The girl who walks into the room is average in height, standing perhaps a few inches over five feet tall. Her figure is feminine and enough to distract a man's eye for a time. Her face is of a similar appearance to the rest of her in being pretty enough, but still mostly average. Her eyes are like half circles of a rich blue shade, perhaps a little too big, and her nose is small and mouth is moderately full. Stretching to her waist is straight blonde hair that she keeps tucked behind her ears. She might have been prettier, except...
Crawling up the left side of her face like a fiery vine of ivy are thin scars, tendrils of destroyed flesh forever emblazoned in red, perpetually raw, from her jaw to her hair line, around her eye (part of her brow is missing) and over her cheek bone. You can see that it continues down her neck and disappears into her blouse, leaving you wondering just how much of her body that vine covers... though you aren't sure you'd want to find out. When you glance at her left hand, you see the vines spidering out over the back of her hand. Her right hand is scarred as well, but more like pale red, blurry dragon scales. The bottom halves of her nails on that hand are dark, almost black - like a bruise, or dead skin underneath.
She sits down in the chair across from you. You can't take your eyes from the scars for several moments, but when you do and you meet her gaze, you can tell that she knows. She doesn't seem to care, though there is a lingering haunted look there. It's not for you, or about you. In fact, you can see that it doesn't have anything to do with your presence at all. It's an old look and has been there for a while. Even though her face is that of a young woman, the look in her eyes makes her seem far, far ahead of her years.
"Mah name is Nykkolaia Zeran," she said. Her expression is flat, but for the look in her eyes, and her voice matches it. The Northern accent is less than some, but quite plain. "Ah was born in a small village in tha nation o' Lordaeron tae a cloth an' ribbon merchant named Merik Zeran who owned a modes' shop. Mah mothah's name was Ulisa an' she was a seamstress. Tha shop nae onlah sold tha pieces, but mah mothah would make thangs from them upon request an' this was how mah familah survived. Ah was verreh close tae me fathah in particular." She pauses. "Ah s'pose tha term would be tha' he doted on me."
A sad shadow passes over her face, but is gone again in a breath. "Ah remembah havin' a good childhood. Ah was a happeh child an' Ah had friends tha' Ah could play wit'. We wern rich, but we wern poor either. Ah did nae wan' fer annah necess'ty. Ah always had food an' a roof ovah mah head, clothin' an' a warm blanket fer mah bed." Her mouth curves upward in a faint smile. The scarring on her cheek wrinkles a little with the motion and perhaps is what inhibits the smile from being anything more.
"Latah on in mah youth, though, terr'ble news stahted comin' tae tha ears o' our village... rumors o' an illness cuttin' 'ets way through tha lan' an' tha people. Mah fathah decided tae move us tae tha cap'tal city because," here she smiles slightly again, this time with irony, "because he thought tha' we would be safah there. We were, fer a time."
"Ah was fourteen when 'et happened, at tha age when girl'ood begins tae turn intah woman'ood. Ah hear fer some 'et be like a sudden explosion, fer me 'et was a slow, fadin' process. 'Et jes' happened ovah time.
"Ah was unaware o' how close tha wolf was tae our door, in terms o' actions an' rumors. We thought we were safe there, but annah concerns were fears o' tha outside. We ne'er looked in.
"Walkin' down a street like annah othah in tha cap'tal, Ah was taken. 'Et was a buseh road wit' a large crowd an' Ah suddenleh fel' an arm 'roun' mah shoulder. 'Foah Ah could say annahthing or e'en turn mah head, a hand was ovah mah mouth an' Ah was bein' roughleh guided down a side street tha' was absent o' annahone. Tha hand clamped down harder an' Ah could nae breathe. Ah passed out."
Her upper body moves with the concerted effort of a deep breath. Nykkolaia lifts her chin slightly as she exhales. "When Ah awoke, Ah was in a place Ah had ne'er been befoah. 'Et was damp an' 'et was cold. Tha walls were all stone an' there were nae windows. Ah was in a celleh o' some sort. 'Et was small, seemin'leh jes' big 'nough fer tha table Ah was tied tae an' a person tae walk 'roun' 'et. 'Et was lit bah onlah one lantern tha' hung ovah me.
"Ah felt strange, like Ah'd eaten or drunk somethin' tha' made me feel funneh." She glances away from your gaze. "There was tha smell o' flour an' yeast from 'bove. There was bread bein' baked 'bove me an' there always would be. Ah was in tha basemen' o' a baker's shop." She pauses. "Ah cannae smell tha scent o' bakin' bread wit'out goin' back." Nykk lifts her eyes to meet yours with a distant expression. "D'yeh know how tha' goes? 'Ets strange tha' a scent should tie yer mem'ry tae somethin' tha' way, but 'et does." Her expression goes from curious to sad. "'Et does."
Stopping for a moment, she looks down at her hands folded in her lap. "He came tae me tha' night an' told me Ah was tae call him Master." She frowns, pale brows drawing together. "Ah do nae like tha' word now." A delicate shudder passes through her and the frown that takes over her face pulls the scars inward. Your eye is led there by strange fascination. "Ah do nae know his name. Ah had nae idea at all where Ah was.
"He did nae do annahthin' tae me, in tha ways o' men an' women. He ne'er touched me in tha' way durin' tha ele'en months Ah was wit' him. Sometimes, Ah wished he had an' tha' 'et had been onlah tha'. Ah thank tha rest was worse."
"People will talk o' mannah darknesses in tha world, an' there are a great mannah, but we sometimes ferget tha' they can be found where we least expect them." She pauses. "Ah do nae know what drove Master, ultimateleh. Ah cannae explain him. He was curious, an' Ah was a means tae an end. He kept me 'live an' would sometimes reward mah good behavior wit' an easin' o' tha pain or a kind word." She pauses, her gaze turning inward thoughtfully. "He had a collection o' bottles. Some had liquids an' othahs had dried herbs. When he was there an' brought those bottles wit' him, tha room would fill wit' strange smells.
"He gave them tae me, at diff'rent times an' in diff'rent measures an' in diff'rent ways, tae see what mah bodah would do wit' 'et." Her hand rises and gingerly touches the scars on her face. "One o' them did this. Ah do nae know which one an' Ah did nae know 'til Ah saw tha scars in tha eyes o' tha people who came fer me tha' they had happened at all. Ah knew tha pain when they happened, but was unaware o' 'ets perm'nence."
Lowering her hand, she carefully cleans her nails with the nails of the other hand. "Aftah a while, Ah do nae know how long 'cause Ah had nae concept o' time, o' day or night... but aftah a while, Ah felt somethin' inside me." She looks up. There's a strange light in those eyes now, and you don't know the source or how you should react. "Ah did nae know what 'et was, but Master did an' 'et made him happeh. He began tae use those strange liquids tae pull 'et from me... tae make me do thangs. There was powah inside o' me an' he was somehow able tae control 'et.
"Ah had nae concept of how tae use tha powah mahself, sae Ah could nae use 'et tae escape. Truth be told, bah then, Ah wasn't thinkin' o' 'et annahways." She sighs and shakes her head. She holds up her right hand. "Ah had tha powah tae call fire. 'Et wreathed mah hand fer a time 'til Ah screamed in pain an' then he discovered Ah had tha powah tae call ice." Another delicate tremor passes over her, so faint you almost miss it. "'Et damaged mah hand, inside an' out. Ah can still use most o' 'et, but..." She trails off.
"In tha beginning, Ah was scared an' could onlah thank o' mah parents," she begins again. "Ah wanted tae get home, but aftah a long while passed, Ah lost hope fer tha'." A weak smile curves her mouth. "Master was good tae me, sometimes. He would say kind thangs tae me, like how he loved me fer bein' sae good an' fer allowin' him tae learn tha things he wished tae learn. Aftah a while, Ah wanted tae please him. Ah learned tae tolerate tha pain an' learned how tae describe 'et fer him. He liked tha'.
