, dragging her heels, and hollering at the top of her lungs, which was impressive. The pirate only slapped her gently every so often, like he didn't want to bruise her. Marni caught sight of me on my mare and screamed again, louder, if that's possible.

"Essa! Essaaaaa! Oww! Help! They’ve got Kida! They-”

Her cry ended when the brute dropped her on the ground in the midst of a group of three similarly hulking and poorly-dressed beasts, knocking the wind out of her. Poor Marni stared up, then over at me, hopefully. But what could I do?

I'd just decided to run them down when someone yanked me off the horse. The mare galloped away as I struggled up and whirled, really hoping it was one of my ram-humping stepbrothers, instead of a pirate. He had three nasty looking friends. This one had scars on his face, the on-purpose kind, and his ears had been cut to points which also had to be on purpose because that doesn't just happen to someone, I'm sure. So much soot and blood smeared him that I couldn't even tell if he was an Orc or a Troll. I tried to pull away and he stuck his bloody sword up to my neck and said something like "One move and I'll slit that pretty white throat of yours," or some such awful cliché, but this time I could tell he meant it. Then he grinned and fondled me rudely.

"Oh," I simpered. "You don't gotta hurt me. I'll come right along." Then I kicked him in the stones just as hard as I could. He buckled and I yanked the sword from his fist. It was big and heavy, not a fencing blade, but I resolved to do my best.

I swung the sword like a blackthorn stick and chopped the first bastard in the side. He fell down, screaming and bleeding into the dust. The next tried to cut my head off while my blade was still stuck in his body. I barely managed to duck in time, then my blade came free and I snapped it out. The point hit him in the back of the knee and he fell down.

When I looked up again, the last two were grinning.

One had my sister, the edge of his sword pressed to her throat. Marni looked just terrified, tears running from her hazel eyes and smearing the soot on her cheeks to reveal the pasty white beneath.

 "I'll kill her," the pirate snarled as his friend reached for me. "Put down your sword." The other leered at the prospect. I had no doubt at all that the pirates wanted us alive. Very alive. And with that thought, I threw everything I had into one last swing at the man reaching for me.

Chain links and blood sprayed into the blackened air as I sheared through most of his neck, but the blade lodged in his spine. When he fell, his weight dragged me down. The last pirate roared in fury but wasn't about to kill Marni, as he'd threatened. She was too valuable.

Shadows closed in and the sky got even blacker as a zeppelin loomed overhead. Wouldn't you know it? A pirate leaned over the rail and hollered something like "heave to, ye laggard," or "mind the wastrel, ye scurvy Jack!" It obviously meant "get your ass up here right now," because the idiot holding my sister sheathed his sword, slapped her backside, and then climbed the rope like a polecat. The one I'd given a limp swarmed up after them. All this time, I was trying to free my blade. I had to kick the carcass in the head several times before the steel came free and by then the pirates - and my sister - were out of reach.

The rope however wasn't.

I jumped and caught it with one hand, and then I was dangling in space. I didn't like it one bit, but then I assumed that my sister wouldn't exactly relish being ravished by pirates, so I just sort of hung there, wondering how I was supposed to hold my sword and climb. My fingers slipped, and I realized that a third option existed.

 Falling would at least be easy.

The sight of the ground rolling smoothly beneath me only made my hands sweat more.

Before I could decide what to do, a dark face peered over the rail, grinned, and then bloody hands began reeling the rope in. Hell, I was all for it. Anything to get me closer. Oh, those bastards were in worse trouble than they could possibly imagine. The look on my face seemed to amuse the man hauling me up, because he was laughing like he'd caught the first mate wearing panties.

I slashed at him as soon as I hit the deck.

"Brat!" he said, or something like it, as he jumped back to avoid the blade. I tried to run him through. I was careful, though, to stay away from the rail. They might try to throw me over or knock me off, and I was not going to leave the ship until I had my sisters. Someone had to save them! I'd just have to kill every pirate on the ship to do it, starting with the one who'd pulled me up.

I closed on him as we slowly drifted over the burning remains of Menethil. I wish I'd had more time to enjoy that part. The town was going up like a Midsummer Festival bonfire while the few remaining residents huddled against the shore and watched the wall of flame spread through the marsh. What a sight! At that moment, though, it was only background as I tried to separate pirate head from pirate neck.

He didn't want me to, so naturally,  we fought about it. The rest of his mates stopped yanking ropes and hollering long enough to watch. I was having second thoughts at this point, as you can surely imagine, but what could I do?

Oh, well, I sighed. I doubt they'll kill me. I mean, why have any illusions?

To my surprise, I managed to put the first fellow down. He was only playing with me, the way you play with a kitten until it scratches, so I had no trouble finding an opening. I swung the sword in both hands like a scythe during a melon-splitting contest and the blade sliced into his thigh, barking off the bone. He howled and fell over, and I staggered away from the torrent of blood in shock. One of his friends tried to knock me in the head. I ducked it, then cut again, leaving a shallow cut on his chest. It wasn't much of a wound, but it made him mad as a bull with his dick stuck in a gate.

Now he was trying to kill me. I ran as fast as I could, slashing at anything that came near as I stumbled and staggered over the deck, darting between pirates who all seemed to be enjoying the show.

I cut four who tried to grab me, bit two, then scrambled up a pile of loot. I shoved over crates stamped with the shipyard's symbol, ducked under swinging sailcloth and cut down ropes, tipped things over, all with a crazed, bleeding pirate chasing me. Other pirates joined the fun, so I had to dodge three or four in a really un-funny version of catch-the-pig where I was the unlucky prize. Why was I bothering? I had nowhere to go.

Finally I scrambled for one of the ladders leading up to the poop deck. I know these technical words because I worked at a shipyard, where I learned about 'deck,' and a farm, where they teach you all about 'poop.' As I crossed in front of the stern cabin the door swung open and I careened straight into what felt like a bulkhead. Arms big as crossbeams lifted me and shook me violently.

My sword fell from my nerveless fingers, and I swear I felt my brains rattle about in my head like a marble in a milking-pail. Then he dropped me rudely to the deck. I stared up at one of the biggest blood elf I'd ever seen.

Oh, I'm not lying. I doubt you've seen Garis the Dire, but if he stood next to you on a sunny day, you'd swear there'd been an eclipse. He was a head taller than my dad, which is to say he was well over six feet, with shoulders so broad he could've crushed two of my stepbrothers to death at once. A nasty scar cut his face from just below his right eye all the way down his jaw and into the soft flesh of his throat. I admit, if he hadn't been so large, and hadn't been the only thing standing between me and freedom, he would've been rather handsome.

The scar deepened as that corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. The other pirates backed away from him like dogs when the neighborhood bully comes around. Some disappeared entirely. This, I assumed, was their captain, the top dog. He kicked the sword away and nudged me with the toe of his boot.

"What's this," he said, showing white teeth in a half-grin. "Someone's pet?" His voice was low, rough, with just a dash of an accent, so it sounded like "vaats dis, saamvhan's pet?"

I struggled to my feet and glared up at him. I am not short, but he was more than a foot taller than me. He met my stare with cool grey eyes.

"I ain't nobody's pet," I said. "I've come for my sisters."

He raised one eyebrow. "Sisters? I don't think we have them." Some of the others smiled.

I balled my fists up. "You do. And you're gonna let 'em go, or I'll make you ugly, to match your stupid."

I have never heard such uproarious laughter.

Garis shook his head.

"I'll soon have you tamed, my little hawk."

I punched him hard, right across the left side of his jaw, then followed up with a quick second to his stomach. It felt like hitting a sanded oak board -- and I should know. When I was done he just licked the blood off his lip with an amused smile. I don't think he'd even noticed the second punch. After giving me a suitable interval to ponder this, he backhanded me straight to the boards. It felt just like it had when I'd fallen out of Old Man Danvarr's crabapple tree. I curled into a little ball and lay on the boards, more stunned than hurt. He stared down at me and smoothed the neat black whiskers along his jaw. I waited for him to come close enough, and presently, he did, the damn fool.

I kicked out with both feet and hit him in the knee. His yelp as he fell was quite satisfying, as was the thud when he tumbled to the boards beside me. The assembled pirates oohed and aahed as I yanked the dagger from his belt and tried to stab him with it. He caught my arm but I still drove the blade down into the flesh of his shoulder.

"Maybe now you'll take me seriously," I said, wrenching the knife fiercely. He bared his teeth and squeezed his fist about my wrist so that I felt the bones in my arm bend. I shrieked in rage and pain, and the knife slipped from my hand, still sheathed in his flesh.

"Rope!" he called, and in less than a minute I lay on the deck, firmly trussed. I thrashed, but could not free myself. Garis rose and glared at me, favoring his left leg. I spat at him and he yanked the knife from his shoulder and threw it. It thunked into the deck an inch from my nose, flicking my face with his blood.

"Missed me," I said, and he smiled.

"Oh, I'm going to keep her for myself," he said.

And that, as the poets say, was that.

[tessacbryce]

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If you're expecting that I will bore you with a long description of our days as captives, you are wrong. After the first day, things were, if not different, at least less shocking. Come on; we were the kept pet of one of the most infamous sky-pirates in Azeroth. Our situation had improved. We had regular meals, plenty of clothes to wear, and plenty of time to lie around and relax, time we had to fill.

We dressed up and laughed and made up stories to go with the pictures in the books Garis had lying around. Yes, he can read, in several languages, no less, though at the time Marni and I could not manage even one word between us. As for Kida, the captain took a shine to her. He brought her out every evening and made her sing for the crew. She loved the attention. Of course it set my teeth on edge. I kept waiting for him to try to fuck her. He never did, though. As far as Kida was concerned, Garis was a big puppy. As far as he was concerned, she was a tiny puppy. As far as I was concerned, it was just strange.

Of course, Garis pirated. In the month after the initial attack, we made four big hauls. During maneuvers I got shut up in a room with all the other girls he'd captured, and we all listened to the clash and roar of combat. Those hours were simply the worst. For some reason, I could never convince the other girls a pirate ship is supposed to attack people. They always thought we were about to be brought down by other pirates, or privateers, or something. I never could figure out what. They screamed and cried. Every time the culverins fired, the girls convulsed in an absolute orgy of terror. I took to hoping that the enemy would blow a hole in the very wall they cowered against. I wanted the pleasure of seeing them blown to bits and plummeting to earth beneath me before I fell to my death through the ether.

Me? I was desperate to go on deck and watch. I listened to the thunk and clatter of grapples and felt the lurching we hauled our prey in close, heard the roar of the boarders above as they swarmed over the gunwales. Once, when the enemy ship's hull was pressed right against ours, I felt their drive humming and squealing as they tried to escape. I always waited right by the door and rushed out as soon as Garis opened it. After the first couple of times, Garis took me up on deck and let me see the damage, both to the Marauder and the other ships. I saw the dead crewmen, too. He said I needed to get used to that sort of thing if I was going to be his consort. I told him I'd prefer the real thing to the aftermath.

I got it, too.

After a few weeks, we headed back to dump our haul on Garis' patron and spend some time enjoying ourselves. I planned to steal some money and give Garis the slip. I couldn't let him sell my sisters as slaves. Of course, Menethil was nothing more than a greasy burned spot, so I had no idea where I'd send them. I assured them that someone would take pity on us, we three miserable orphans, but there was nobody to assure me. Day by day, my worry grew.

One night, we awoke to someone pounding on the cabin door. The ship gave a mighty lurch as an explosion shuddered her very beams. The lights dimmed in their gilded antlers. Men screamed and shouted outside. Garis was already out of bed, furs tangled around his legs, reaching for his sword and bellowing in Elvish. Panicked shouting answered him.

Marni had already crawled under the bed, and all I could see of her was one round little heel. "What is it?" I asked, pawing free of the sheets and grabbing hold of the bedpost. The ship lurched hard enough to make my stomach turn over. Garis pulled himself out of his open wardrobe, where he'd fallen, and finished yanking his coat over his shoulders.

"Alliance Navy. Four airships, Dragonfire class six spars, forty-gunners."

I did some quick math. "That's . . . a hundred and sixty guns!"

"Two hundred. The lead ship will have an extra battery where her split deck should be, and new Dragonfires have belly-guns." The ship rocked to another blast. "Aaagh! Those guns!"

My jaw dropped. "But . . . but . . . I thought they was supposed t'fire warnin' shots!"

He crooked his smile at me and thrust a dagger into his belt. "I never do."

I thought of all the slaves below, thought of my sisters. We'd die, all of us, if they just shot us down. They'd never do it. Then I thought of all the other ships we'd taken. No, Garis was worth a few score innocents. He was worth us.

A bevy of pirates burst in and Garis pointed to me and to Marni. "Take them below."

They lay hold of me, dragged Marni out from beneath the bed, and hauled us out the door straight into Hell. It was night, dead night, with only a curled yellow husk of moon to light the decks. Most of the light came from the moon, which seemed to have set the deck aflame. No, the deck was burning, great patches of it splashed with flaming essences from the mortar rounds. From what I'd seen of the other battles, it looked like we were already in trouble. I prayed the fires had not bitten deep enough to negate the spells laid into the wood of the ship.

The sails were flaming and raining down burning scraps of wood and rope and whatnot. As we raced toward the hatch below, a fifteen-pound tackle block trailing the burning remains of a rope swung right past my face and slammed into the pirate holding my arm. He gave a gurgling scream and went right over the rail, nearly taking me with him. As it was, I fetched up against the gunwale and got a good look down. Nothing was below us but black, some black, and a little more black off to one side. Another ship hung opposite us, a positively vast Dragonfire with her six spar-sails pulled tight in and the barrels of her culverins staring out like so many big, fishy eyes. I was about to be broadsided!