"Aftah... 'et was ovah, Ah learned tha' 'et had been roughleh ele'en months since Ah had vanished. A woman in tha bakery had heard mah voice. Apparently, Ah cried out in mah sleep an' she had spoken tae tha guard an' they had come an' found me. Master was killed bah one o' their swords while tryin' tae keep them from takin' me from him." Her hands freeze in their movements, seemingly having forgotten what they were doing. "Ah ne'er knew his name," she whispers. She visibly swallows, looking sad for an instant. "Ah ne'er knew his name..."
Pausing for a moment, she meets your eyes again with a somber expression. "D'yeh know what 'et's like tae spend almost a year in near total darkness? D'yeh know what 'ets like tae spend most o' yer time tied tae a table, an' when yer allowed tae walk tae be tied bah tha ankle tae tha' table an' onlah go through one small room? D'yeh know what 'et's like tae lose all pride an' then all hope an' cling tae some one thang, whatever is there, as yer onlah chance fer annahthing?
"When Ah was brought out o' tha' celleh, tha sunlight o' a cloudeh day burned mah eyes an' Ah could nae open them fer a goodly while. Ah was forced tae hear tha gasps o' those who saw tha scars on mah face from tha poison tha' crept through mah blood. Mah muscles ached wit' more exertion than they had known fer a year, except fer pain contortions an' tha occasional steps taken... an' now Master was tha most maligned creature in mah world.
"Ah was told tha' he'd been evil an' about how horr'ble he was. An' some part o' me knew all tha', 'cause Ah remembered tha girl who was taken in tae tha' celleh." She pauses, suddenly wary and wondering if you will understand or will look down on her, too. "But he was all Ah had fer all those months." A faint sheen covers her eyes and this is, perhaps, the most emotion you've seen her show since coming in. "He was all Ah knew, an' then suddenly Ah was told Ah had tae hate him."
With a swift exhalation, she smoothes down the dark fabric of her skirt over the tops of her thighs. "Aftah Ah spent days floatin' in an' out o' consciousness, recoverin' an' becomin' healtheh again, Ah was told o' what had happened in tha North. They obviousleh could nae speak directleh about mah parents, but 'et was obvious tha' they were gone.
"Ah was nae yet an adult, though I was nae a child either. Ah had no familah an' discovered tha' Ah'd been taken verreh far away from mah home. Ah was in a citeh called Stormwind. Ah was given tae tha citeh's orphanage an' Ah helped tae run 'et, as best Ah could. Tha Mistress did nae realleh know what tae do wit' me. Ah scared tha children an' sae Ah could nae do much. Ah did nae e'er wish tae speak o' what had happened tae me...
"An' sae, Ah lingered fer nearleh two years. 'Et could nae be said tha' Ah lived, though Ah was nae dead."
Pausing, she pushes her hair back from her face again and takes a slow, deep breath. Her chest rises and falls while her eyes look at things you can't see; things you'll never be able to see. "Tha powah Ah felt inside o' me had ne'er gone away. Fer a while, Ah had thought tha' 'et was somethin' Master had done tae me, but 'et turned out tae be somethin' else. Ah had no idea how tae use 'et on mah own an' Ah ne'er wished tae speak o' 'et. Ah did nae do sae, though one day a small slip on mah part led Mistress tae bring me tae tha Mage District. As 'et turned out, tha's what tha powah was an' they said they could train me.
"From tha' day on, tha's where Ah remained an' what Ah did. Ah suppose Ah should have been offended at bein'... pawned off, but Ah wasn'. Ah should have been scared about tha powah they said Ah had, especially aftah what Master had made 'et do tae me, but Ah wasn'. This would be mah life now. Ah was sae displaced, e'en aftah two years, tha' 'et was 'nough.
"As 'et turned out, Ah was a quick studah an' learned mah lessons well." Her mouth curves in a rueful smile, a vaguely dark expression. "Aftah those ele'en months, Ah s'pose Ah should nae have been surprised." She pauses and sighs. "Ah ne'er fit in wit' tha othah mages in trainin'. They all seemed sae young an' sae naive. Ah could nae blame them an' would nae have wished 'et tae be taken from them, but 'et made 'et hard tae relate. Ah was alone a lot an' had much time fer studyin', sae tha' aftah four years, Ah was done wit' 'et an' able tae go out in tae tha world on mah own."
Tilting her head, she meets your gaze more in earnest now. "Ah could ne'er talk tae them, though Ah knew tha' some were curious... but Ah was nae goin' tae be tha one tae break their blissful ignorance o' such thangs. Sometimes, though, one jes' needs tae speak on thangs an' sae tha's why Ah'm here speakin' tae yeh. Ah cannae share wit' annahone else what Ah've shared wit' yeh..."
Pausing again, a shadow of fear, wariness and pleading passes over her face and reminds you that she's experienced so much in not a great amount of time, comparatively. She frowns and speaks in a quiet voice, "Yeh won't tell annahone what Ah've said, will yeh?"
((OOC: http://www.khrystelclear.com/WoW-Nykkolaia.jpg))
Introducing... Nykkolaia Zeran (The New Mia)
Moderator: Guild Officer
Introducing... Nykkolaia Zeran (The New Mia)
"It ain't about how hard you can hit, but how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward; how much you can take and keep moving forward." ['Rocky Balboa']
Re: Introducing... Nykkolaia Zeran (The New Mia)
Things were quiet in the Pig and Whistle tonight.
For a few evenings now, Nykkolaia had come in to have a drink while she worked on her notes and there had been small crowds of others. One night she had been invited in, while others she had kept to herself. The occasional word would drift by her ears, but she tried to not listen in. That was rude and while she wasn't the most socially adept of folks, she did try to be polite... in most situations.
Tonight was a quiet one, though, and for the most part Nykk was left alone to her thoughts. Idly, she traced her finger tip around the edge of her wine glass. It was her right hand and so from the corner of her eye it was more like a pale red blur of slow movement. Sometimes she'd stare at that hand and wonder if it was going to turn into something else... like the dragon's claw it sometimes seemed to resemble.
Nykk sighed and picked her pen back up, continuing to take notes from her reflections of the days work. Today it had been trolls.
...and yet, her thoughts wandered.
The Wildfire Riders. That was the name of the guild. She had met the one woman - Varenna was it? It had been nice, if uncertain, to have company the one night, but now Nykk's curiosity was growing over this group of folks. They had a lot of Northerners, she had heard, and that brought about a longing in the center of her chest that was hard to deny.
"'Et's been a while since Ah heard tha soun's o' home sae much," she said quietly to herself before lifting the wine glass and taking a sip. Haunted blue eyes drifted around on a course all their own, landing on no subject for too long.
It was more than that, though. It was the lack of... purpose she felt.
For two years, she had lingered in a state between living and dead with only the occasional task but no motivation or goal in life. When she'd been chosen to train as a mage, it had given her direction and though the path wasn't an even one, she had been glad to move along it. Now that the majority of her training was done, she found herself... a little lost again, and she didn't like that.
Certainly there were tasks given to her here and there - folks who couldn't take care of things on their own - but it wasn't the same. That was existence by piecemeal with no real center to it.
Nykk finished her wine. She needed to know more about these... Riders.
Something in the mist appealed to her and she needed to figure out what it was, and what to do about it.
~*~
Being already in Old Town, her first stop was a drunk who had - of late - taken to wandering the area around the tavern she'd just left. He often kept to alleyways and shadows, but like any good shadow, he heard many things and knew many things. Sometimes he was too drunk to remember it later, but oftentimes, he could be a useful fount of information.
"Lijah," Nykk said, standing at the end of the alley. She had been able to smell him from two streets down.
The frail form, cloaked in the deepening shade of the building beside them, jumped and spun. His inebriated condition sent him lapsing to one side, but the wall caught him and he rested a hand on it to steady himself.