With a shriek I grabbed Marni from the pirate who had her, hauled her down the hatch as the guns rained fireballs down on the ship. These were not the puny demi-culverins carried by lighter trade vessels. These were full culverins, firing a glassine ball fully a cubit across that carried enough of a charge to blow a smaller gun up entirely on a square hit. I prayed that whoever had laid the spells on this ship had done it well, because nothing purely natural could withstand a barrage like that, not four times over.

I say four times because there were three other ships, swooping in like demons through the sparking, fire-crawling dark. When they were near enough, they would rain their flaming bolts down on us, or douse us with raw, flaming phoenix-fire from their belly-guns. We'd be goners.

The first volley launched. I threw myself on top of Marni as the ship rocked under the broadside. Flames rained down through the hatch and I rolled us away from them. The smell was terrible, all burning flesh and that acid-metallic stink of alchemical flame. Men screamed, shouted. Garis shouted orders, but I couldn't make out the words. We did not plummet. The drive's hum was sweet and steady. The Marauder fired an answering volley. I felt the thump of the guns' recoil shudder through the very beams of the ship. Marni squirmed because I was squashing her and so I let her up, shoved her toward the room with the other girls. "Go," I said, and she went like a smart girl. For my part, I stumbled up into the inferno, like a half-wit.

I quickly stripped a dead pirate of boots and shirt. With his sword in one hand and his knife in the other I raced up the steps to the poop deck, where Garis wrestled with the wheel. The Marauder was trying to turn, but with no sails and the drive still gaining speed, it was not easy. Grapples caught us, roped us in tight, the Dragonfire pressed to our flank. The side-wind was shuddering against us, but we couldn't turn to fly with it. The grapples held us. Now it was a contest between the crews. Our pirates stood assembled, weapons ready. I had faith in them; but I'd seen navy men at the shipyards, I'd seen the grim, hard-eyed, heartless look in their eyes. Frankly, the navy boys had scared the hogwaller out of me.

"Repel boarders, starboard!" Garis cried, and the sound carried. When the enemy crew rushed over that short, deadly space, we were ready to meet them. Garis turned to bellow at the mate and saw me.

"What you doing, girl? Get below, were you belong!"

"I can fight!" I said. "I don't want to die when they drop us!"

"They won't! This ship is too valuable!"

And I realized as he said it that it was true. Why else were they boarding us? Maybe I should have stayed below. But there was no choice now, for the crews met with the shriek of steel, and the shrieks of men. I could not have crossed the deck again, had I wanted to. They fought over the burning boards, and I stared. The captain hollered orders twice, but I was too enthralled to listen.

With dawning horror I realized that the men the navy sent over were only the first wave. There were three times as many left on their ship, and our men were already wounded and caught by surprise. Resistance lessened every second as our men fell back into a few isolated pockets and the second group of boarders from the Dragonfire leaped across. Garis called his men to order, and the four pirates on the poop deck took their positions.

About six uniformed navy men in their smart blue coats swarmed up the poop steps. I might have been glad to see them, except that the very first one -- the very first one, mind you -- leaped over, his eyes flashing fire and his teeth bared, and tried to put that pretty sword right through my sweetbreads, if you know what I mean. I squawked and beat his sword out of the way with my heavier one, then clipped him in the head on the backswing. He fell back, dazed but not gravely hurt, and another took his place.

Now I was terrified. This one meant to kill me too. Yeah, yeah. I was sooty, and carrying a sword, and snarling, so I guess I can forgive him for mistaking me for a pirate. I followed up his quick slash with a chop to his arm. I hoped he could forgive me for making him a lefty for life. Whichever, he was out of my way, leaving the first one to come at me again, blood streaming down his face and into his eyes.

I felt kind of bad about killing him. I mean, he wasn't a smelly, disgusting pirate or anything, and I'm sure that whatever his intentions, it wasn't personal, but I couldn't just stand there and let him chop me to pieces like a chicken, so I did all I could do. I fought pretty badly actually, but he wasn't doing any better what with his friend's blood making the boards slippery underneath his feet and his own blood trickling into his eyes. He finally slipped to the deck with a thud and I spitted him, thank you very much, and I'm pretty sure he died. And then, it hit me. I was not just fighting for my life, but actually taking pleasure in it. It was a shame I was so bad at it, because I sure liked it.

Miraculously, we'd driven the first wave off the poop deck, but we'd lost two out of our original four men, and the captain had to stay at the wheel so that the moment we were free he could send the ship running for the clouds.

On the main deck, the situation was much the same. Our men were gathering for another attack, trying to push the invaders back. It looked like we might win. I wondered if all fights were like this, with everyone thinking they're going to win, and then going to lose, and then win again, and then lose, and so on, and so on, until everyone's dead, and whoever's left had won, and so they'd been right. I decided the best thing to do was just to fight. There were more coming up the steps, so it's not like I had anywhere else to go.

I took a place beside the other two pirates, who looked genuinely startled to see me, and helped them cut the Navy brutes down. It was easier like that, with a man on either side of me to keep things a little more even, and so I put a man down right away and critically injured another before a third got in and cut me on the arm. By the Phoenix, but it hurt! Now I was angry. I mean, boiling mad.

I lunged out, stabbed someone through the eye, and vaulted down over the poop railing onto the main deck to hit them from behind as they came up the steps. I later learned that acrobatics like that are not at all recommended, but it was all I could think of to do: surround them. Anyway, I found myself surrounded instead, by Navy men in blue, their fierce swords bared, hacking and thrusting and slashing at the mass of pirates before them. This won't do, I thought to myself, and ran my sword through someone's liver. I couldn't get back up to the poop deck from the starboard stairs-- there were men fighting and dead bodies and all that yucky stuff, so I decided to go around the other side. This was where I went wrong. In no time a mass of blue-coated Navy bastards surrounded me, and all of them were trying to cut me down. In the space of three seconds I had three swords aimed at my vitals, a punch aimed at my belly (I had to take that one) and someone actually grabbed my ass, which was insult to injury, let me tell you. Anyway, I fended off the blades as well as I could. Luckily, they fouled one another up. I was still in deep shit, though.

I hollered, then shrieked, and ran one through. He pulled my sword down with him and someone else drove a fist into my kidney, and I fell. One, leering like a pirate, leaned down and grabbed me, and about then is when a four-foot steel broadsword split his skull from crown to teeth. He fell mostly over me, which was totally disgusting. And I saw Garis like some blood-spattered  god swing at a Navy Jack and break his boarding cutlass to flinders before crushing the other man's chest into a bloody ruin.

Well, I was impressed.

Even more impressed when Garis caught another by the collar with his left hand and threw him into a second, then took both their heads off with one mighty swipe, just like that. Twin streams of blood jetted into the air and the bodies slumped against one another as they fell to the deck. Incredible. Someone stuck Garis in the back, but he seemed not to notice, hamstrung one and then brought his blade up into the crotch of another, gutting him. He clove an arm off, and then a leg, and then two hands from one unfortunate bastard, who reeled back into one of the many pools of fire still smoldering on the deck.

I lay there and watched, my eyes growing wider every second. I mean, Garis wasn't a glamorous, graceful fencer, and he wasn't using some terribly clever, frightful weapon, he was just deadly. Horrendous? Uh-huh. Dire? Oh yeah. More came at him. He caught the first by the neck and this time he squeezed until I heard the poor bastard's cartilage crumple like an old tin pail. Garis heaved the twitching corpse at the others and then -- I swear that he did this -- he licked the blood from his sword.

The Navy men backed into one another, then broke and ran. Garis looked down at me, extended one huge hand, and pulled me up. I had just a second to look into his eyes, big wolfish eyes in a blood-splashed face, then the ship lurched and the moment broke apart.

"Hold!" he cried, rounding. "Hold! We have to cut free of that ship!"

Falling bits of rigging rained down like favors at one of those great Marni parades that I'd always heard about. Only the candies and cheap jewelry and flowers and such aren't usually on fire when they get tossed down on the crowd, which isn't usually fighting.

Still, it was exciting and scary and kind of magical in a terrifying sort of way. And perhaps the moment wasn't as broken as I thought. Garis leaned down in the middle of the chaos and kissed me amid the raining debris and swirling sparks. It would've been horribly romantic, if he hadn't tasted like someone else's blood, which he did, and if I'd been in love with him, which I very much was not. Then he strode off to do something heroic, like singlehandedly turn the tide of battle, and I lost sight of him in the clouds of rolling smoke.

I trailed after, but didn't see where he'd gone to, so I found something else to do. I crossed back to the side of the ship with the ropes and grapples, holding my blood-soaked sleeve over my face so I could breathe in all the smoke.

Fighting raged in pockets all over the deck. The enemy was saving their next wave to see if they really needed it. Like the captain had said, if we could just cut loose -- and for some reason I was thinking this would be easy -- we'd be fine. Just kill the enemy left on the decks and go lick our wounds. So I stole through the smoke to the far rail, then crept low, cutting all the ropes I could see. Nobody noticed, so I kept doing it until I got to the boarding bridge. About ten men guarded this end, and a dozen more stood on the other side. The nearest had pikes and swords, and the ones on the other side had crossbows.

One noticed me, and I waved casually, gave him a big smile. He elbowed his friend in the side and pointed me out, and I waved again, which bought me enough time to chop through three more ropes. Then I had their attention -- the undivided, unpleasant kind. About half the men in front lunged for me. My wounded arm complained as I tried to wrench my sword from the rail. It was stuck.

"Shit," I said, and ran like a devil, the navy men in hot pursuit. None of them seemed interested in my obvious charms, probably because said charms were sooty and bloody and only half-visible through the smoke that obscured the deck. No, they were interested in turning me into mincemeat.

I headed for the poop deck, but I got turned around in all the smoke and ended up at the port rail instead, looking over into space. And you can bet your tailfeathers that Garis was too busy to help me this time. He was off hollering near the rear of the ship.

The boys in blue came after me, and it was then that I saw the culverin right beside me. It wasn't pointing toward them, but that didn't matter. It was loaded, because the locks and hatch were down, and the firing mechanism was pulled back. I put my hand on the lever, grinned, and pulled it sharply down. Hey, I couldn't load one, but any fool can fire one. Nobody was manning the ropes, so the recoil sent the thing lurching right back into the middle of my pursuers. The weight of it crushed two like bags of summer apples, and knocked the rest flying into a heap of limbs and swords. I grabbed a fallen blade and cut down two, then ran off as a band of pirates came surging in to deal with the rest.

While I was leaning against the stern castle wall, catching my breath in heaving gasps, I realized that what I'd done -- me, my own silly, stupid, skinny self -- had really made a difference. We'd pulled a bit away from the other ship. Were we going to escape? Ropes groaned and even from here I heard the boarding bridge creaking, and shouting from the enemy ship. Then someone hollered from atop the poop (please don't try that at home).

"Almost free, Captain! Other ships closing, port side! Captain, closing FAST!"

The captain answered from somewhere in the smoking, shrieking melee. "All hands! Jheren Keir!"*

The crew took up the cry.

"Jheren Keir! Jheren Keir!"

I wondered what that was about. Then I saw the Marauder's crew drop flat. And they started making themselves fast to whatever was handy.

Well, when in Stormwind . . .

I hit the deck, and believe me, it was not pleasant just then. It was running with fresh blood and congealing blood and sooty blood and all sorts of other disgusting things I won't describe, but I'm so sure you get the picture. I was even right next to a dead guy, who looked pleasingly like my worst stepbrother, so I grinned at him until he grinned at me and said "hold on," and I realized that he was not dead, only as sooty and bloody as me. I looked around for something to tie myself to, and just happened to look up.

We were all going to die! Above us, one of the other ships -- aah, the flagship, lovely! -- downed its back hatch and its belly guns rolled out, ready to show us why the navy called them Dragonfires. It opened up on the deck with heavy shot. The impact just about shook my teeth loose, and flames went everywhere. I rolled, cringed, all that stuff, and everyone else was doing the same. One of the masts gave with a splintering roar and sheared off into space, trailing fire and pirates and a few stray sailors as well, all caught in the tackle.

The enemy guns rained a direct hit on one of the ammo pits, and the alchemical rounds went up like sky-crackers. Thankfully, the pit was mostly empty, and only blew a chunk out of the port deck, taking four guns with it. Flinders of flaming wood and chunks of metal the size of a cow's head slammed into the deck all around. I just rolled into a tiny ball and pretended not to exist, hoping that whatever killed me did it before I had a chance to notice I'd been brained, or had my legs crushed off, or whatever.

Fire blossomed all around us, and was above us too, in the Aurora, against which the other ships were plainly silhouetted, all turning broadside to us and slowly coming down to blow the decks clear with their belly-chasers.

Then it happened. Jheren Keir, I mean.

The drive cut out. Just like that. No bang, no surge, just -- click. One second, there was that ever-present hum and throb, and the next, it was quiet (except for the moaning, screaming, sizzling, and exploding, I mean). First the Marauder lurched, hanging down at an angle as she strained against the ropes that held us. The Dragonfire lurched too. Ropes snapped, ripping out the starboard gunwale all the way from the poop deck to stern. The grapples that had been shot into the deck tore free along with the boards that held them. Sailors flipped into the sky like hotcakes. Now the enemy ship hung nearly vertical, nose down, and we were listing frightfully to the side, and then there were no ropes at all and we dropped like a stone with nothing below us but dark.

The wind rushed past. Some people screamed for their mothers and some hollered for mercy, and a lot of the Navy men who hadn't known what was coming just went flying off. I whooped and hollered and shouted into the throat of what felt like a storm, with wind trying to pry me up from the very boards, and the deck tilting one way and the other, and the other ships dropping away above us and flames whipping up in the wind nearly as tall as the remains of the mast, and things flying around on the ship like body parts and weapons and other bits of things and people, and the fires went out because there was no air, and my stomach was trying to come out through my chest and my heart trying to leap out my throat, and my eyes were tearing, and I knew we were going to die, but it was such a great ride!