"Dammit, Miss, ya' scared the shite out of me," he complained.
"One would 'ardleh be able tae tell tha diff'rence," she commented blandly. "Ah need tae talk wit' yeh," she went on, taking a few steps closer - although not too close.
The whites of his eyes flashed in the darkness as he eyed her warily. "An' are ya' gonna be a bitch this time, too?"
Nykk smiled slightly, because it was the only sort of smile she could give. "Onlah if'n Ah haf tae be," she replied easily. Her patience was considerable and did not wear thin too quickly. She could wait forever, if she chose. "Yeh know 'et an' Ah know 'et, tha' Ah be jes' as stubborn as yeh, sae yeh might as well jes' tell me wha' Ah be wantin' tae know."
Lijah's eyes met hers again for a few moments before flickering away. "All right," he replied. "What is it ya' be wantin' to know?" His words were, as ever, slurred with drink, a trait he sought to make worse as he took a swig from his flask.
"Tha Wil'fire Ridahs," she said simply. "Wha' d'yeh know o' them?"
He hesitated. "They're a rough bunch, miss," he finally said. "I wouldn't go messin' with them. If ya' keep on their good side, all's well... but fuck with 'em and you'll know no end of hell." Lijah's aged eyes looked around, like he thought one of them might be listening now as he spoke. "Mercenaries, miss. Don't be messin' with them, if you know what's good for you."
Nykkolaia laughed. It wasn't a pretty sound, really, although didn't go into any sinister laughing halls of fame. "I forgot what that was a long time ago," she said, turning in a small swirl of blue cape before moving off and leaving Lijah to his drinking.
~*~
"Don't think there are many who haven't heard of 'em, tell truth," Clyde said as he pounded metal against metal at the forge. "They set up shop here some years back and don't have the best of reputations, I can tell you that much." He paused, hammer resting on anvil, as he looked up. "One of them, the big brute with the one eye and forever sour expression... heard her broke a man's wrist when he tried to pick his pocket." Clyde shook his head. "Rough bunch. Though say what you will, they did right by old town back... Well. They did right by it." It looked like something he didn't want to talk about.
Standing just outside of the light of the furnace, for it was evening and getting dark here in Stormwind (especially in the smoggy Dwarven District), Nykk listened to what was said, what wasn't said and what the body said.
"D'yeh know o' who leads them?" Nykk asked.
"Aye," Clyde replied, setting about the hammer and anvil again. "Some Northerner named ap Danwyrith. Tarquin ap Danwyrith."
Tha soun's o' home...
"Spends a lot of time over at the Pig and Whistle, when he's in town - or so I've heard."
Surprised Ah've nae seen 'im, or... per'aps Ah did.
Pausing again, Clyde looked up at her. He tried to find her eyes, but they were hidden by the hood of her cloak and the encroaching darkness. "Not sure what you're asking all these questions for, but I wouldn't go lookin' for trouble with those folks. They may do their part, from time to time, but they're none to be trifled with, especially not by a nice young woman like yourself."
"M... Master Varna," Nykk began, with only the slightest of stumbles on that one word, stepping forward into the light. As she did, she dropped her hood and lifted her head. She knew how the forge light reflected off her scars, making them seem like they glowed an angry red. She saw it in his eyes. "Ah am long pas' worryin' 'bout mah niceness," she replied with that faint smile. "Thank yeh fer tha information." She inclined her head towards him and walked away.
~*~
Nykkolaia found that learning about this group was not exceptionally difficult. This was fortunate in making the process quick, although did remove some of the interest out of it. The Riders, it seemed, were infamous enough that there was plenty of information floating around in the mist for anyone with the time and desire to fish it out, although what was fact and what was fiction... well, that's always up to be learned later.
A few days later found her back at the tavern in Old Town, but it was another quiet night.
She felt she had gathered a fair bit of knowledge by this point and was intrigued. Many folks had cautioned her, and some had outright condemned her for even asking after a 'band of ruffians' such as that. But, contrary to their aims, it had only made her all the more interested. What's more... she kept hearing the 'foreign' references; that most of these folks 'weren't from around here'. Elves... Draenei...
Northerners.
That held it's appeal, but what was more... a group who didn't quite fit in many other places. Perhaps, could this be a place where she could fit in? Hope was a rare feeling for her, so she worried to waste it... but there it was anyways.
Still. Keep expectations low and simply move on to the next steps. This is what she told herself. And the next steps were to try to speak with this... Tarquin ap Danwyrith, the next time he was here...
((OOC: ::paints a bull's eye on Tarquin::))
For a few evenings now, Nykkolaia had come in to have a drink while she worked on her notes and there had been small crowds of others. One night she had been invited in, while others she had kept to herself. The occasional word would drift by her ears, but she tried to not listen in. That was rude and while she wasn't the most socially adept of folks, she did try to be polite... in most situations.
Tonight was a quiet one, though, and for the most part Nykk was left alone to her thoughts. Idly, she traced her finger tip around the edge of her wine glass. It was her right hand and so from the corner of her eye it was more like a pale red blur of slow movement. Sometimes she'd stare at that hand and wonder if it was going to turn into something else... like the dragon's claw it sometimes seemed to resemble.
Nykk sighed and picked her pen back up, continuing to take notes from her reflections of the days work. Today it had been trolls.
...and yet, her thoughts wandered.
The Wildfire Riders. That was the name of the guild. She had met the one woman - Varenna was it? It had been nice, if uncertain, to have company the one night, but now Nykk's curiosity was growing over this group of folks. They had a lot of Northerners, she had heard, and that brought about a longing in the center of her chest that was hard to deny.
"'Et's been a while since Ah heard tha soun's o' home sae much," she said quietly to herself before lifting the wine glass and taking a sip. Haunted blue eyes drifted around on a course all their own, landing on no subject for too long.
It was more than that, though. It was the lack of... purpose she felt.
For two years, she had lingered in a state between living and dead with only the occasional task but no motivation or goal in life. When she'd been chosen to train as a mage, it had given her direction and though the path wasn't an even one, she had been glad to move along it. Now that the majority of her training was done, she found herself... a little lost again, and she didn't like that.
Certainly there were tasks given to her here and there - folks who couldn't take care of things on their own - but it wasn't the same. That was existence by piecemeal with no real center to it.
Nykk finished her wine. She needed to know more about these... Riders.
Something in the mist appealed to her and she needed to figure out what it was, and what to do about it.
~*~
Being already in Old Town, her first stop was a drunk who had - of late - taken to wandering the area around the tavern she'd just left. He often kept to alleyways and shadows, but like any good shadow, he heard many things and knew many things. Sometimes he was too drunk to remember it later, but oftentimes, he could be a useful fount of information.
"Lijah," Nykk said, standing at the end of the alley. She had been able to smell him from two streets down.
The frail form, cloaked in the deepening shade of the building beside them, jumped and spun. His inebriated condition sent him lapsing to one side, but the wall caught him and he rested a hand on it to steady himself.
"Dammit, Miss, ya' scared the shite out of me," he complained.
"One would 'ardleh be able tae tell tha diff'rence," she commented blandly. "Ah need tae talk wit' yeh," she went on, taking a few steps closer - although not too close.
The whites of his eyes flashed in the darkness as he eyed her warily. "An' are ya' gonna be a bitch this time, too?"
Nykk smiled slightly, because it was the only sort of smile she could give. "Onlah if'n Ah haf tae be," she replied easily. Her patience was considerable and did not wear thin too quickly. She could wait forever, if she chose. "Yeh know 'et an' Ah know 'et, tha' Ah be jes' as stubborn as yeh, sae yeh might as well jes' tell me wha' Ah be wantin' tae know."
Lijah's eyes met hers again for a few moments before flickering away. "All right," he replied. "What is it ya' be wantin' to know?" His words were, as ever, slurred with drink, a trait he sought to make worse as he took a swig from his flask.
"Tha Wil'fire Ridahs," she said simply. "Wha' d'yeh know o' them?"
He hesitated. "They're a rough bunch, miss," he finally said. "I wouldn't go messin' with them. If ya' keep on their good side, all's well... but fuck with 'em and you'll know no end of hell." Lijah's aged eyes looked around, like he thought one of them might be listening now as he spoke. "Mercenaries, miss. Don't be messin' with them, if you know what's good for you."
Nykkolaia laughed. It wasn't a pretty sound, really, although didn't go into any sinister laughing halls of fame. "I forgot what that was a long time ago," she said, turning in a small swirl of blue cape before moving off and leaving Lijah to his drinking.
~*~
"Don't think there are many who haven't heard of 'em, tell truth," Clyde said as he pounded metal against metal at the forge. "They set up shop here some years back and don't have the best of reputations, I can tell you that much." He paused, hammer resting on anvil, as he looked up. "One of them, the big brute with the one eye and forever sour expression... heard her broke a man's wrist when he tried to pick his pocket." Clyde shook his head. "Rough bunch. Though say what you will, they did right by old town back... Well. They did right by it." It looked like something he didn't want to talk about.
Standing just outside of the light of the furnace, for it was evening and getting dark here in Stormwind (especially in the smoggy Dwarven District), Nykk listened to what was said, what wasn't said and what the body said.
"D'yeh know o' who leads them?" Nykk asked.
"Aye," Clyde replied, setting about the hammer and anvil again. "Some Northerner named ap Danwyrith. Tarquin ap Danwyrith."
Tha soun's o' home...
"Spends a lot of time over at the Pig and Whistle, when he's in town - or so I've heard."
Surprised Ah've nae seen 'im, or... per'aps Ah did.
Pausing again, Clyde looked up at her. He tried to find her eyes, but they were hidden by the hood of her cloak and the encroaching darkness. "Not sure what you're asking all these questions for, but I wouldn't go lookin' for trouble with those folks. They may do their part, from time to time, but they're none to be trifled with, especially not by a nice young woman like yourself."
"M... Master Varna," Nykk began, with only the slightest of stumbles on that one word, stepping forward into the light. As she did, she dropped her hood and lifted her head. She knew how the forge light reflected off her scars, making them seem like they glowed an angry red. She saw it in his eyes. "Ah am long pas' worryin' 'bout mah niceness," she replied with that faint smile. "Thank yeh fer tha information." She inclined her head towards him and walked away.
~*~
Nykkolaia found that learning about this group was not exceptionally difficult. This was fortunate in making the process quick, although did remove some of the interest out of it. The Riders, it seemed, were infamous enough that there was plenty of information floating around in the mist for anyone with the time and desire to fish it out, although what was fact and what was fiction... well, that's always up to be learned later.
A few days later found her back at the tavern in Old Town, but it was another quiet night.
She felt she had gathered a fair bit of knowledge by this point and was intrigued. Many folks had cautioned her, and some had outright condemned her for even asking after a 'band of ruffians' such as that. But, contrary to their aims, it had only made her all the more interested. What's more... she kept hearing the 'foreign' references; that most of these folks 'weren't from around here'. Elves... Draenei...
Northerners.
That held it's appeal, but what was more... a group who didn't quite fit in many other places. Perhaps, could this be a place where she could fit in? Hope was a rare feeling for her, so she worried to waste it... but there it was anyways.
Still. Keep expectations low and simply move on to the next steps. This is what she told herself. And the next steps were to try to speak with this... Tarquin ap Danwyrith, the next time he was here...
((OOC: ::paints a bull's eye on Tarquin::))
"It ain't about how hard you can hit, but how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward; how much you can take and keep moving forward." ['Rocky Balboa']
Re: Introducing... Nykkolaia Zeran (The New Mia)
Drifting like a spectre through the shadows of the Underbelly, Nykkolaia tread the path of information she'd found thus far that was leading her where she needed to go. She'd spent the past few nights at the Cantrips and Crows. The first night she'd heard a scratching at her door lock, but the entrepreneurial (pardon, 'drunken and mistaken') guest was... dissuaded when the door handle he was touching suddenly glowed orange.
Nykk didn't sleep much, so there wasn't a concern. She had business to do.
The rule of thumb in her line of work was that the lower links on the food chain always broke with the least amount of force. They also knew the least, because being made a shoddy mettle these little links, these little cogs in the machinations of the darker side of life, were liabilities and so they were not trusted with anything 'important' but Nykk had long ago learned that a smart person could take was might seem unimportant and build a chain of her own.
So far her chain links included three merchants who claimed to be on the up and up, and were proven differently, a barmaid and patrolman with a weak stomach.
Why was all this necessary, one might ask? She already knew her primary target, which was a man named Jester. Yet, Nykkolaia was not an idiot. She knew there was no arrow straight to this heart. One did not simply waltz up to the man and tell him to give her something without her giving him something in return, and she knew that he would not be as... persuadable as the lower rungs of the ladder. She had to start at the end and work her way up. Something could shake loose ahead of time.
Nykkolaia knew that even shaking the bottom half of a food chain was a dangerous game. She was hardly inconspicuous, after all. Yet she did it anyways. Her interest in the Wildfire Riders remained strong and this was the task she was given. She was given the job because she wasn't a Rider, and she knew it. Master ap Danwyrith didn't know her from the next mage, so she was expendable. She didn't mind it. It was good business.
He needed to know something and here was someone willing to throw themselves into the mouth of a tiger - so why not? At best, he'd find out what he needed to know, and at... less best, some stranger was gone and he was still at square one, no worse off. Smart business. She could respect that.
Today she was following the trail of a man named Randolph Black. He was a human and a known thief to the shadowy corners of the Underbelly. He was also called a 'business man' but one of those kinds of business men that no one seems able to actually say what kind of business he does. She had learned that he was a frequent associate of Jester, and a link far closer to the top.
She learned that he went heavily armed, and was a man used to have people fear him. He would be harder to break. Black thought he had little to worry about.
Nykk was only too happy, if she knew how 'too happy' felt anymore, to prove him differently.
Having wandered, searching, for a while she eventually did find the man she needed. Her dark blue cloak let her blend into the surrounding darkness and her slippered feet carried her silently along the greasy looking stone floor. He didn't seem to hear her, and that was how she kept it. There were others around in this area and she couldn't take him here.
And so she followed him for a time. He looked over his shoulder once, and if he saw her, he discounted her. It was just a woman, after all, and a small one at that. A cloaked face was hardly uncommon here.
Patience was a virtue of Nykkolaia's and it almost always paid off. Soon Black walked into an area where other 'patrons' of the Underbelly had apparently cleared out of, whether recently or distantly she didn't know. All that she knew was that it was empty, for the moment - a pathway to another section and seemingly innocuous enough, right?
Smirking, Nykkolaia lifted her hand and called the powers of the arcane into her spirit and through her outstretched hand. The power hummed softly and Black turned to see the source of the noise, but there was no time for him to do anything before he was seeing the world from much closer to the ground. A penguin waddled with a wild-eyed look.
Pet penguins were all the rage these days, and so even if anyone saw her no one would care when they saw the young woman leading a penguin off down one of the many alleys underneath the city; just another woman following a fad.
Once they were further back from the main thruway, Nykk let the penguin wander around for a few moments until the polymorph spell wore off. For an instant, Black was disoriented and in that time, he was pinned with ice back to the wall before he could recover. His eyes were still wild, angry and amazed that he had been taken so simply. An important man like him should've warranted at least a small mob or gang, right?
Instead he was looking down at a woman of average, perhaps on the short side, height and shape whose body and face were otherwise covered by her cloak. She didn't look like a threat.