Then the drive kicked in with a sound so horrible I cannot liken it to anything I've heard before or since. It shrieked like a thousand little children all finding out at the same time that their puppies have been drowned. It was horrible. The grinding, lurching sound it made after that was somehow worse, like a half-beating heart, but I felt the lightness in my belly ease, and I had weight again as we slowly came to a stop.

Our crew rolled around, or staggered to their feet. Some went for their posts, some started screaming, some just got up and stared around like bored cats. Most of the Navy men, who'd never been had by the Crazy Jheren before, just lay there and whimpered. No doubt they were wishing for clean pants.

I leaped up and ran to the starboard rail. Below was something that looked like distant, forested hills until I realized that if they were that distant I wouldn't have been able to see them in the dark. No, they were nearby treetops, limned by the Aurora's light. I heard a thump and a snap as one of them scraped the hull and then broke off. I smelled leaves and sap. Fifty feet? Forty?

"Look," I said, brilliantly. "Trees."

The drive still ground and dragged, and about every thirty seconds it would give this little hitch, and the whole ship sort of lurched in one direction or other. Usually down. The first time, the man next to me lost his dinner noisily, and I felt close to doing the same.

I thumped down onto an empty patch of deck and wondered what spring would be like with seven children and a farm of my own. Adventure suddenly looked like a lot of damn work.

The ship lowered itself into the trees like a wounded thing dragging itself to cover, while the remaining pirates herded the navy men into a group and tied up the officers. Nobody resisted, so I didn't think the pirates needed my help. I felt like I'd done enough, anyway.

Then the captain strode past, all bloody and manly, which was great if you were into that sort of thing. For lack of anything better to do, I got up and followed him. He thumped me on the shoulder casually. "Well done," he said, and gave me a nod that made me feel fierce and proud even as it made it hard for me to breathe. Here I was, a pig-farmer's daughter, standing next to a for-real pirate captain. And he'd just told me I'd done a good job!

There was a tooth in his hair, and I looked for a chance to pick it out without anyone noticing. I mean, it just bothered me, you know?

Garis hollered for his men. "Where is that engineer? Lieutenant Zane!"

A sooty, bloody pirate staggered over with a messy salute. I assumed this was the engineer, but I was wrong. "Dead, sir. Was just in the drive room. We lost him. The drive . . . uhh . . . it cooked him, sir."

The ship jumped twice before Garis spoke again. "Shit."

Which summed it up nicely.

Well, there was a second engineer and even a third one, but the second was unconscious with the imprint of a tackle-hook in his skull, and the third had lost a hand and one eye. I started to realize how close we'd come to being dead, even before we plummeted.

The third engineer was still standing, though, and Garis had him brought over. "Can you fix the drive?" the captain asked.

"Fix it?"

"FIX IT!" Garis bellowed in the man’s face

The third engineer stood up straighter. "Aah! Umm. Well. Well, Captain, with the parts we got from the shipyards, it's possible, but I can't do it myself." I could tell the poor lad was trying really hard not to lose his composure, and I respected him for that. I mean, if I'd lost a hand and an eye, I'd probably be way more concerned about screaming or passing out. "So, if you can just find some men to take my orders I can--" and he fainted dead away.

"Take him," the captain said. "We need him. We can't do anything without fixing that drive first, and they'll be down on us in a minute."

The captain and a few others went down to the drive room, while two men tried to rouse the third engineer.

I bound my wounded arm, which was painful and bloody, but didn't need stitches, then went down and checked on my sister and the other girls. They were all fine -- shaken badly, but fine. None wanted to leave the cabin, which was just as well. I wandered onto the deck again. The third engineer didn't look like he'd be coming around. Someone -- the gunner's mate, I think -- made me volunteer to take the captain the bad news. Nobody else wanted the job.

So I went down to the drive room, which is in the same place on virtually every ship made, from the cute little Kestrels to the hulking Dragonfires, which we had just seen up close and personal. The captain was there, and two other men, and the most pathetic-looking drive I'd ever seen.

I'd worked in a shipyard and I knew drives, but even the most ignorant fool could see that the damage was severe. The drive's central ring looked warped, as though from heat. It was barely moving. Our speed would be shot, then. The rings controlling horizontal and vertical thrust spun too fast and erratically, as though they might fly apart at any moment. The whirling projections that controlled list and balance wobbled loosely in their settings. The power sphere, a ball of alchemically-treated alloys, sat in the middle of the whirling rings. It was supposed to look like a ball of brilliant blue-white or gold-white light, not a red-hot chocolate that had been pinched by a nasty child. The heat from it parched my face as soon as I came into the room.

In other words, the drive was toast. And yes, it had cooked the engineer in his seat on the other side of the room, and that power surge when the drive kicked back in was probably what had warped the drive as well. I knew it, the captain knew it, and the men with him knew it, which is why they were standing out of arm's reach. Garis saw me.

"You! Whaht are you doing down here?"

"Your third engineer isn't good for chickenshit right now, so we got to think of something else." Might as well get it all out in the open.

He snarled and slammed his fist into the wall hard enough that I heard the whirring of the drive waver. Gods, was it that close?

"Listen up!" I shouted, scaring myself. "After what you've done to this here ship, I'm damn surprised the poor little turkey didn't just fly apart around our ears! These drives won't take that sort of strain. Now I've watched these things put together, I know how to take them apart. But I'll need help, and I hope you got the parts, because if you don't, this thing is shot."

"How far can we get?"

I jabbed a finger at the ghoulishly laboring remains of the drive. "If this thing goes up we're all dead. It could go up any minute. Do you get that? We got to shut it down. Off. Completely. Replace the parts, and then start her up slow."

He frowned. "We can't stop now."

"Yes. We can. And We will. I will not help you if you do not shut it down this second."

He opened his mouth to speak and I stomped my foot.

"No! That man over there --" I pointed to the fricasseed engineer. "That man gave his life to save us. He sat here and he pulled that lever, knowin' it would kill him. And I ain't gonna let you make a mockery of him, or this once-fine ship, because you's a stubborn horse's ass who don't know when five minutes of rest is better than three days of runnin'. Got it?"

The other men had left. I don't blame them. Gods. I'd just yelled at a merciless, bloodthirsty, throat-slitting pirate lord.

He regarded me steadily, and I realized with a shock that he was looking at me with . . . respect. That had never happened before. "Fine. Shut it down."

"You do it." I didn't want to get any closer to the crispy Lieutenant Zane.

Garis walked over and pulled some levers and I felt the ship lower steadily until there was a loud thud and, of all things, I felt the slow, easy rocking of water beneath us. The captain had brought us down over a river. Only natural, since I assume we'd been following one to get us where we needed to go. Then Garis pulled another lever and the drive shut off, and the heat quit baking me, and the mangled ball settled back onto its melted stand and fused there into one solid lump.

"We have one hour before the ship takes in too much water and floods this chamber. Hurry."

"Hey," I said as he turned to leave. He looked over his shoulder at me, those hazel eyes just this side of murderous. Well, he'd had a bad night. "Jheren Keir?" I asked.

He laughed, showing his dimple again. "You don't know? Old pirate trick he invented. Jheren Keir is when your ship goes down like a little elf boy." And with that, and a rich chuckle, he left me. I groaned. Great. A sense of humor, too. What more could I want in a man?

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I got assistants, and ordered them to drag out all the parts that looked damaged. All three rings went, and the ball and the stand, which the crew dragged out with chains since they were too hot to touch. As they cursed and scorched themselves, I hunted up the replacement parts.

Apparently Garis had attacked the shipyard -- my shipyard -- specifically to steal three new drives, still in the boxes, which took up half of one hold. It took half an hour to find the right parts alone, but I did find them, only to discover that the chicken-witted looters had stolen three drives, but not a single instruction manual. So we had tools, but no knowledge. How typically male.

Garis found the installation diagrams for the old drive, which promised to be useful, and I set to cracking the whip. Set this here, bolt this there, replace those boards. Hustle! As they flashed me sullen looks, I bit back all my uncertainty and doubt. They were only barely following my orders as it was. Especially after I knocked a pair of them flat when they told me that nobody reads instructions. Probably because they couldn't read. I didn't tell anyone that I couldn't read either. I didn't think it would increase their confidence in their new engineer to know I was just looking at the pictures.

The new drive was for a much larger ship, but it was all we had, so I had to think of a way to keep the extra power from burning out a power system designed for a much smaller drive. We strung one of the main power connections with light cabling that would melt if it got too hot, breaking the connection and shutting the forward momentum off completely, leaving us with altitude only. This loss of power would keep the drive from overheating, and let us know when we were pushing it. Whoever was in the room -- and it wasn't going to be me -- would just have to replace the connection by hand, then start us moving again. I thought it was a good plan, so long as it worked.

"The question ain't if it'll blow the connection," I told Garis. "It's when. I don't know how fast you can take her, or for how long. So I suggest getting someone down there to watch that cable, and replace it the minute it gives out. And I suggest the rest of you pray really hard, because if I'm wrong, this will kill every one of us."

He nodded. It can't have been a good feeling, having me as your only chance. I threw the switch. The drive hummed, burst into scintillating blue light, and the inner ring began to swivel. I felt us lift clear of the water. I grinned stupidly for a moment before Garis caught me in his arms and squeezed until I felt my ribs creak. "It works!" he cried. "You fixed my ship!"

"Yeah. Fixed. Great. I. Can't. Breathe."

He set me down. "Now v\we outrun the bastards, yah? Show them a good chase." He laughed and thumped me so hard I almost spit out my tongue.

"Just . . . no Jherens this time, okay?"

"Of course. How can I reward you for this? You say it, little hawk, I do it for you, this one time."

Oh, gods, here it was. The brass ring. I could buy freedom for my sisters, for all of us. But I didn't want to leave the ship. Gods, I liked it here. And where would I send them? Home? That wretched hole unfit to house the world's collection of buzzard pellets? Where would we go? I didn't know anywhere besides Menethil. I had to stay with my sisters, had to take care of them. Our mama was dead and our daddy never really loved us, so I was used to despair, but suddenly I felt as alone as all the world's orphans put together.

I burst into tears.

Garis' thick, dark brows drew together over his disgustingly stern nose, and his scar deepened in a frown. "What is it, kitten? You tell me, I'll fix it, like you fixed my ship!"

I sobbed harder, and Garis picked me up, carried me into the cabin and left me there. I thought he'd just gotten sick of my bawling, but he came back in after a few minutes with some food and some wine. I saw that he'd brought me a bag full of gold-wrapped sweets, too, and I started crying again.

He sat and petted me, that hulking brute, as tenderly as anyone had ever touched me before. "Now will you tell me what is wrong?"

I sniffled and bit my lip, sure that I looked a fright. I wanted a bath. I looked up at him bravely, stuck my chin out. "Don't sell my sisters as slaves. You can keep me, but don't sell them."

"No, no no. I give you freedom. All of you. You and your sweet sisters. You just tell me, I will take you anywhere. Anywhere at all. After I get the ship fixed up, of course, and see my patron."

I shook my head. "We got nowhere to go."

"Aah," he said, nodding. "I am sorry, little hawk."

I made myself say it. "So unless you can help us -- I mean, really help us, like, get us set up somewhere -- somewhere that ain't Menethil -- we's all pretty much stuck with you."

He shrugged. "Then stay. You are welcome on the ship as a guest, always."

"This ain't any place for us. Maybe . . . maybe I could learn to like it but . . . ." I was leaking again, all over my shirt. "Kida's just a little girl, and she wants to be a singer now. And Marni . . . Marni ain't gonna last here. Not another month. She's tough, we's all tough, but this life just ain't right for her. She needs room, and sunshine, and grass, and good food, and friends."

"Aren't we friends?"

Oh, that damn smile was killing me! I shook my head. "I don't know. We need help, Garis. So unless you can give us a free ride, I guess we're your . . . pets. Even though I fixed your sheep."

He was quiet for a long time, a really long time. After a while, he got up and paced around the cabin. I picked desultorily at my food, unwrapped one of the sweets and ate it. It was caramel and buttercream, and the inside was the same color as his skin, and, oh, I was in love with him. I had to get out of here. Fast. I simply could not go on. Not when this whole thing was turning my brain to sanding paste. In love with a pirate? What would come next? Maybe our acts of piracy would be declared heroic, and we could all live happily ever after on the reward money from the King.

"Or you could just drop us off at the next village. We'll be all right." To my disappointment, the caramel didn't stick my jaws shut.

Garis stroked his chin, spoke thoughtfully and slow. "My mother always said that no one gets a free ride. She was a whore, so it was true, but it was also true, a bigger kind of true. You understand?"

I nodded.

"Life is hard. I am not going to give you a free ride. What you did, that is worth your freedom, and your sisters' too. I will give you that, take you where you want to go. I will not pay to put you up somewhere, pay for your sister’s upbringing, their clothes, their schooling. I will not replace your parents, or that shithole town you come from. I may be dead tomorrow, or in a month, or in a year. And right now, it will cost all I have to repair and re-crew my ship. I will promise you noting, because I would not be able to keep it. Do you understand?"

I nodded again.

He came over and stood in front of me, pulled my chin up so I was looking at him. "But I am not cruel. I will give you a chance. I will make you an offer. Now listen."

I swallowed.

"You are right. This is no place for you. You will need much learning before you are a pirate, and I cannot give it. But I will send you to a man in Azeroth who will train you as a warrior. I will give you enough money to live well -- very well -- for a couple months, to buy some things, find a place to stay, all of that. And you will have to do everything else, because pirates do not make promises."

My heart was in my throat, squeezing more tears out of my eyes. "But when I'm good enough, you'll take me on as a pirate?"

He nodded solemnly. "That I can promise. When you are good enough, if I am still alive, I will make you chief wench-at-arms." He smiled on his dimpled side and I felt positively sick. I was leaving him, leaving home, leaving the ship, and going straight into the Big Nothing. I mean, this was worse than death. Death you don't have to live with.

He pulled me over and petted my shoulders, and I kissed him. It was . . . nice. I smiled. "I want a bath, pirate, and then I'll show you what a wench-at-arms is good for."

"And I'll show you something else Jheren Keir invented."

And that's what we did.

After, as I lay there, snuggled against his broad chest, walking my fingers over his scars, I looked up at him suddenly. "You aren't sorry, are you? For what you did."

"Sorry? Hah! For what?"

"Sorry about kidnapping us, and being ready to sell us as slaves."

He shrugged, folded my little hand in his much larger one. "Pirates do not apologize, kitten. I am never sorry for what I do. And you should not be sorry."

And from that day to this, I have tried not to be. I think that Garis, wherever he is, would be proud.

*****

We parted at Booty Bay, on the southern tip of the Eastern Kingdom. He put Kida and Marni and I on a great trade barge going north, along with a chunk of goods that the captain, was to fence for him in Stormwind.

Garis gave me a purse full of money -- more money than I'd ever seen in one place before, or had even thought I would. "Don't let anyone see that, or you end up feeding eels. And take these."

I took the envelope he offered. It looked so official, sealed with wax and ribbons. "Take this to Old Town in Stormwind. There is a two-story building there with a sword on a sign outside. Ask for the sword master and give him this letter. Everything is explained inside."

I committed the words to memory.

"Captain Jadek will make sure you find someone to take you where you want to go. Your new master will help you find a place to stay."

"I'm scared."

He nodded. "It is scary. But you will be fine, little hawk. You are very brave. Now. Take this, for you." And he pulled out a choker of loosely-woven gold wire and liquid, shimmering sapphires. It was a princess' ransom, and looked it. "I will miss you, little hawk." I held it in my hands, gawping, for nearly a minute before I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth, with my sisters looking and everything. His rough cheek brushed mine, and he gave me a quick, hard squeeze before pushing me away.

"Go now. I have things to do, and zey do not involve little kittens."

*****

Now, you live in Stormwind, so you take it for granted, and you laugh at the country boys and girls who come here and gawk, but if you'd ever been anywhere else in your miserable life you'd know just how wonderful this place is, and you'd never again laugh at those of us who appreciate it. For, frightful as the crowds, the noise, and the smells were, it was all thrilling. We sat in the cab, jouncing back and forth over the paving stones, staring like baby starlings. It was something. Even the lowest, most rat-gnawed buildings in town outstripped the ones in Menethil, and the people flowing through the streets represented every class and caste imaginable, and some that weren't.

"Look!" Marni crowed. "Guards!" And there, walking down the street, were a pair of men in blue tabards, swords at their sides, boots polished bright, with the insignia of the Alliance on their shoulders. For a moment I didn't recognize it. I'd only heard about them, after all. Both were handsome and young and very serious. One had chains hanging from his right shoulder, and I wondered what that meant. And then we were past them, moving down a broad, tree-lined avenue. The driver narrated for us, pointing out this god's temple and that baron's summer home, but I think we only caught about a quarter of it.

I thought I was going to die of excitement. We rumbled through street after street, and saw so many things that I cannot possibly describe them all, though I still remember them as vividly as I remember yesterday. That ride marked our entry into our new lives.

Finally we left the trade quarter. Here the buildings looked like nasty little children had been playing roughly with them, jumbled-up and lopsided. The streets narrowed, and we passed bars and taverns and brothels. People hollered at us, and hooted, and some made obscene gestures and offers that I wouldn't have understood if not for that month with the pirates.

We finally had to abandon the cab, because the street ended about a block ahead at a broken bridge. "Just cross and you'll find the place," the driver said. "On the right. Can't miss it."

We climbed down and just looked around for a minute or so.

The buildings slouched so much that their upper stories leaned over the street, supported by rough beams. Most of the windows on the ground floors were boarded up or papered over with tarpaper, and there were no plants. The paving stones, where filth permitted us to see them, had all buckled, and were actually torn up in places. I felt a twinge of anger at Garis. This was not what I'd had in mind. Then again, he was a pirate, and I was only a stupid country girl. What did I expect?

"Let's find this place," I said. We passed three taverns in quick succession, each nastier than the last, and even at this sunny hour, hollering and crashing and laughing echoed from within. Some itchy little man with thick fingers tried to convince us that he had a room to let, but he left me alone when I punched him in the face.

We reached the edge of the bridge, which was choked with foot traffic. Apparently it was market day on the other side. The bridge itself was a nightmare. Boards stretched from pylon to crumbling pylon. Below, oily-looking water slunk along, on its way to the river. I'm sure that you, a lifelong resident of Our Fair City, do not need its odor described to you.

"There!" Marni cried. "I see it!" She pointed excitedly across the water, to an ugly crate of a building that stuck out farther than the rest. A sign in the shape of a sword hung down into the street, thumping the occasional passerby. Our goal in sight, I suddenly felt much better.

Across we went, one step at a time, boards bending beneath our feet. I tried not to look down, even though a month on the pirate ship had cured my fear of heights, and a month on the river had cured my fear of water. It was still not any fun. Especially with people coming the other way carrying all kinds of things that should have been on carts, like sacks of grain, bundles of sticks, four cats in a basket, and, once, someone rolling a gigantic keg of ale across the groaning boards. We stayed out of the way as well as we could, but progress was slow.

A commotion started on the other side of the bridge. Between the bodies in front of me, I caught a glimpse of two young bravos shoving their way toward us, against traffic. Dark of hair and eye, they were a matched set, handsome like animals. That was how they acted, too, like gleefully misbehaving dogs as they pushed people out of the way. The man with the cats fell into the filth-sheened water, and the pair laughed at his misfortune.

Behind them came a third, a tall youth with the hard, dark eyes and upright stance of a hungry bird of prey. Chestnut hair fell just below his shoulders. His pretty mouth was fixed in a scowl just a hair too hard and unfriendly to be a pout. His clothes were plain, but they didn't fool me. He glared at everyone as they passed, nobody escaped his disdain. And now that I got a clearer look, all three carried plain swords at their sides. Here was a young nobleman out to make trouble on a summer afternoon.

They crossed onto the bridge with the pair of brothers leading, hopping from board to board and laughing as they pushed people and things out of the way. The slumming young nobleman followed, looking bored but tolerant, like someone waiting for his dog to finish peeing on the neighbor's gatepost.

That changed when they came opposite us.

"Well, what's that?" said the older of the two brothers with a fierce grin. "Look there, Tel, it's a strawberry tart!"

"Oh, I'd take a bite of that!" The second, presumably Tel, hopped across, from one set of boards to the next, casually elbowing some old woman out of the way. He was standing in front of me, now. With my arms full of bags, I couldn't reach the pirate's saber Garis had given me.

"What do you say, Little Bit, like to come with us?"

"Fancy a spot of copper for your pocket?" the other asked.

Their keeper, the disdainful young falcon, caught sight of me and did a double-take. His scowl deepened. "I want that one. You two keep your hands off."

The man in front of me rolled his eyes, but still stepped back. "Oh, well, Eld, anything you say."

Eld elbowed his way up, looked me up and down as though appraising a horse for the block. He had just enough stubble on his chin to make him look appealingly dirty, as though he'd spent a night outside. He smelled of some expensive cologne, though, so I knew that it was all fake. Talk about spoiling the mood.

"Come on, then," he said.

"Excuse me?" I replied.

"Come with me. I've got a room." He sounded exasperated.

"No," I said, and tried to brush past them.

The larger of his two friends grabbed for me. "You haven't got a choice." He lay hold of my arm, and I dropped the bags. One fell onto the boards but the other tumbled into the water below. Furious, I shrugged him off and slapped his arm away.

Eld spoke to his friend. "This little whore thinks she's too good for us. Now I definitely want her. Bring her along."

I glared at him and lay my hand on my sword, which I could reach now. The bridge was clear. People can smell a fight a mile off. "I ain't a whore, so you'd better find yourself someone else, Handsome, before I make sure you look a lot more like that pig that obviously dicked your mama."

His jaw dropped for a moment and then his eyes widened. I saw him weigh it in his mind -- would it be more ignoble to take the insult, or punish me for giving it? I'd been in enough bars to be able to read the answer in his eyes. He was noble-born, but his friends weren't. So he thought he was too good to fight me, did he? He'd opened his mouth to give his accomplices the order to beat me and leave me in the gutter, but I interrupted by stepping closer to him, practically nose-to-nose. If he wanted to make it personal, it'd be personal.

"Are you gonna fight or am I gonna have to insult you some more, you cow-hocked son of a bowlegged, buggering drunk?" Not the smartest thing to say, but I couldn't control it. Noble or not, he had no right to accost me like that.

He put his hand on his sword, but couldn't draw it -- I was too close. When he stepped back, I smashed my knuckles right into his face. It hurt but he fell back with a squawk, leaving me with only the other two. Marni and Kida had retrieved the one bag and scrambled back to the edge, leaving me to fight alone on the bridge. I'd had barnyard fights before in plenty, and I'd killed pirates and navy men. I was not scared of this perfumed fruitcake and his trained mules.

I drew my saber, they drew their fencing blades, and when the first lunged, I just leaned out of the way and let him strike past me. They were assuming I didn't know a thing, and I didn't, but it didn't make their attacks any less obvious. I slashed at him, missed, and then the other was on me, pressing hard. I fell back to avoid having to parry both of them. Eld had straightened, blood running from his nose and lip, and he looked murderous. Oh, yes, I was in it now.

They were still too much for me, all together like that. I had to even the odds, fast. I backed up until I felt solid stone beneath my feet and knew that I stood over one of the pylons. Then, parrying and ducking frantically, I kicked the board in front of me so that it tipped under their weight. One of the brothers tumbled into the water below with a sharp cry and a loud splash. The second hopped to the other board and while he was still recovering his balance I slashed him across the chest and shoulder, sending him into the drink (not that you'd want to).

I came up just in time to see Eld's sword darting for my liver. I hacked his sword out of the air three times, praying that I would win and not end up at this smug bastard's mercy. I was pretty sure he didn't have any.

The crowd was pressing behind me, trying to cross again, so I had to keep advancing. It was hair-raising work with Eld in front of me. I ended up crowding him against the throng at the end of the bridge. Respecting his blade, the crowd melted behind him, and I cringed. As soon as we were free to circle and he had more room, he'd have me. I had to hold here, or find a way past him.

I heard clucking behind me, glanced back with half an eye and saw a stooped old man carrying a wicker coop full of hens. I thrust my fingers through the wicker, yanked the light cage up and smacked Eld with it just as he executed a gorgeous thrust that put the end of his blade through my upper right arm. The cage cracked open and chickens fluttered out. Several of the gallant birds chose that moment to relieve themselves copiously on the young Hawk's expensively nondescript clothing.

I darted past him, giving him a good thump in the ribs on general principle, and he came after me, chickens scattering around him and the chicken-man hollering after us in hoarse fury. Eld's two friends were still hauling themselves out of the water with oaths almost as foul as the slime that covered them, but it wouldn't take them long to sort it out.

The houses here leaned so far over the market street they almost formed a tunnel. I zigzagged down it, skidding in the filth that gave the street its unique bouquet. Eld came after me like fury unchained. My right arm felt weak now. I hoped my sisters had found someplace safe to hide.

I upended crates as I went, and Eld slid on a raft of ruined fruit and fish guts. He kept coming, though, dodged support beams and crates, knocked people flying in his haste. I ducked in front of a team of mules and Eld jumped over the back of the wagon, right into the line of half-grown pigs trotting along the other side. The rope tangled his legs and he fell, then came up again and charged like old farmer Rebbis' bull.

I ducked into the gloom of an alley. The filth here was deeper, and the smell genuinely foul, so it was with dismay that I halted at the dampish, smeared wall that blocked the alley off from more civilized parts of town. I jumped up to try and catch the top of it, but the masonry crumbled, spilling me to the ground in a rain of dirt, plaster, and moldering bricks. I spluttered and coughed, trying to right myself in the muck when a sword's point gently lifted my chin.

I looked up at Eld, still bloody, and now filthy and sweating to boot.

"I'll take this from your hide, peasant." He looked so pleased, too. "And from the hide of whatever fool would allow a worthless, no-account tramp to carry a blade."

Worthless, was I? I spat on his sword.

He drew back as though to strike me with the flat of his blade, but before you could say crack, his sword leaped from his hand and went spinning off into a particularly icky puddle of filth. Fresh blood ran from a new cut on his hand.

Both of us jerked and looked over to see who had done it.

A tall man stood in a doorway that I'd thought boarded closed, the sword in his gloved fist aimed right at Eld's neck-cloth. I couldn't see much of his face under his wide-brimmed hat, but I heard a smile in his voice.

"What's this on my doorstep, eh?"

Both of us were too startled to reply. The man turned to face me, the feathers on his hat bobbing.

"You all right, girlie?"

"That girl--" Eld began, sneering, but the other man interrupted him.

"Shut up, you limp little sack of ladies' laundry. Get your scabby ass out of my alley before I poke another hole in it!"

This shut him up long enough for me to scramble to my feet. I was about to thank my benefactor when Eld broke in again.

"Good Master, this . . . this varlet has insulted my honor."

"Hah. Eldarron Reslavan, is that you? Didn't know you under all that filth."

"Yes, Master, I --"

Before he could speak again, the old man's sword had licked out and drawn three quick lines over the other's face -- one down each cheek, and one right down the bridge of his beautiful nose.