"What the fuck is goin' on?" he spat. He wasn't afraid, yet. She could see it in his eyes. Randolph Black wasn't used to being on this side of things and expected her to be afraid of him.
Nykk folded her arms over her chest, leaning back against the wall. Her head remained down, so he couldn't see her face. "Yer bein' interr'gated fer infermation, Mistah Black," she said plainly. "Ah know yer nae used tae this sort o' thang, but Ah would be gettin' accustomed tae 'et real quick like." She smiled slightly to herself and gave him a few moments to consider this.
He eyed her. "And who the fuck are you?" His tone was impressively venomous.
"Mah name is of nae concern tae yeh," she replied casually. "All yeh need tae know is tha' Ah know yeh be in bus'ness wit' a man known down heah as tha Jestah. He has some dealin's tha' Ah am int'rested in. Ah am a person verrah int'rested in thangs involvin' tha Wildfiyah Ridahs. Yer boss' bus'ness deals wit' 'em an' Ah want tae know about 'et. An' yer gonna tell me."
Black, defiant even stuck to a wall and growing steadily colder, spat on to the ground. "Like hell I am," he replied. "I didn't think the Riders would be spineless enough to send some little girl to do their work for them."
Inside her cowl, Nykk smiled again. This was too much. "Oh, Ah nevah said Ah was a Ridah," she replied easily. "Ah am nae reallah a woman o' allegiances, see. Ah am a woman int'rested in knowin' thangs, an' knowin' tha thangs Ah choose, an' fer mah own reasons. Ah fin' them out from whoevah seems tae know what Ah want tae know. Ah am int'rested in bus'ness involvin' tha Ridahs." She paused, letting a heavy silence linger for a moment. "Ah'm int'rested in thangs an' people tha' might be ...contrareh tae mah own int'rests, sae Ah get awfulleh twitcheh tae find these thangs out an' don't like 'et when someone stands in mah way."
He twitched against the ice spikes that were pinning him in place. They melted a little in such close proximity to his body heat, but not enough to drop him. He smirked at her. "So you're goin' to beat lions with sticks to find out how to piss off a bear den?" he asked. A flash in the eye and the upward twist of his mouth showed he thought himself clever, and she was impressed he came up with that. Maybe he heard it somewhere.
"Somethang like tha'," she replied. "Sae. Are yeh goin' tae do this tha easah way or the hahd way?" There was no response, which was answer enough. Taking a deep breath, she sighed with disappointment with him and moved forward. She lifted her hands, and it was the first clear view he had of them. She dropped her hood back and let Black get a good view of her face.
His eyes widened slightly but he kept a relatively even expression. She was impressed, but it wouldn't last. They never did. She stepped closer, close like a lover but there was nothing affectionate here. Her fingertips - cold from her spell casting - ran down the left side of his face. "D'yeh know how a girl gets scahs as these?" she whispered with a small curve to her mouth.
Again, no response.
"See," she whispered. Her hand was growing steadily colder. "Somethang crawls through yer veins. Usuallah somethang... hot, like fiyah or poison... but a slivah o' ice could probablah do jes' as well." Now he was feeling the tip of an icicle pressing into his cheek. "What d'yeh thank? Ah could mahk up yer nice face. Yeh know Ah can do moah than jes' one o' these thangs at a time... An' thank a how far down these scahs go, an' what moah'n yeh face Ah could take tae..." He met her eyes, looking for any sign of a bluff.
Randolph Black didn't find any.
"So I work for the guy," he said quickly. "That don't mean he tells me his business. Why you come to me?"
Slowly, slowly, the ice kept on its path.
"Yeh were talkin' a big game when Ah first stahted talkin' tae yeh," she said, tilting her head. Ice blue flickered in her eyes. "Convinced me tha' yeh were someone... impahtant, an' then what Ah heard befoah comin' heah. Well. Ah ain' like tae be doin' all this fer nothin'. 'Et's a lot o' work, aftah all." She smiled again. "D'yeh thank Ah like goin' back in mah mind fer these thangs? But one does what one must, aftah all." Deeper, deeper.
"What," she continued, voice lowering again as she leaned closer. "d'yeh know about yer boss' dealin's wit' tha Ridahs?"
Black's breathing was becoming rapid and she felt it on her face. He'd had something with garlic in it for lunch. It was probably starting to do pirouettes in the base of his stomach right about now. "Don't talk at me," he said. His eyes flickered around her face, but kept coming back to one spot. "Talk to Whitley Tarbell. He works with with Jester, and from Stormwind. Riders' base. Knows more than I do."
Silence continued for a few moments more. "Ah doubt tha'," she replied. "Yeh alreadah been tellin' me a lot." She paused. "Ah know yer afraid o' yer employah, but thank o' 'et this way... Ah'm heah. Yer heah. He ain'... sae thank about tha'. Also thank about blood, an' how 'et's about tae staht comin' out o' yer cheek, but none tae fast. Tha' ice will slow 'et."
"I could just start screamin'," he said. His voice was hoarse.
"Yeh could," she agreed. "An' 'et bein' tha Undahbelleh, yer nae likely tae get help tae soon... an' e'en when yeh do, d'yeh thank 'et is gonna do much fer yer image when folks see tha' yer screamin' o'er a li'l girl? Ice melts fast."
The movements of his eyes sped up, which was impressive. He wasn't used to this and it put him far out of his usual range. "Look, I don't really know all that much, the Jester don't tell me his business. All I know is that Jester is the messenger. He ain't doin' nothing all that bad but playing middle man between this Tarbell guy and the guy doin' the payin'..."
Well, this was progress. "An' who is doin' tha payin'?" she asked.
He hesitated. She held up her right hand - the second scars. "Fiyah," she whispered.
"I don't know him!" Black exclaimed. "Some... some guy named Uthas. He's got some connection to the Riders. I don't know what. He's had Jester do some other stuff for him, but I don't know the whole of it... word out in the underground about it bein' a bad idea for anything to happen to some... Bricu and Threnn Bittertongue, Jester made sure that one got around. Something with some dwarves and rocks and a couple waystations... buyin' information. That's all I know, really, you crazy bitch."
Nykkolaia gave a low laugh. "Ah hope fer yer sake, yer right." She took moved away both hands, taking a step back. "Ah'll be seein' what Ah can find tae confirm this and yeh best hope yeh weren' lyin' tae me." The ice melted from her hand quickly, no evidence of anything on his face. She brushed away some blood with the tip of her thumb. "Nae much, lad. Heal up pretteh an' nae e'en leave a mahk." She smirked. "Thought it worse, didnae yeh?" The smirk faded. "'Mazin' what tha mind does."
He just eyed her.
"Yeh could try an' repoht me, if'n yeh like," she went on. "But Ah would nae be countin' on 'et much. Yeh an' Ah both know tha' all tha real soldiahs are up fightin' tha real wars. All they have left in tha citehs are pretteh boahs from tha good familahs tha' wanted a li'l... respectabilitah o' militarah service befoah havin' some pretteh blue blood wench sold tae 'em. D'yeh reallah thank tha' some sheltahed pretteh-faced boah is gonna want tae spend tae much time lookin' at mah face?"
Black was visibly grinding his teeth now, angry with her and with himself. "And what about the ones who aren't guards?"
Nykkolaia shrugged, pulling her hood back up. "Ah'm nae afraid o' them. Ah've stared hell in tha eye." She gave a nod to him. "Thank yeh fer yer time," she said, only a hint of mocking in her voice. She turned and started to walk away. As she neared the end of the tunnel, the ice that held him melted and dropped him stiffly on to the floor.
By the time he came after her, she had already torn a hole in space and had disappeared into Stormwind City.
Nykk didn't sleep much, so there wasn't a concern. She had business to do.
The rule of thumb in her line of work was that the lower links on the food chain always broke with the least amount of force. They also knew the least, because being made a shoddy mettle these little links, these little cogs in the machinations of the darker side of life, were liabilities and so they were not trusted with anything 'important' but Nykk had long ago learned that a smart person could take was might seem unimportant and build a chain of her own.