"That's for picking fights in my neighborhood, when I've told you not to. Now get out of here and get those healed before you get infected, you ungrateful little crotch-yanker! You're a disgrace to the honor of your family."

"Coming from you, outcast, that's saying something." Eld's words dripped pure venom. "The House will hear about this."

"Yes," the old man said. "I think they will."

Eld was shaking with fury, now. "I'll have you st--"

"Aah, shit backwards, you ape! Now get out before I decorate you again!" Eld got a sharp slap across the face with that willow-limber sword. He staggered back, then drew himself up, claimed his sword, and stalked off without a word. He did give me a lingering glare, though, for which I decided that I hated him. (I mean, otherwise, he might've been okay -- it'd been a great fight, after all.)

"Now," came the rough voice. "What in the name of the grand duke's should I do with you?"

"Umm," I said, and "uhh."

The sword disappeared. "What're you doing fighting with your betters, girl?"

"He ain't my better!" I exploded, suddenly forgetting my embarrassment.

The other laughed. "That explains why he beat you, then, doesn't it? You really shouldn't be carrying that thing around if you can't use it. Now. Kindly get out of my alley, unless you have some business at this academy."

Before he could disappear, or hit me with that sword of his, I fumbled in my shirt for the letters Garis had given me.

"Well, Sir, I was just lookin' for . . . umm . . . I don't know his name, but he's a swordmaster. I got a letter here, from Garis the Dire."

The man tipped his hat back, revealing a face that, like an old sword, showed its years but promised sharpness. Not an unkind face, but not friendly either. He glared at me with interest. "Garis the Dire, eh?"

I nodded, then looked at the letter and felt my heart turn upside-down. The old man pushed the door open so that a ray of lamplight from within lit the alley, then perused Garis' dense, small writing.

"Hmm. Well. Let's see. You must have made quite an impression on that old stoat." He burst out laughing.

"What did it say?" I asked curiously.

He handed me the letter and I stared blankly at it, feeling my cheeks color.

"I can't read, Sir."

"Huh. Well. If you want to train with me, you'd better learn, hadn't you?"

"Right," I agreed, though I couldn't for the life of me see what reading had to do with swordplay. I handed him the other letter, which he read silently. Finally he folded it up with a sigh and shook his head.

"Bloodthirsty little whelp's gone soft. Had to happen sooner or later, I suppose," he murmured, then stuck out his hand. I shook it. "Jeddamir de Vainor, ex-noble and equally ex-pirate. And you are?"

"Jessamine. Or just Essa."

He executed a very charming bow-and-sweep with the hat, then, thankfully, clasped it behind his back.

"Pleasure. Now, out of that alley, you wretched little bird. You want a bath, and then we'll bind up that wound. After that, I suppose we'll see if you're worth my time." He poked the hat at my chest and I stumbled back a step. "But if you think I'm going easy on you, Garis or no Garis, you're dead wrong. Now get in." He grabbed me and shoved me up the steps.

To my surprise, my sisters were already inside, lunching in a large, clean kitchen hung with savory herbs and strings of purple onions. Everything was clean, even though there were not two parallel lines or a single right angle in the place. The floor had a distinct tilt. I smelled green peppers and frying ham and realized that Marni must've been cooking. Master Jed smiled the smile of a man twenty years younger

"These scrawny urchins already told me most of the story, anyway. You're lucky they're so charming." Kida and Marni waved. He set down his hat and flicked an imaginary piece of lint off the purple velvet brim, then dragged me into the hall.

As we walked, I looked him over. I couldn't tell how old he was, but he must have been over sixty. His hair was that iron grey but, he was still handsome, would have been very handsome long ago, with his fussily groomed grey whiskers and sharp smile. His skin was darkish and rough from sun, and his hands were scarred. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him. Watching him walk, I decided I did not ever want to fight with this man. In shadow, he didn't seem older than forty, which said frightening things about his skill.

"That boy I --"

"Lost to? Eldarron. Ex-student, no-good scum gambler. I kicked him out for fighting."

"For fighting. Y'mean students ain't supposed to --"

"No. No fighting until you're ready."

My jaw dropped. "When's that?"

"At least a year, my dippy ducky, so keep your panties on."

"But I gotta beat him! You gotta teach me. The other letter must've said . . . I can fight, you know! I'm not scared." Hadn't he seen the duel? Well, I suppose duel would be granting it a dignity it hadn't possessed.

He snorted in disgust. "You're going to train, like it or not. And if you have any energy left at the end of the day, you sure aren't going to be fighting it off."

I drew myself up and stuck my jaw out, glared at him. "You’re gonna make me sleep with you?"

He grinned, and I got the distinct feeling he wanted to laugh. "You're a student. It's bad form. You can do my laundry." He said it with great satisfaction. I took a long look at his clothes, trimmed with lace, beads, and the like. Worth more than the building we were in, most likely.

I heaved a sigh. It was better than pig-farming, better than sanding endless rows of boards, and better than lying around a pirate cabin all day. Even if I did miss Garis.

Feeling a little reassured, I bathed and he bound my wound with skill and surprising tenderness. For all his bark, he showed little in the way of lecherous bite. No, when the excitement of the day caught up with me between one mouthful and another, and I could suddenly no longer sit up straight, he showed me to a spare room with a small but clean little pallet and left me to rest undisturbed.

The next morning, despite my wounded arm, he still made me pass blades with him before he let me eat. He beat me around his practice ring four times, smacking me with a light cane sword, while I struggled with the thick-bladed wooden one he'd stuck me with. Did it have lead in the core?

"It's not fair!" I cried. "This is heavier than a real- oww!"

"So's a real one, when you've been fighting for fifteen minutes. Bring that blade up or I'll do this again!"

"Aah! But I'm not strong enough!"

"The Hell you aren't! Elbow in. Come on, move! Don't let me pin you down! Fight back!"

Everything I did, I did wrong, and ended up so sore that it would've been easier to count places that I didn't hurt.

"Well," he said, after I'd collapsed, panting. "Still want to fight?" He wasn't even breathing hard.

"I'll -- kick your ass -- when I -- catch my breath --" I gasped, struggling to rise. "I think -- I've figured this out. Just -- one more -- time."

"Hah! Maybe you aren't hopeless. Now. Go on and eat, you scrawny little mink. We practice again after breakfast. I have business to attend to." He knocked my sword from my hands and nudged me with his toe, then chuckled and walked out. He put his hat back on as he left. I decided I never wanted to see the bird that had donated those feathers. I heard him laughing in the hall. Bastard. He was enjoying this. I tried to get up and fell back onto the floor. I could hear that little prick Eld laughing at me in my mind, could see his mocking stare. I was on the road to vengeance, to piracy, to being all I'd ever wanted to be.

 

[Melrouphos]

Not done reading yet, but great story so far!

Mel

[Morty Blackfizz]

            His turbo-charged flying machine landed with a jolt at the summit of one of the many mountaintops in Dun Morogh. When he stepped out of his helicopter the snow crunched beneath his boots, and he made his way towards the edge of the cliff overlooking the mountain town Kharanos. As the sun quietly slid behind the mountains to the west, tiny orange squares illuminated the buildings below, cutting through the darkness like a dull knife. The gnome who was now using the alias Maxwell Darkwobble for the purpose of his current mission narrowed his eyes, remembering the first time he set foot in Kharanos so many years before, as a different person entirely. An unforgiving gust of wind from the south blew his pink beard over his left shoulder and he wrapped his short arms around his small frame, allowing himself a shiver.

            It had been a long time since the tiny engineer made his way through this part of the world, and he had never before gazed upon the valley as Maxwell Darkwobble. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly that urged him to land his chopper on his way to the wetlands, but nonetheless decided to make camp for the night. He supposed a part of him hoped that returning to this land, feeling the brisk air, and inhaling the sweet scent of swiftthistle would bring comfort and clarity. Instead, however, he was surprised that he felt disconnected from the land that he once called home.

            As Max gazed upon the valley from the mountaintop, he chewed on his lip as he often did, and winced when yet another harsh gust of wind caused him to accidentally bite down too hard. He rolled his eyes as the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, and turned his head to spit, painting the argent ground beneath him a brilliant red. He turned around and strode back to his chopper to retrieve his pack. After slinging his pack over his shoulder, Max hastily walked to the other side of his machine and grabbed his last few pieces of firewood from helicopter’s toolbox. Amused by his decision to make camp on top of the blustery mountain peak, the gnome chuckled to himself as the wind picked up again just as he was attempting to give his campfire its life. For someone who normally meticulously planned out his every move, this decision entertained him.

            Max spread his fur blanket out beside the fire and extracted a small leather-bound journal from his pack. The journal became skinnier after each one of the gnome’s missions and the binding was beginning to break as a result. Inside, the pages that remained were torn and flimsy due to the gnome’s obsessive study habits, but it was here that he wrote down his objectives for each mission. The reason behind this particular assignment was unlike the majority of the assignments he usually found himself completing. His contact was a large worgen warlock who called himself Grimsbane, with whom Maxwell shared a working relationship for quite some time. Normally, the assignments presented to Max by Grimsbane had something to do with somebody not repaying a debt, or stealing from the wrong person, or something along those lines, and Max would agree to complete them; a job was a job and gold was gold. This time, however, things were a different. Grimsbane had contacted Maxwell to retrieve an item that had been stolen from him personally, an hourglass of great importance. To Maxwell, it seemed like a silly assignment, but he and the worgen had worked well together, so Max considered this task to be more along the lines of doing the Gilnean a favor than an actual mission. All he needed to do was find Grimsbane’s hourglass, pack it up for safe return, and make sure the thief would never steal anything again. It was simple enough, and Maxwell was more than happy to do it.

Max eyed the pages of his journal up and down, hardly reading what was written, for he had all of the information memorized by this point. As he flicked the page back and forth, Max cited over and over again, “Melram Redbrand. Sundown Marsh. Swiftgear Station. 22.8, 27.6. Retrieve hourglass. Neutralize. Melram Redbrand. Sundown Marsh. Swiftgear Station. 22.8, 27.6. Retrieve hourglass. Neutralize. Melram Redbrand. Sundown Marsh. Swiftgear Station. 22.8, 27.6. Retrieve hourglass. Neutralize. Melram Redbrand. Sundown Marsh. Swiftgear Station. 22.8, 27.6. Retrieve hourglass. Neutralize. Neutralize. Neutralize. Neutralize.” Max began to laugh with excitement and he quickly tore the page out of his journal before lighting one corner on fire. He slowly raised the flame to his mouth and lit his cigar before tossing the page into the fire completely, destroying any trace of his plans. He imagined what the following day would have in store. The gnome never slept before a job; it was always the same, regardless of the identity he adopted. Filled with anticipation and excitement, the gnome reached for his daggers and began to strike them on his whetstone, fantasizing about how the morning might unfold.

***************************************************************

The mountaintop was clear before sunrise, and all that remained was a pile of burned sticks, nothing out of the ordinary for these parts. Maxwell decided that before making his final push for the wetlands he would need to break his fast. The gnome knew that even the most skilled assassins needed to eat, and surely he wouldn’t be at the top of his game on an empty stomach. The smells of the Thunderbrew Distillery slapped the gnome in the face with a handful of nostalgia, and for a brief moment, Max considered staying at the tavern all day and abandoning his assignment completely. He was, however, able to get a handle on his wits, and settled on washing down his venison jerky with a frothy pint of rhapsody malt before setting off to finish his assignment.

After he hoisted himself up into his chopper and lifted off towards the wetlands, he began to put the pieces of his plan into place, all the while muttering to himself, “Melram Redbrand. Sundown Marsh. Swiftgear Station. 22.8, 27.6. Retrieve hourglass. Neutralize,” over and over and over again. At his current rate of speed, Max calculated that he would arrive in the wetlands just before midday, which provided him with enough time to land his chopper amidst the mountains to the north overlooking the tomb of Ironbeard and scale down the cliff’s face toward Sundown Marsh, arriving at the target’s house just before sundown. Max knew he would have to be scrupulous regarding where he would land his helicopter, as he was aware of the possibility of one of Ironforge’s mountaineers spotting it from any of their several posts throughout the region, but he didn’t see any alternative. His turbo-charged flying machine wasn’t exactly the quietest or most covert method of flight, but it was his favorite and he regarded organic mounts as unreliable and even more uncomfortable.

As the sun was reaching its highest point, Maxwell set his chopper down on an open plateau on the south face of the mountain range near Dun Modr. He was surprised to see what looked like the ruins of a zeppelin crash, from how long ago, he was not certain. The weather-beaten construct didn’t quite look like it was goblin engineered, but Max treated it like it was, nonetheless. He walked closer to the heap of torn canvas and twisted metal, unzipped his trousers, and relieved his bladder after his long morning commute, whistling as he pissed into the wind. Once he finished, he decided that it was time to get to work. Max emptied his pack onto the ground where the grass was patchy and dry, and sifted through his materials, extracting a small curved horseshoe-like piece with two pointy ends, his blacksmith hammer, and a 100 ft. rope. The gnome tied one end of the rope around the pointy horseshoe and hammered its ends into the ground. After Max determined that his rope was securely fastened and would hold his weight, he tossed the loose end over the side of the cliff, and began to tidy up his mess, packing away anything he wouldn’t need for his assignment, including his armor and his mechanized x-11 agile retinal goggles, complete with polarization to reduce glare from the sun. When all he had left on his person was some trader’s garb and a dagger in his sleeve, the gnome grabbed the rope and began his descent into the swamp, all the while reminding himself “Melram Redbrand. Sundown Marsh. Swiftgear Station. 22.8, 27.6. Retrieve hourglass. Neutralize.”

The soggy ground received Max by swallowing one of his boots in the mud, making him almost lose his balance. Luckily, due to his lightweight body and lithe way of moving, he was able to free himself from the bog’s grasp with little complication. When Max gained his footing he realized that he had dropped himself next to a pack of highland scytheclaws resting near their nesting ground. The gold and emerald scales of the raptors seemed to dance in the moonlight as their midsections swelled with each breath, and Max acknowledged that ending up as dinner for the beasts was not on his to-do list for the evening. He decided that then was as good of a time as any to slip into stealth and sneak his way past the raptors and towards spinning beacon of Swiftgear Station. Meeting with the scytheclaws reminded Maxwell that the risk of being discovered wasn’t his greatest danger, but he was growing impatient and eager to complete his assignment. Max hastily pushed through the swamp, past the bathing crocolisks, and to the outskirts of Swiftgear Station, prioritizing quickness over noiselessness. When Max reached the edge of the outpost he stopped for a moment to catch his breath and whispered to himself, “Melram Redbrand. Sundown Marsh. Swiftgear Station. 22.8, 27.6. Retrieve hourglass. Neutralize,” before pressing onward for the exact coordinates of his target’s home.

The windows of Redbrand’s stone hut were illuminated by candlelight which, to Max, made the home seem all that much more inviting. After adjusting the spring-loaded mechanism on his wrist, and making sure his dagger was securely fastened, Max brushed himself off and approached the hut’s broad green door.

Knock, knock, knock. There was the sound of wood scratching against wood as the dwarf pushed his chair away from his table, then Max heard a voice say, “Who the ‘ell is knockin’ at me door at this hour?” The large green door was jerked open and for a moment the only thing the dwarf noticed was a pink mohawk standing straight in the air. When Redbrand looked down and saw the gnome’s tired eyes and dirty clothes, his attitude changed a bit. “And who might you be? You don’ look so good, lad. Would ye like ta come inside fer a bit?”

The gnome tried but couldn’t help but laugh at the dwarf’s invitation. Surely he wasn’t serious, for just a moment ago Redbrand was annoyed to have a visitor so late in the evening, and now he’s inviting him in? Max had to admit that he was a little disappointed at the amount of ease the dwarf had presented him. “You do me a kindness, friend,” said Max, sincerely. “Your hospitality is greatly appreciated. Thank you!” Redbrand smiled and put an arm around Max’s shoulder to help him into the home.

“Come lad, the name’s Melram Redbrand. ‘Ave a seat and I’ll pour ye some mead. It looks like ye could use it!”

“Much obliged. Maxwell Darkwobble,” Max replied as he hoisted himself up onto the dwarf’s solid oak stool.

From the table, Max could see more of the dwarven dwelling. It was a modest home, and Max noticed that in certain spots the ceiling was stained from where water had worked its way through the stone, but other than that Redbrand’s house looked fairly well-put together, and served as a fine representation of dwarven architecture and décor. Nothing about the place surprised Maxwell except for one thing: set upon a shelf above the hearth was an ornate looking hourglass embraced by four serpents carved of stone darker than pitch. Inside the trinket, instead of the sand Maxwell expected to see, swirled a dark green liquid, suspended between the two chambers of the glass. The hourglass seemed to have a life force all its own and appeared to inhale the light emitted from the fire and exhale a certain darkness that Maxwell could not explain. He had done many assignments like this one in the past, but never had Max been made so uneasy as he was by the sight of Grimsbane’s hourglass.

“Here ye go!” Redbrand exclaimed as he presented Maxwell with an overflowing mug of dwarven mead. “Now, how about ye explain ta me why ye came knockin’ at me door at such an hour.”

The gnome smiled gently and nodded as he reached for the mug before him. Using both hands, Maxwell lifted the cup to his mouth and drank deeply as dwarven mead dribbled out of the sides of his mouth and into his pink beard.

“Well, you see,” Maxwell began, “I’m a tinkerer of sorts and I travel all over the Eastern Kingdoms selling my inventions to the common working man to facilitate in expediting their workloads. I thought that the wetlands would be a perfect place for me to unveil my new chronosynclastic infundibulum because of the relief efforts in Menethil Harbor, and because I have heard of Swiftgear Station and believed I could present my device to them and teach them how to craft it themselves... for a price, of course! But as I was flying in from the Arathi Highlands, my flying machine began to malfunction and I was forced to crash land in the mountains to the north. I scaled the cliffs, hoping the folks at Swiftgear Station could assist me and help fix my machine, but it was too late and there was nobody there when I arrived. Your house was the only house with a fire in the hearth, so here I am. Can you help me?”

The dwarf looked taken aback by all of the information the gnome just spouted at him. “Chronosinka… what? Aye, lad, I’m sorry ye had to go through all of that. Unfortunately, I don’t think I can ‘elp ye. I don’t know much about your gnomish thinkamagoobs and flipflops or whatever, but I can offer ye a place ta stay fer the night, I s’pose. Hopefully by mornin’ the folks at the station can help ye get on yer way.”

Max jumped from the table and wrapped his arms tightly around the dwarf’s body, saying. “Oh thank you, thank you! I’ve never met a dwarf I didn’t like. I owe you one, buddy! Is there anything I can do for you while I’m here? It’s the least I could do for you for letting me stay here tonight.”

Redbrand thought for a moment and looked around his house, not seeing anything he thought a gnome would be able to help him with, and chuckled to himself at the gnome’s excitement. “Jus’ seein’ ye so grateful is enough fer me,” Redbrand said as he filled the gnome’s mug to the brim once more.

Maxwell grinned as he lifted his mug to the sky and said, “To a roof over my head and my new friend Melram! Cheers!” As the two of them clanked their cups together, Maxwell pretended to see the hourglass for the first time and said, “My! That’s certainly a curious device. I’ve never seen anything like that before. Certainly that’s not a dwarven time-telling apparatus, is it?”

Redbrand curled his lips downward slightly as he strained to turn around to look at the hourglass, still seeming to leech the life from the room. “Oh tha’ thing? No, not dwarven. I won tha’ in a card game in Stormwind a wee bit ago. It’s something, isn’t it?”

Liar, Maxwell thought to himself. “It sure is. Can I take a closer look?”

Happy to show off his prize, the dwarf obliged and transported the curio from the shelf to the table where Max was waiting. When Redbrand set the hourglass on the table, neither he nor Max said anything for several minutes as they stared at the green whirlpool, entranced. When Maxwell came to, he lightly shook his head and hopped down from his chair to circle around the table for a better look at Grimsbane’s hourglass. He posted himself up beside the dwarf at the table and said, “You say you won this thing? What does it do?”

“Beats me!” said Redbrand with a hearty laugh. “I was actually planning on selling it, but for whatever reason I couldn’t bring meself ta let her go. I’m sure the person I won her from ain’t too happy about it though!” Redbrand once again laughed a deep, guttural laugh and gave a Maxwell a robust slap on the back. Maxwell seized the opportunity and laughed with Redbrand before returning a slap on the back, positioning his hand at an upward angle. When the gnome’s wrist came in contact with the dwarf’s broad back, the device strapped to Maxwell’s arm triggered and his dagger shot upwards, meeting the dwarf where his spine connected to his skull. A warm mist sprayed Max's face and decorated his pink beard with crimson polka dots, and in an instant Max’s blade was embedded deep within Melram Redbrand’s brainstem.

The dwarf was heavier than Maxwell had expected, and snapped off Max’s dagger from the device on his wrist when he fell to the floor in a heap. The heap on the floor continued to seize until Max extracted his dagger from its brain. Melram Redbrand ceased to exist, and so now did Maxwell Darkwobble. The gnome called Slynt gingerly placed Grimsbane’s hourglass in his pack and stepped over the lifeless body on the ground as it leaked blood into the cracks in the floorboards. Slynt could already hear the crocolisks outside rousing at the smell of blood and would leave the door open after he departed as an invitation for the beasts. Before leaving, he turned to gaze upon his artwork one last time and smiled proudly before wiping his feet on the wet grass outside and stepping into the night.

 

 

[Ash Vandal]

Ashley sat in her favorite stuffed leather chair by a warm fire, a glass of Dalaran red rolling gently in her hand.  She paged through her worn spellbook, trying to concentrate on the intricacies of a new spell.  It was a difficult spell which caused time to bend around her, making her actions faster while the actions of her enemies slower.  Only the most powerful mages on Azeroth had yet mastered magics like this, and sadly she was not among them yet.  No, she was still an apprentice magician with the Kirin Tor.  Such magic was still beyond her; her studies had progressed slower than she’d hoped.

‘One day soon.’ she thought to herself.  ‘Soon I will step out into my own as a full-fledged Kirin Tor Battlemage.  They already trust me enough to attach me to external organizations.  I can’t be as terrible as I think I am, or surely I’d be locked away in a cramped study back in Dalaran with the other new students.’

Reassuring herself again, Ashley looked up from her spellbook. Her gaze wandered out the window, trying to clear her mind and relax her eyes from hours of starring at the complicated symbols on the pages.  It was only drizzling outside, a nice day by Theramore’s standards.  Sitting on the exterior coast of a vast marshland, Theramore received more than its fair share of rain all year around.  Since she had only been here for a little while though, she had still not fully acclimatized to the dampness and humidity.  She wasn’t here for pleasure though; she was on assignment from the Kirin Tor with an Alliance faction in Kalimdor, the Order of the Golden Road.  Why she had been placed with them, she did not understand.  Though they were part of the Alliance, they were as far out on the edge as one could possibly be and still considered loyal to the King and the tenants of the Alliance charter.  The Kirin Tor are peacemakers and guardians of the realm and have closely worked with and against both factions to maintain the balance and preserve Azeroth’s strength against the common, greater enemies.  Though she bore the Horde no love, she also understood there were yet those among them worth redeeming, or at least manipulating into serving the greater good. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a newcomer into the common room of the small inn.  A tall man with a great hooded cloak in a dark shade of green.  His leather breeches and gloves, as well as the longbow and bastard sword strapped across his back, marked him as a ranger or hunter.  As the man turned and briefly studied the common room, Ashley caught a glimpse of the black and gold crest of his tabard.  A member of the Order.  This far south of the Gold Road, he either came seeking shelter and sanctuary, or else came seeking her.  She briefly considered ignoring him. 

“Well met good sir,” she called out “what brings you to our lovely isle.”  The man pretended to appraise her quickly, as if her hail had come unexpectedly.  “My lady, I am here acting on orders from Lord Commander Melrouphos, Grand Master of the Order of the Gold Road.  I am seeking a mage that was recently assigned to our Order by the Kirin Tor.  I am instructed to deliver her this letter,” which he flipped over in his hand, “and then to bring her back to Northwatch Hold.  I was told she might be residing in this inn.  Do you know of the lady mage of whom I speak?” 

“I presume that you speak of myself good sir. My name is Ashley Vandala, mage of the Kirin Tor, but you can call me Ash if you like.”

“Well met Lady Vandala. I am Corporal Kalvin Carpenter.”  He approached her slowly, loosing his great-cloak and hanging it upon a wall stud as he passed.  She could now clearly see the emblazoned tabard that he wore, signifying his status as a lower ranked member of the Order.  Despite his rank, he wore expensive and well maintained mail armor, fitted with huge, ornate shoulder pieces that looked like they might be burdensome, or get in the way of his shooting.  ‘Oh well’ Ashley thought to herself, ‘maybe that’s why he was sent to get me instead of being the person I am supposed to report to.’  Still, Ashley was hoping to make a good impression.  Who knows how many people will be subpoenaed to give reports on her progress.  Better to treat everyone with respect.  He has found his place in his chosen order after all, where as I am still aspiring to find a place in mine.

He sat down in the stuffed chair opposite a small table, and reached out the rolled letter to her.  Ashley took the letter, setting her glass of wine down on the table in the same motion.  “Is this from the Master?” she asked.

“No. Lieutenant Grisen wrote the orders on behalf of the Grand Master” he said with more emphasis on the titles and ranks, indicating that perhaps he was one to stand for formalities. 

Ashley simply broke the seal on the letter and unrolled it, pretending to have not really heard Kalvin’s gentle correction. She took her time reading the note, which was short and to the point.  Grisenl was ordering her to accompany Kalvin to Northwatch Hold, the Alliance’s closest outpost to the orc capital city of Orgrimmar, and the Order’s base of operations.  Taking her time with the letter, she picked up her glass of wine again and absently twirled it in her hand.  She noticed the ranger quietly hailing the barkeep, signaling for something to slack his thirst from the road. 

“When shall we leave?” she asked. 

“We can leave whenever you’re ready, as long as that’s going to be no later then sunrise.”  We have a lot of road to cover either route we take, but I’d much rather get you back sooner rather than later.” 

“I’m still mostly packed. Do you care to ride through the night or would you rather stay for dinner?”

“Dinner sounds lovely.  It’s an easy enough ride for the first few hours, but after that it’s a hard trek through thick swamp lands.  It’s the shortest possible route, and honestly it’s probably safer to brave the swamp than the Battlescar.  The only road to Northwatch cuts out days to the west and would have us routed through Fort Triumph.  While it’s a great place and all, and I’m sure you will spend some time there during your practicum with the Order, it’s something I’d rather not do unless it’s part of my orders.” 

“Not itching for a fight?” 

“Lady, I’ve seen my fair share of fighting with the Order, and you will too before your time here is done, regardless of how long or short that time may be.  You want to ride days out of the way to spend time crawling in the no-man’s-land of the Battlescar? Be my guest.  I’d rather get back to my barracks.  I’ve got some leave coming up soon, and I’d rather take it before going off to the front again.”

‘All well and good’, she thought to herself.  ‘I’d prefer to have my first battle report in hand when I meet with Melrouphos, but I guess it’ll have to wait.’

Ashley waved over the barkeep, who was bringing Kalvin’s ale anyways.  “What’s on the menu tonight good man?”  she said as he approached. 