So far her chain links included three merchants who claimed to be on the up and up, and were proven differently, a barmaid and patrolman with a weak stomach.
Why was all this necessary, one might ask? She already knew her primary target, which was a man named Jester. Yet, Nykkolaia was not an idiot. She knew there was no arrow straight to this heart. One did not simply waltz up to the man and tell him to give her something without her giving him something in return, and she knew that he would not be as... persuadable as the lower rungs of the ladder. She had to start at the end and work her way up. Something could shake loose ahead of time.
Nykkolaia knew that even shaking the bottom half of a food chain was a dangerous game. She was hardly inconspicuous, after all. Yet she did it anyways. Her interest in the Wildfire Riders remained strong and this was the task she was given. She was given the job because she wasn't a Rider, and she knew it. Master ap Danwyrith didn't know her from the next mage, so she was expendable. She didn't mind it. It was good business.
He needed to know something and here was someone willing to throw themselves into the mouth of a tiger - so why not? At best, he'd find out what he needed to know, and at... less best, some stranger was gone and he was still at square one, no worse off. Smart business. She could respect that.
Today she was following the trail of a man named Randolph Black. He was a human and a known thief to the shadowy corners of the Underbelly. He was also called a 'business man' but one of those kinds of business men that no one seems able to actually say what kind of business he does. She had learned that he was a frequent associate of Jester, and a link far closer to the top.
She learned that he went heavily armed, and was a man used to have people fear him. He would be harder to break. Black thought he had little to worry about.
Nykk was only too happy, if she knew how 'too happy' felt anymore, to prove him differently.
Having wandered, searching, for a while she eventually did find the man she needed. Her dark blue cloak let her blend into the surrounding darkness and her slippered feet carried her silently along the greasy looking stone floor. He didn't seem to hear her, and that was how she kept it. There were others around in this area and she couldn't take him here.
And so she followed him for a time. He looked over his shoulder once, and if he saw her, he discounted her. It was just a woman, after all, and a small one at that. A cloaked face was hardly uncommon here.
Patience was a virtue of Nykkolaia's and it almost always paid off. Soon Black walked into an area where other 'patrons' of the Underbelly had apparently cleared out of, whether recently or distantly she didn't know. All that she knew was that it was empty, for the moment - a pathway to another section and seemingly innocuous enough, right?
Smirking, Nykkolaia lifted her hand and called the powers of the arcane into her spirit and through her outstretched hand. The power hummed softly and Black turned to see the source of the noise, but there was no time for him to do anything before he was seeing the world from much closer to the ground. A penguin waddled with a wild-eyed look.
Pet penguins were all the rage these days, and so even if anyone saw her no one would care when they saw the young woman leading a penguin off down one of the many alleys underneath the city; just another woman following a fad.
Once they were further back from the main thruway, Nykk let the penguin wander around for a few moments until the polymorph spell wore off. For an instant, Black was disoriented and in that time, he was pinned with ice back to the wall before he could recover. His eyes were still wild, angry and amazed that he had been taken so simply. An important man like him should've warranted at least a small mob or gang, right?
Instead he was looking down at a woman of average, perhaps on the short side, height and shape whose body and face were otherwise covered by her cloak. She didn't look like a threat.
"What the fuck is goin' on?" he spat. He wasn't afraid, yet. She could see it in his eyes. Randolph Black wasn't used to being on this side of things and expected her to be afraid of him.
Nykk folded her arms over her chest, leaning back against the wall. Her head remained down, so he couldn't see her face. "Yer bein' interr'gated fer infermation, Mistah Black," she said plainly. "Ah know yer nae used tae this sort o' thang, but Ah would be gettin' accustomed tae 'et real quick like." She smiled slightly to herself and gave him a few moments to consider this.
He eyed her. "And who the fuck are you?" His tone was impressively venomous.
"Mah name is of nae concern tae yeh," she replied casually. "All yeh need tae know is tha' Ah know yeh be in bus'ness wit' a man known down heah as tha Jestah. He has some dealin's tha' Ah am int'rested in. Ah am a person verrah int'rested in thangs involvin' tha Wildfiyah Ridahs. Yer boss' bus'ness deals wit' 'em an' Ah want tae know about 'et. An' yer gonna tell me."
Black, defiant even stuck to a wall and growing steadily colder, spat on to the ground. "Like hell I am," he replied. "I didn't think the Riders would be spineless enough to send some little girl to do their work for them."
Inside her cowl, Nykk smiled again. This was too much. "Oh, Ah nevah said Ah was a Ridah," she replied easily. "Ah am nae reallah a woman o' allegiances, see. Ah am a woman int'rested in knowin' thangs, an' knowin' tha thangs Ah choose, an' fer mah own reasons. Ah fin' them out from whoevah seems tae know what Ah want tae know. Ah am int'rested in bus'ness involvin' tha Ridahs." She paused, letting a heavy silence linger for a moment. "Ah'm int'rested in thangs an' people tha' might be ...contrareh tae mah own int'rests, sae Ah get awfulleh twitcheh tae find these thangs out an' don't like 'et when someone stands in mah way."
He twitched against the ice spikes that were pinning him in place. They melted a little in such close proximity to his body heat, but not enough to drop him. He smirked at her. "So you're goin' to beat lions with sticks to find out how to piss off a bear den?" he asked. A flash in the eye and the upward twist of his mouth showed he thought himself clever, and she was impressed he came up with that. Maybe he heard it somewhere.
"Somethang like tha'," she replied. "Sae. Are yeh goin' tae do this tha easah way or the hahd way?" There was no response, which was answer enough. Taking a deep breath, she sighed with disappointment with him and moved forward. She lifted her hands, and it was the first clear view he had of them. She dropped her hood back and let Black get a good view of her face.
His eyes widened slightly but he kept a relatively even expression. She was impressed, but it wouldn't last. They never did. She stepped closer, close like a lover but there was nothing affectionate here. Her fingertips - cold from her spell casting - ran down the left side of his face. "D'yeh know how a girl gets scahs as these?" she whispered with a small curve to her mouth.
Again, no response.
"See," she whispered. Her hand was growing steadily colder. "Somethang crawls through yer veins. Usuallah somethang... hot, like fiyah or poison... but a slivah o' ice could probablah do jes' as well." Now he was feeling the tip of an icicle pressing into his cheek. "What d'yeh thank? Ah could mahk up yer nice face. Yeh know Ah can do moah than jes' one o' these thangs at a time... An' thank a how far down these scahs go, an' what moah'n yeh face Ah could take tae..." He met her eyes, looking for any sign of a bluff.
Randolph Black didn't find any.
"So I work for the guy," he said quickly. "That don't mean he tells me his business. Why you come to me?"
Slowly, slowly, the ice kept on its path.
"Yeh were talkin' a big game when Ah first stahted talkin' tae yeh," she said, tilting her head. Ice blue flickered in her eyes. "Convinced me tha' yeh were someone... impahtant, an' then what Ah heard befoah comin' heah. Well. Ah ain' like tae be doin' all this fer nothin'. 'Et's a lot o' work, aftah all." She smiled again. "D'yeh thank Ah like goin' back in mah mind fer these thangs? But one does what one must, aftah all." Deeper, deeper.
"What," she continued, voice lowering again as she leaned closer. "d'yeh know about yer boss' dealin's wit' tha Ridahs?"
Black's breathing was becoming rapid and she felt it on her face. He'd had something with garlic in it for lunch. It was probably starting to do pirouettes in the base of his stomach right about now. "Don't talk at me," he said. His eyes flickered around her face, but kept coming back to one spot. "Talk to Whitley Tarbell. He works with with Jester, and from Stormwind. Riders' base. Knows more than I do."