“The miss’s be cooking up a savory meat pie that’ll fix even the most ravenous hunger, m’lady.  Care you and m’lord to try a plate with some cheeses?  Delivered fresh this morning!”    

“Meat pie for me, with some crusty bread and sweet cream butter if you have any. I’ll like two more mugs of ale with my food as well.” Kalvin replied. 

“I’ll try the cheeses, also with bread and any fruits you might have.  Grapes are preferred, the crushed and fermented kind if you please.”  she said with a sly smile.

“M’lady, we be have’n no ferment’n grapes or any other kinds here, and I assure you we throw out any crushed fruit. Not fit for serv’n ya see?   Only fresh from the orchids when the season is right.”  the dull-witted innkeep replied. 

“Very well, than another glass of wine with my food please.”  she returned, keeping her wry smile. 

“Right away m’lord, m’lady!”  the innkeep replied, backing away and bobbing his head earnestly.

Ashley turned back to her spellbook, still sitting in her lap.  She tried to start reading again but her mind was already lost on the road ahead.  She was excited to meet her new superiors in the Order and begin her practicum. She wanted in on the action as soon as possible.  Though she was no stranger to combat, she needed as much experience under her belt as possible if she hoped to return to Dalaran and complete her final test.  The sooner she became a full fledged battlemage of the Kirin Tor, the sooner she’d have her freedom back.  She needed a certain amount of latitude to keep track of her brother.  Suddenly her mind turned to him. ‘Poor Remy.’ she thought, ‘his mind has been broken for so long now, he’s getting harder to keep track of.’  She heard rumors that he was also operating somewhere in Kalimdor now, but she did not know where specifically.  She had watched over him in the Plaguelands, and then followed him to Northrend when he turned on his former master.  But she had lost track of him after the battle of Icecrown and the fall of the Lich King, when she returned to Dalaran to study with a new Archmage.  What brought him here after the campaign in Northrend, she had no idea.

Eventually the innkeep brought their food and she put her spellbook aside.  They made small talk for a time, but soon Ashley’s inquisitive nature took over and she started asking silly questions that had been formulating in her mind.  What was the Order currently involved in, and on what front’s are they operating on?  What other bases do they operate from, and is there something she could do in Northrend?  Do any noted battlemages work with the Order?  She asked as many questions as she could, becoming more impassioned with her questions as time drew on.  Kalvin tried to answer as much as he could. There was much he simply did not know, and of what he did, he did not know enough of to satisfy her curiosity. 

They sat and made small talk well into the night, keeping the dark-vigil tradition of old. Eventually they agreed they’d both do best with some sleep.  Ashely left for her room, while Kalvin unpacked his sleeping role and claimed a nice spot on the floor.  Ashley wasn’t ready to sleep however, so she reviewed her equipment for the journey.  There was only a little over an hour left till sunrise anyways, barely a power-nap. Naps always made her groggy.  She laid out her gear on the bed, inspecting it.  She was still carrying a staff she had received from her first instructors in magic; she admired its simplicity and she found it’s long-time companionship helped in focusing her magic better than the more powerful staves Archmage Calnavia tried to get her to use.  She was learning to like the other Kirin Tor implements of focus as well: a neat little spell dagger and a thin, slightly curved willow-wood wand with a simple crystal affixed to the end.  Each tool had it’s own strength and weakness in the working of magic, and Ashley knew how to use them.  She usually did not utilize them well however. Her habits were hard to break and thus she relied on her staff for most of her magic.  If she was ever going to graduate her test, she would need to use her time with the Order to perfect using each tool in its appropriate circumstance, among other things.

She had been wearing a comfortable robe during her time in the inn, which helped her to relax when she was trying to study.  She much preferred to travel and fight in less constricting clothing; in the tradition of Kirin Tor battlemages.  She looked over into a mirror and envisioned herself wearing the red Kirin Tor battlemage garb.  She thought it would look good on her.  ‘Someday soon’ she thought to herself, ‘I’m getting closer everyday.  As much as I beat myself up for my faults, I am still far ahead of many of my peers.’  Ashley changed into her breeches and tunic, with a set of thick but light boots.  She donned a silken belt and gloves, and finished her wardrobe proudly by displaying a brilliant Kirin Tor tabard.  Checking herself out in the mirror, she pulled back her soft, auburn and golden-blonde hair in to a tight ponytail to keep it up for the journey ahead.  She finished folding the rest of her things and put them neatly into her traveling pack.  The sun was beginning to rise outside, and she was looking forward to the journey.  Ashley grabbed her things and headed downstairs. 

She was moderately surprised to find Kalvin still curled up in his sleeping bag.  The barkeep’s wife however was up baking breads for the day’s business.  Ashley always enjoyed fresh bread; she asked for a few small loaves, with butter and jams for their breakfast.  She went over to Kalvin.  “Wake up Kalvin, it’s time to make ready.” she said as she nudged him with her toe.  Kalvin was awake instantly but calmly rolled over to look around the room and take in his surroundings.  He quietly and efficiently extracted himself from his sleeping roll and started rolling it up and putting away his things.  Ashley watched him go from what she thought was sound sleep to packed and ready to move out in less than sixty seconds, without saying a word or hardly making a sound.  ‘Impressive,’ she though, ‘he has been doing this sort of thing for a long time.  Had I actually laid down and slept, it would have taken a full-fledge Horde invasion of the inn to wake me up before at least eight hours had passed.’  She beckoned him over to the bar, where they ate their breakfast and settled their bills.  Kalvin scoffed at the notion of bread and jam for breakfast though, and ordered a full side of bacon as well.  Soon after, they headed out. 



                                    *************************************************



“Ashley Vandala, this is Lieutenant Grisen. Lieutenant Grisen sir, may I introduce Lady Vandala of the Kirin Tor.”

“Lady Vandala, nice to meet you.  I take it your time with Kalvin on the road wasn’t too unpleasant or unnecessarily long?  He can be quite boorish in the field.” Grisen asked.

“On the contrary, Kalvin was a perfect gentleman and we made excellent time.  Actually I was hoping to tour around the area but we took the most direct, boring route possible right through the swamps.  Something about being safer, I was told.” 

“Excellent work Corporal, as usual.”  Grisen commended.  Kalvin saluted sharply and turned to leave, but was stopped quickly.  “Oh don’t go anywhere yet.  You are exactly the man I need for a developing situation in the west.  Horde forces have been pushing further into our holding outside of Theramore. A scout reported this morning that a large garrison is being raised near Honor’s Stand.  Horde forces have already cut those men off from our lines, and the situation is precarious anyways, but we can hardly afford another Horde strongpoint in the area.  The Lord Commander has already agreed to reinforce Honor’s Stand along their south and east fronts.  We will be sending forces as well, but it will take a few days to rally our people.  I need you to go and clear a path through the Horde ranks.” 

“You know my leave request was approved, right sir?”  Kalvin asked somewhat resolutely. 

“Yes and I’m sorry, but no one else in the area really has the skills we need at this moment.  It has to be you I’m afraid.” 

“So none of the other rangers are nearby?  You want me to go in alone?”

Grisen seemed as upset about the prospect as Kalvin did, but he looked over at Ashley as he thought.  “You ready to get your feet wet mage?” 

“Oh, absolutely!”  Ashely grinned in excitement.

“Oh absolutely not!” Kalvin replied in anger.  “Sir you can’t be serious, are you?  Not only do you want me to infiltrate Horde lines along our most remote outpost in the theatre, but you want me to babysit this rookie mage at the same time?  This should not be her first mission!  I’d probably be better off by myself if there is really no one else.”

“Corporal, she is not a neophyte mage.  The Kirin Tor sent her to us as a formality in her training, but we have their assurances she is ready for combat.  She is a veteran of the Northrend campaign against this Lich King, and she fought in Lordaeron before that.  This will not be her first mission, just her first mission with us.  This isn’t up for debate either.  I appreciate your input, but the two of you are all I have available at the moment.  I have a meeting with other officers right now, but meet me in the map room in two hours and we’ll go over the plan in further detail.  Dismissed!”  Grisen commanded respect, and Kalvin saluted sharply and respectfully.  Despite that, he was barely able to control his anger and disappointment as he turned.  Ashely followed after Kalvin, but he did not want to talk to her.  Instead he suggested she go get ready and take care of anything she needed to take care of before they left.  With that, he stormed off. 

‘Must have had some really good plans lined up for his leave’, Ashley said quietly to herself.  ‘He’s acting like a spoiled child who didn’t get his toy.’ 

However, now there was the task of finding something to do for two hours while left to her own device.  She thought best to simply claim a patch of grass behind the tower for the moment, since she was unsure of who to talk to about getting assigned quarters.  Besides, she may not need them for very long, if this is how the Order runs its business.  She had expected a few days of meeting people, getting settled in and maybe some training with her squad mates before being sent out on a patrol between Alliance controlled waypoints.  She was not expecting this. 



                                    ************************************************

Ashley waved her hand through the thick smoke, trying to clear it from her face so she could breathe and see what was left of her group.  All around her the forest was on fire.  She had been careless with her magic, desperate.  Now much of the surrounding forest was burning.  She ducked down to try and get below the level of the smoke so she could see.  Corpses of her allies lie strewn about her feet, commingled with the rotting bodies of Forsaken troops who had attacked them in the night.  She still heard the sounds of fighting around her, getting closer.  She needed to find the enemy now, so her she could use her magic to destroy as much of the Forsaken force as possible, and save what remained of her allies.  She moved forward till she came to a piece of stone wall still standing and glanced around the corner. As she peaked around cautiously she saw a rotting corpse standing over the body of one of her friends, it’s sword still through his body as the poor man sobbed in pain and terror.  The horrid creature slowly removed it’s sword and turned to look directly at her.  The pale light of it’s rotting eyes paralyzed her with fear.  It began to walk towards her, howling that terrible sound only the walking dead can make.  Ashley fought through the fear, and called upon her magic to burn the creature from this world.  The magic swirled around her, filling her with its awesome power, making her hair and robes blow in the vortex of power coalescing around her body.  She stretched out her wand to channel the fireball, but in her hand was only an empty wine bottle.  She looked at the bottle puzzled, and instantly the magic left her, the spell ruined.  She realized she was slightly drunk and had a strong urge to pour herself another glass of wine.  None of that mattered at that point as the rotting skeleton was upon her, grabbed her.  It forced her to the ground, and started strangling her with its hands.  She kicked and fought as best she could, but it was so strong.  She could barely move.  She looked up at the creature on her; it wore her brother’s face.  Her brother looked down on her while he strangled her.  “You let me become this” he said to her, “this is all your fault.”  The creature took the wine bottle from her hand and began to pour out a red wine on her face, drowning her. Drowning her in wine . “Ashley!” her brother screamed at her.  “Ashley!” . . . 

“Ashley.  Ashley!  Ashley, wake up!” 

Ashley sat bolt upright to see the familiar face of Kalvin standing over her, his water skin in his hand.  She had water all over her face. “By the Light, you sleep like the dead you know that girl?  Someone having to wake you in the field will get us killed. You want to go with me, you better start sleeping lightly.  I need you to rise with only a whisper!”  He started walking off, but Ashley was still sitting on the ground trying to get her bearings.  “You coming?” he called out.  “We’re late because of you, now get your ass moving.”

The sun was setting in the distance, Ashley figured she must have fallen asleep for a few hours at least.  Probably more than the two they had been given to get ready while Grisen was occupied with other things.  She hastily gathered up her things and ran after Kalvin.  She fell in beside him just as they were reaching the tower gate.  They walked through the hallway and turned into a room, momentarily held up by guards flanking the entrance to the command suite.  Ashley could see Grisen inside with some other Order members, and others wearing different tabards.  They stood by outside the door for awhile more.  Eventually the representatives of the other factions walked out, and they were called in. Grisen smiled at Kalvin as they entered the chamber. 

“Kalvin, you’ll be pleased to know I managed to gather up a few more men for your team.  You already know Scaven and Jessup here, and this is Scout Daniel Fastfoot. 

“Thank you sir. That means I can leave the mage safe here with you, right?” 

“No. Mage Vandala will still be going with you, Corporal.” Grisen commanded.  He turned towards Ashley and said with a wry smile “I’m sorry to keep you waiting my lady.  The meetings around here never end, and they always take longer than expected.  I hope you found something productive to do in the meanwhile?”  Ashley glanced away, but Grisen continued on without waiting for answer. “Normally a mage would command a team such this, but I don’t have that much confidence in you yet.  You will follow Kalvin’s lead.” 

“I’ll do my best!”  Ashley said enthusiastically.

The sound of rolling eyes was deafening.  Grisen stared at her blankly.

“Try not to get my men killed, please.  I don’t have any to spare right now, and we are stretched pretty thin as it is.”  Grisen replied. 

Ashley felt a little deflated, but kept her chin up and moved to stand besides the map table and tried to study it.  She recognized Theramore immediately and from there was able to recognize their current location at Northwatch Hold.  She looked over the map some more, and though she wasn’t certain of the other positions she felt she had some good guesses given the positioning of movable pieces on the map.  There was a long line of pieces to the west, running south to north. Grisen was whispering quietly to Kalvin and the other scouts off to the side, so Ashley busied herself memorizing the positioning of pieces for later.  It didn’t take very long, and neither did the men’s conversation off to the side.  They gathered around the table. 

“My Lady, have you managed to orient yourself to the theatre yet?”  Grisen asked professionally. 

“I believe so. Theramore and Orgimmar make the orientation obvious.  That way is North.  We are here.  I believe this position here is Fort Triumph, though I’m not sure.  I haven’t been there, but it sounds like what Kalvin had described to me earlier.”  Ashley was confident in her assessment. 