Silence continued for a few moments more. "Ah doubt tha'," she replied. "Yeh alreadah been tellin' me a lot." She paused. "Ah know yer afraid o' yer employah, but thank o' 'et this way... Ah'm heah. Yer heah. He ain'... sae thank about tha'. Also thank about blood, an' how 'et's about tae staht comin' out o' yer cheek, but none tae fast. Tha' ice will slow 'et."
"I could just start screamin'," he said. His voice was hoarse.
"Yeh could," she agreed. "An' 'et bein' tha Undahbelleh, yer nae likely tae get help tae soon... an' e'en when yeh do, d'yeh thank 'et is gonna do much fer yer image when folks see tha' yer screamin' o'er a li'l girl? Ice melts fast."
The movements of his eyes sped up, which was impressive. He wasn't used to this and it put him far out of his usual range. "Look, I don't really know all that much, the Jester don't tell me his business. All I know is that Jester is the messenger. He ain't doin' nothing all that bad but playing middle man between this Tarbell guy and the guy doin' the payin'..."
Well, this was progress. "An' who is doin' tha payin'?" she asked.
He hesitated. She held up her right hand - the second scars. "Fiyah," she whispered.
"I don't know him!" Black exclaimed. "Some... some guy named Uthas. He's got some connection to the Riders. I don't know what. He's had Jester do some other stuff for him, but I don't know the whole of it... word out in the underground about it bein' a bad idea for anything to happen to some... Bricu and Threnn Bittertongue, Jester made sure that one got around. Something with some dwarves and rocks and a couple waystations... buyin' information. That's all I know, really, you crazy bitch."
Nykkolaia gave a low laugh. "Ah hope fer yer sake, yer right." She took moved away both hands, taking a step back. "Ah'll be seein' what Ah can find tae confirm this and yeh best hope yeh weren' lyin' tae me." The ice melted from her hand quickly, no evidence of anything on his face. She brushed away some blood with the tip of her thumb. "Nae much, lad. Heal up pretteh an' nae e'en leave a mahk." She smirked. "Thought it worse, didnae yeh?" The smirk faded. "'Mazin' what tha mind does."
He just eyed her.
"Yeh could try an' repoht me, if'n yeh like," she went on. "But Ah would nae be countin' on 'et much. Yeh an' Ah both know tha' all tha real soldiahs are up fightin' tha real wars. All they have left in tha citehs are pretteh boahs from tha good familahs tha' wanted a li'l... respectabilitah o' militarah service befoah havin' some pretteh blue blood wench sold tae 'em. D'yeh reallah thank tha' some sheltahed pretteh-faced boah is gonna want tae spend tae much time lookin' at mah face?"
Black was visibly grinding his teeth now, angry with her and with himself. "And what about the ones who aren't guards?"
Nykkolaia shrugged, pulling her hood back up. "Ah'm nae afraid o' them. Ah've stared hell in tha eye." She gave a nod to him. "Thank yeh fer yer time," she said, only a hint of mocking in her voice. She turned and started to walk away. As she neared the end of the tunnel, the ice that held him melted and dropped him stiffly on to the floor.
By the time he came after her, she had already torn a hole in space and had disappeared into Stormwind City.
"It ain't about how hard you can hit, but how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward; how much you can take and keep moving forward." ['Rocky Balboa']
Re: Introducing... Nykkolaia Zeran (The New Mia)
"No Snare like Folly"
It had been less than a week since Nykkolaia had 'reported' into Tarquin ap Danwyrith about her findings from Jester's associate, Randolph Black. The response had, and yet hadn't, been expected. During her time in Stormwind after her questioning of Black, she had managed to ascertain the truth of some of the facts and find out a little about the name brought up: Uthas.
Thus, she hadn't been surprised by the reaction, judging from what little she knew. Yet still, she had certainly come to find out more than she had expected in being party to the conversation to follow her news. Silent and observant, she had listened and remembered.
Less than a week and she was back in Dalaran, heading into the tunnels of the Underbelly. ap Danwyrith's question echoed in the back of her mind, upon her offer to assist: Why? The answer she had given had been true - jobs were hard to come by, particularly for her - but it had, of course, only been part of it. She hadn't been about to deliver the rest of it. Not now. Not yet.
D'yeh thank they'll be annah moah likely tae accept yeh? Once yer nae on their tasks annahmoah...
Nykk had other things on her mind now, though. Until the day previous, she had thought of how best to go about her new task... and about the reason why she had offered to do it. Her mind had been centered on the conception of her own loneliness, and the sense of being lost. Normally, it didn't bother her, but it had been lately for some reason...
Things had changed, however, when she had gone to the Caverns of Time with some of the Riders. A mage hired to assist. A normal enough thing, but this time the keepers of time had taken them back to Stratholme. No, she hadn't been from that city or spent the time there that others had, but she was close enough to it to know and to the know history, and recognize the yearning that rose in her heart from the sounds of the past, of home.
Something had crawled under her skin from that trip through time, and even the comfort of being around other Northerners - even if she didn't know them well - hadn't been able to over-come it. It remained even now. It had lingered.
In fact, the feeling of sorrow, regret and displacement was so strong that she wasn't at her best. And when a woman is walking alone through the shadowy halls of the Underbelly, this was not a good thing. It was, perhaps, inescapable - Nykkolaia couldn't help it - but there are prices to pay for not paying attention, and for letting things get to you.
Nykk was only aware of the presence behind her, the menacing and masculine sensation, when he nearly on top of her. She was spinning around, arcane and ice flowing through her, but before a single spell could be cast, there was the back of a large hand connecting with the side of her face. The force was so hard that she was knocked several feet to the side, landing on her hands and knees as the pain blossomed through her cheek...
...the pain was unimaginable. Even now, feeling the fire crawl through her veins and set her aflame, she couldn't truly conceive of what it was. There was not really any way to understand it. She was just a girl, a young woman, who had never experienced such pain and terror as she did now; as she had over the recent months, but here it was.
She knew what he wanted. Her throat was thick and hoarse from trying to not scream, but the tears were not to be stopped. Nykkolaia knew what he wanted and she tried to separate herself from her body, from the pain. "Ah feel tha fiyah--"
Her words were cut short when the flat of a hand collided with the side of her face that was in the process of being deformed, although she didn't realize that part was taking place. All she knew was that pain had just stacked on top of pain and lights were exploding in front of her eyes. She screamed, because she couldn't help it. Her wrists and ankles strapped to the table, bands across her abdomen - she could barely thrash against the agony, though she tried.
When she was quiet long enough, Master snapped, "Speak right, girl!"
Nykkolaia trembled all over and sobbed silently. She stared up at the ceiling, although in the darkness she couldn't see it. She strained and pulled from her mind the way to speak with Master's accent and not her natural voice. "I feel the fire-like liquid running through my veins," she whispered hoarsely. "It's like nothing I have ever felt. Radiates from inside, heat with the agony. That's why it's like fire."
Those were all the words her young brain could call that even came close to giving voice to the sensations.
She could see his face now as he leaned closer to her. His cool hand stroked the other side of her face, the one without pain. "Good girl," he said gently, kindly, and she wept for having served him well...
...as she regained her senses, she found herself pressed back against the cold, slimy stone with the man pressing against her. Dimly she was aware of a craggy, pock-marked face that might have been handsome regardless, if his eyes were not as they were. Her head lolled for a moment with pain and memory until it fell back and she stared at the top of the tunnel.
"The pain is in a centralized point over my cheek bone," she whispered, unable to stop herself and unknowingly speaking with the Southern accent Master had taught her. "It radiates outwards and it's warm, very warm. I can feel the sting of the split in my lip..."
"What the hell are you going on about?! Shut up!" the man snapped. He slapped her, although lighter this time. She stopped talking. "Randolph Black has a message for you," he then went on, more like growling now. "He wanted me to make the right side of your face as pretty as the left... but I like to give messages in my own way, since he just wanted you to know that you fucked with the wrong person."
One hand was on her, groping her chest. She barely felt it; the whisper of cold air over her breast as her dress was torn. "Struggle or scream and I'll make sure you never carry any ugly little babies." The point of a knife was against her stomach; no, low, over her womb. She was coming around now and lowered her head to look at him. There was an awful look in those eyes and he thought he had her; that she'd submit. Sadness, longing, pain and anger passed through her.
"Tae late," she whispered.
He first felt the ice where he was grinding his body against hers. It moved quickly. The ice seized him where she knew she'd get his attention and spread outwards and the anger in her eyes moved in. His arm made a small spasm, like he was going to make good on his promise, but she was too quick and he was unable to move, falling back against the stones.
Stepping forward away from the wall, she didn't even try to cover the flesh over her body that was now showing, red scars gleaming and showing that the ones on her face were not isolated... "What yeh are feelin' right now is ice, simpleh, an' 'et will nae be long befoah 'et begins tae feel like fiyah," she whispered. But then the ice stopped. She wasn't going to kill him. "Tell Mistah Black tha' he is a fool an' Ah do nae suffah fools fer long. He should thank on tha'," she hissed.
From within came the trembling, but on the outside she was as steady as the ice that encased the nameless man and his weapons. She pulled her cloak close around her body finally and stepped back. Already the ice was melting and she watched, considering and growing cold herself, for a few moments before walking swiftly away with no destination in mind and nowhere of comfort to go to.
(("There is no fire like passion, there is no shark like hatred, there is no snare like folly, there is no torrent like greed." Buddha))
It had been less than a week since Nykkolaia had 'reported' into Tarquin ap Danwyrith about her findings from Jester's associate, Randolph Black. The response had, and yet hadn't, been expected. During her time in Stormwind after her questioning of Black, she had managed to ascertain the truth of some of the facts and find out a little about the name brought up: Uthas.
Thus, she hadn't been surprised by the reaction, judging from what little she knew. Yet still, she had certainly come to find out more than she had expected in being party to the conversation to follow her news. Silent and observant, she had listened and remembered.
Less than a week and she was back in Dalaran, heading into the tunnels of the Underbelly. ap Danwyrith's question echoed in the back of her mind, upon her offer to assist: Why? The answer she had given had been true - jobs were hard to come by, particularly for her - but it had, of course, only been part of it. She hadn't been about to deliver the rest of it. Not now. Not yet.
D'yeh thank they'll be annah moah likely tae accept yeh? Once yer nae on their tasks annahmoah...
Nykk had other things on her mind now, though. Until the day previous, she had thought of how best to go about her new task... and about the reason why she had offered to do it. Her mind had been centered on the conception of her own loneliness, and the sense of being lost. Normally, it didn't bother her, but it had been lately for some reason...
Things had changed, however, when she had gone to the Caverns of Time with some of the Riders. A mage hired to assist. A normal enough thing, but this time the keepers of time had taken them back to Stratholme. No, she hadn't been from that city or spent the time there that others had, but she was close enough to it to know and to the know history, and recognize the yearning that rose in her heart from the sounds of the past, of home.
Something had crawled under her skin from that trip through time, and even the comfort of being around other Northerners - even if she didn't know them well - hadn't been able to over-come it. It remained even now. It had lingered.
In fact, the feeling of sorrow, regret and displacement was so strong that she wasn't at her best. And when a woman is walking alone through the shadowy halls of the Underbelly, this was not a good thing. It was, perhaps, inescapable - Nykkolaia couldn't help it - but there are prices to pay for not paying attention, and for letting things get to you.
Nykk was only aware of the presence behind her, the menacing and masculine sensation, when he nearly on top of her. She was spinning around, arcane and ice flowing through her, but before a single spell could be cast, there was the back of a large hand connecting with the side of her face. The force was so hard that she was knocked several feet to the side, landing on her hands and knees as the pain blossomed through her cheek...
...the pain was unimaginable. Even now, feeling the fire crawl through her veins and set her aflame, she couldn't truly conceive of what it was. There was not really any way to understand it. She was just a girl, a young woman, who had never experienced such pain and terror as she did now; as she had over the recent months, but here it was.
She knew what he wanted. Her throat was thick and hoarse from trying to not scream, but the tears were not to be stopped. Nykkolaia knew what he wanted and she tried to separate herself from her body, from the pain. "Ah feel tha fiyah--"
Her words were cut short when the flat of a hand collided with the side of her face that was in the process of being deformed, although she didn't realize that part was taking place. All she knew was that pain had just stacked on top of pain and lights were exploding in front of her eyes. She screamed, because she couldn't help it. Her wrists and ankles strapped to the table, bands across her abdomen - she could barely thrash against the agony, though she tried.
When she was quiet long enough, Master snapped, "Speak right, girl!"
Nykkolaia trembled all over and sobbed silently. She stared up at the ceiling, although in the darkness she couldn't see it. She strained and pulled from her mind the way to speak with Master's accent and not her natural voice. "I feel the fire-like liquid running through my veins," she whispered hoarsely. "It's like nothing I have ever felt. Radiates from inside, heat with the agony. That's why it's like fire."
Those were all the words her young brain could call that even came close to giving voice to the sensations.
She could see his face now as he leaned closer to her. His cool hand stroked the other side of her face, the one without pain. "Good girl," he said gently, kindly, and she wept for having served him well...
...as she regained her senses, she found herself pressed back against the cold, slimy stone with the man pressing against her. Dimly she was aware of a craggy, pock-marked face that might have been handsome regardless, if his eyes were not as they were. Her head lolled for a moment with pain and memory until it fell back and she stared at the top of the tunnel.
"The pain is in a centralized point over my cheek bone," she whispered, unable to stop herself and unknowingly speaking with the Southern accent Master had taught her. "It radiates outwards and it's warm, very warm. I can feel the sting of the split in my lip..."
"What the hell are you going on about?! Shut up!" the man snapped. He slapped her, although lighter this time. She stopped talking. "Randolph Black has a message for you," he then went on, more like growling now. "He wanted me to make the right side of your face as pretty as the left... but I like to give messages in my own way, since he just wanted you to know that you fucked with the wrong person."
One hand was on her, groping her chest. She barely felt it; the whisper of cold air over her breast as her dress was torn. "Struggle or scream and I'll make sure you never carry any ugly little babies." The point of a knife was against her stomach; no, low, over her womb. She was coming around now and lowered her head to look at him. There was an awful look in those eyes and he thought he had her; that she'd submit. Sadness, longing, pain and anger passed through her.
"Tae late," she whispered.
He first felt the ice where he was grinding his body against hers. It moved quickly. The ice seized him where she knew she'd get his attention and spread outwards and the anger in her eyes moved in. His arm made a small spasm, like he was going to make good on his promise, but she was too quick and he was unable to move, falling back against the stones.
Stepping forward away from the wall, she didn't even try to cover the flesh over her body that was now showing, red scars gleaming and showing that the ones on her face were not isolated... "What yeh are feelin' right now is ice, simpleh, an' 'et will nae be long befoah 'et begins tae feel like fiyah," she whispered. But then the ice stopped. She wasn't going to kill him. "Tell Mistah Black tha' he is a fool an' Ah do nae suffah fools fer long. He should thank on tha'," she hissed.
From within came the trembling, but on the outside she was as steady as the ice that encased the nameless man and his weapons. She pulled her cloak close around her body finally and stepped back. Already the ice was melting and she watched, considering and growing cold herself, for a few moments before walking swiftly away with no destination in mind and nowhere of comfort to go to.
(("There is no fire like passion, there is no shark like hatred, there is no snare like folly, there is no torrent like greed." Buddha))
"It ain't about how hard you can hit, but how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward; how much you can take and keep moving forward." ['Rocky Balboa']
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