“Very good, my lady.”  This is the line we’ve been holding in the southern barrens, and this is the gold road, for which our Order is named.  Over here is Honor’s Stand, the strongpoint we spoke of earlier.  I believe Kalvin has already planned out the route you’ll take, but your main objective will be in this area, here.”  Grisen put his finger on the giant map.  “This whole area is very narrow, given the cliff that now exists in the land, so approaches to the garrison are few.  Never the less, I need you find us a route that we can reinforce the Stand by, and clear it of Horde forces if need-be.” Grisen said directly to Kalvin. Turning back to the whole group then:  “This is a time-sensitive mission, people.  If you have to engage the Horde you must do it three nights from now, exactly.  Our forces will be assembled by tomorrow night.  From there we expect thirty-six hours of hard marching to get everyone in position.  If you engage the Horde before then you risk being surrounded without support.  Any later and you’ll do no good  in clearing the route.  We know there are multiple Horde positions along the route to consider, but I need you to clear out the strongest one you can find.” he turned towards Ashley “We need to get as many of our people to the Stand as possible to be effective, so I’m relying on you to be the force-multiplier we need for this small unit to take on the larger Horde war-band.”

Ashley made no comment, determined not to say anything that would lose her more respect then she already had.  She just looked Grisen in the eyes, and nodded her head confidently.   

“We’ve mustered a company sized force comprised of two platoons of Northwatch soldiers, reinforced with volunteers from Alliance factions in the area.  The Order of the Gold Road has command of this mission, so I’ll be leading the company in the assault.  You’ll meet up with us as soon as you can, once you’ve cleared whichever positions you've deemed are most dangerous.  I’ll leave that judgement to you Kalvin.  I realize that doesn’t give you a lot of time to assess the positions, but all our hands are tied here.  Just get in there and clear out as much as you can.”  Grisen finished. 

Ashley studied the map more with the mission in mind.  The battle-space they would be working in was indeed narrow.  They might be able to scout around for a few hours undetected, but there was no way a company sized force was moving through there without being spotted.  Like Grisen said, they were going to have to fight.  There was no useful intelligence on how many Horde posts could be along that road.  Kalvin and Ashley, along with the three other scouts, would be the team to discover that information.  Unfortunately, they would also be the unit acting upon it.  Grisen was counting on her magic to allow the small scouting party to be able to overwhelm the larger Horde forces they would need to destroy to allow passage of the Order’s forces to Honor’s Stand.  The other scouts were likely not so optimistic about her capabilities.

Ashley didn’t want to say anything more, so she merely looked up expectantly. Grisen scanned the group, looking each in the eye to try and get a feel for what each member of the unit was thinking.  “Any questions?”  he asked. 

No one spoke.  Kalvin remained studying the map.  The other scouts glanced around at each other.  Despite being hardened veterans, the mission was little overwhelming even for them.  No doubt they also had some reservations about Ashley too. 

“All right then.  If you need anything from the armories, they are at your disposal.  Otherwise, I suggest you move out as soon as possible.  You have a lot of work ahead of you, and not a lot of time to get results.  Good luck.  Dismissed.”  Despite dismissing them, Grisen was the one who turned and left the room.  Ashley and the three other scouts turned to Kalvin for orders. 

“Well, you heard the Lieutenant.  Get your shit together and meet by the west gate in thirty minutes.  We’ll ride through the night.  I want to be here by morning.”  He ordered, pointing to a spot on the map. “We’ll be riding hard, off-trail.  Normally it would take three days just to get there, but we’re going to do it in a day and a half.  We don’t have to get all the way to Honor’s Stand, but we need to at least start seeing Horde positions by tomorrow evening.  Any questions?” 

Again, no one had any.  “Alright, then get moving.” Kalvin ordered.  The three scouts turned heel and left out promptly.  Ashley hesitated and Kalvin caught on.  “A word, m’lady?”

Kalvin waited until the scouts had left and then a few more moments.  “It doesn’t really matter if you feel ready or not, so I hope you’re not pissing yourself just yet.  Just keep up, keep low, and follow orders without question or hesitation, and I’ll wager that if you’re as good as the Lieutenant thinks you are, you stand a good shot of making it back.  Hope your magic is as strong as they seem to think, because this may be just short of a suicide mission, depending on the Horde disposition.  I’ll be plain with you; you seem young for the confidence people seem to have in you.  I’m not so sure.  Hope the Lieutenant is right about you.”

“I’ll . . .” Ashley began, but was cut off instantly by Kalvin. “Don’t tell me you’ll try.  I don’t care.  Do what’s needed or do us the favor of dying quickly so we can do our jobs.”  At that, he turned and walked out the door.

Ashley didn’t understand why the complete change of attitude towards her.  She had thought they gotten along quite well back in the inn, but now Kalvin acted like a complete ass towards her.  ‘Women’s life in the military’ she surmised to herself, ‘he was nice before because I was a pretty girl whom he didn’t think he was going to have to work with.  Now I’m just another obstacle between him and his leave, a rookie who might get him killed.’ She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself and focus her mind.  She was determined to prove herself.  She walked out the door and out of the tower, down to the tower post where Snow, her horse, was hitched.  She saddled the brilliant white steed, and mounted Snow deftly.  She trotted over to the west gate, and sat there looking up into the moon. 

“Elune bless our endeavors, and bring us victory and success in our mission.”  she prayed quietly. 

Her thoughts turned to the mission ahead, and she tried to plan out contingencies in her mind, and recall the various spells she might need.  She pulled out her spellbook from the saddle-pack at her side, and flipped through it’s pages till she came to the spell of time-alteration she had been working on before.  Though she was still tired, and getting a little sleepy from the wait, she tried to use her time productively.  She waited for her unit to assemble, reading by torch and moon-light.  It wasn’t long before she heard the sound of approaching hoof beats.  She looked up to spot Kalvin riding towards her, the great shoulder-pieces he wore before absent.

“Hail Corporal”  Ashley called out. 

“The others are right behind me.  Jessup wanted some specialty arrows from the armory.  Have you left everything behind that’s not essential?” 

“I have little besides the tools of my art and the clothes on my back.”  Ashley replied.

“Very well” Kalvin replied looking over his shoulder as he neared her.  The other scouts were indeed right behind him.  He made a motion with his arm in the air, and the three scouts pitched their mounts into a faster trot.  They reigned in as they approached.

“Last checks.  Everyone good?  Did those arrows get evenly distributed?  Everyone took a piss? Alright.”  Kalvin said as he turned his horse to the gate and spurred it to trot.

“Move out!”

[Vibeke Shadokra]

“This is not time for Tea, Violet.”

Countless bodies are littered among the landscape, charred by the might of an intense fiery explosion. Lord Grisen and Lady Violet, along with many other Order members, scrounge around the abysmal wreckage digging hopelessly for survivors. Morally, they’d never admit it, but their racing thoughts remain on the recovery of a single important person. A Prophet, of sorts.

“Indeed.” It is midday, but smoke still lingers in the air, reminding them of dusk.

A young initiate speaks up, her voice cracking as her eyes scurry among the ceaseless black and gray. “I don't like the feel of this. None of their loot as been taken.”

She jumps as a siren is heard from the distance, more fires, perhaps?

Violet's soft pale cheeks turn a bright red, slightly matching her newly died hair, as she blushes at the greedy capitalist known as The Lord of the North.

“On the fact of tea, I mean no disrespect. I merely wish to clear my throat of this dust. The smell is bad enough without a sore throat.”

Charred flesh. The smell was nothing new to Violet, for she has been on many battlefields and has witnessed men and woman alike fall to the whim of great fire magi, basking in the element's might. Today though, the sobering smell felt off. More of a sulfuric stench than flesh, as if the culprit's rotten ideals lingered among the corpses.

Lord Grisen casually takes gold coins off the unrecognizable bodies. Their faces are unchanged in robbery. Gold is of no use in the Twisting Nether. A stocky neophyte peers at the Lord, wondering if it is okay for him to do the same. For men like them, money is not only power, but a moral subsistence.

One must have more to live. No one begrudges them for it. Such is the life in the Order.

The Lord speaks,“Lady Violet, I believe we should have taken the zeppelin. Most of these bodies are long dead. If anyone did survive, they'd of died from their wounds by now.”

Violet, unlike Grisen, was a Lady of privilege, a noble of the sword, not the robe. Though She felt no animosity for Grisen and his greedy ways, she still felt for his family's struggle. She was too busy having milk baths and reading poetry in her youth to care. In her late twenties, these sobering adult vistas seemed to resonate compassion within her soul.

“Damnit, this one couldn’t be older than sixteen.”

A charred disgrace of a woman. Eyes cooked alive, no doubt. Images like this remind her of what the world truly is. Constant war and death. Chaos and rejuvenation. No saviors or Prophets like Velen and Fordring could convince her of any universal love or truth. The only love she believed in was the love for her family. She's seen some of them die. No light or love saved them, not even her own. The fire of faith burned out.

A voice is heard from her left, “Oye, over here!”

The Order members huddle over a shaking body, face covered in blood and dirt. It is a Male Draenei, his accent indistinguishable amongst his moans of pain. Violet notices the artistic clash of color among the Draenei's severe wounds and the surrounding environment, but feels quite ill over it and decides to focus on the matter at hand.

Violet puts on a voice of concern and speaks to the huddled mass of burnt Draenei flesh, “What happened, Prophet Darlax?”

A soft whimpering escapes his bruised and ashen lips as he attempts to speak, “Twas horrible Violet, I cannot..” He coughs and takes a asthmatic wheeze, clasping on a gold medallion. “I cannot protect it anymore.. you must give it to your sister, no matter her antics.. you must...”

The Draenei passes out, and the medics attended to him.

Lord Grisen speaks, “A miracle he survived. Is that made of pure gold?”

Violet sighs due to the man's obvious desire, and places the ornate medallion in her hands. Runic designs in ancient Eruden brightly glow as the Lady holds it in her soft pale hands.

“This is not for sale, Grisen. It is a family heirloom.”

“Aye, understood. I don’t know why he seemed so concerned about it though, if it really was so valuable, then why did the culprit not take it when he left? ”

 

 

*******

 

A trembling gnomish servant slowly pours Lady Violet and Lord Grisen tea as they wait for better news on the Prophet's recovery. Grisen and Violet nod in thanks as the gnome speaks up.

“Wa wa... would you kind sirs like one or two er.. lumps?”

Grisen smirks, “First time on the job, kid?”

The gnome nods fearfully, unable to know what to say.

Violet takes a small sip. Her hair is done up in a stylish bun. Soft eyeshadow graces her feminine face with care, making her all the more beautiful. Gris looks as spitting as ever, like a poster child on this week's issue of the Stormwind Economist.

Violet eyes the silly gnome, his white apron freckled with tea leaves.

“Don't worry about it mister gnome, the cooks of the Order are just as valuable as the rest. We can't fight on an empty stomach. Well, at least I can't..”

Grisen raises his tea as if it were a wine glass shouting, “Here here. I second that!”

A clambering is heard as a limping Draenei drags himself into the tent. It is the “Prophet” Darlax, seemingly unfazed by his wounds and extreme need of rest. He barks at Lady Violet.

“Violet, Where's the Medallion.. wheres...”

A few medical staff come and help support the Draenei, attempting to coherence him back into his bed at the adjacent tent. Grisen growls, “Let the blue man speak..”

The medical personal allow the Bruised and burnt Draenei to painstakingly sit at the table. His attire is hardly appropriate for tea time, rags and bandages run amok around his body. He coughs and coarsely addresses the Lady again, noticing the medallion around her neck.

“Good, good. You have it near your heart. Perhaps we are safe after all.”

Violet raises an eyebrow to the Prophet, “Quite poetic, but I don't get your meaning..”

The Draenei coughs again, and scolds young Violet, “Ughh.. how youth is wasted on you humans. Never able to truly live long enough to see. All of art and poetry is just as valuable in true meaningful communication. The closeness of your heart is as true as fire and ice.”

Violet questions her Elder, “Are you referring to what happened to my sister? I cannot say that I am well.. truly whole...”

The Gnome servant attempts to balance multiple plates in the back of the tent, still shaking, clearly uninterested in the conversations of his leaders.

Grisen glares at the two and interrupts their conversation, “Look, Prophet, we saved you. You're alive because of ME. Now, I’d like you to start talking more in my language. Let's call it cash, money, wealth, you know. Who's the crazy man who did this to you? I bet such a murderer is worth major coinage to the Stormwind Government.”

The Draenei scowls at the Order's leader, “You'll all get your money, but that isn't the issue at hand.”

Violet feels a heat wave hit her as she listens to the two men babble on and on about lame currency problems. Sweat pours down her brow.

She speaks up, scratching her immaculate leg, “Let's cut the Taurenshit. What is the issue at hand?”

Darlax speaks, “The issue at hand, my dear, is the fact that we were not attacked.”

The Gnomish servant in the back of the tent screams as he drops his plates. An even stranger shattering is heard, His arching bodily flames catch the tent on fire. Voices can be heard from far and wide, afraid yet mesmerized by the patten of the element. It burns in loops, as if the fire were written in free hand, signed by a blazing god.

“Vengeance is upon us my children. Oh, what is fire if not light? Naaru, Save us!”

 

A warm glow comes to Violet's eyes as she watches, fearless, noticing the all too familiar smell.

[Siddis]

Contest closed! Thank you for all the fantastic entries. Winners will be announced this Monday.

[Siddis]

Drum roll please! Our winners are: 

 

1st place (10,000 g): Norietta, "Jessamine's Tale" 

 

2nd place (5,000 g): Slynt, "Maxwell Darkwobble"

 

3rd place (2,000 g): Ashvandal, "Ashley's First Day"

 

Grisen should be in touch shortly with your prizes. Thank you to all who participated! It was interesting to read your stories and see other sides to your characters. Hope to have more of these in the future and to see more write-ups on the website!