((Hope it's okay))
Wavering light danced across the polished wood of her mask as she walked from the Mage Quarter, past the various grievances old and new taken up within the streets. She had done enough in the matters of securing and warding for the Arcane Academy, now was the time to slip the leash. If the students really wanted to scurry out to join the fray at their own peril, it would be a hard lesson for them to learn if they survived and landed themselves before Headmaster Thaumajinx's desk. Everyone had enough on their plates. Considering the idiots out on the streets screaming at each other with their curses and challenges, and those with enough sense to hide in their homes, protected wards sparking here and there as the fray between the mages and warlocks continued to spill over. Perhaps more than plenty to fill the plates.
It thickened the air, the traces of magic that on any other day would be faint, light and delicate as the finest perfumes. Tonight, what crept under her hood and mask made her stomach twist and head swim as she walked quickly from street to street.
Cloying and choking now, the sharp spiced and smokey scent of conjured fire, the chill of ice magics that left the throat burning and lungs brittle as though in the harshest winter. That familiar, but far from comforting taint of fel magic, the greasy smell of burnt and corrupting flesh, the heavy musk of demons, fear and anger. It stank, coating her tongue no matter how firmly she kept her mouth in it's grim line, it rivaled the smell of garbage in the gutters cooking under the heat of high summer. Worst the smell, not the street to take.
She raised her skirts, gingerly stepping over the charred and moaning remains of something that had been humanoid at one point or another. A stub of a hand pawing at her boot, catching feebly at her cloak, voice lifting, pleading.
"Help... me. Please..."
What does it see? If it even can, a black hooded cloak, the wooden mask with it's curved beak and closed eyes. It doesn't know who I am.
"I'll help you. Let go first."
One more corpse now. Short work corrected with one sharp twist of the sword. More garbage for the gutters, canals, alleys, whatever lunatics that continued to practice the more questionable arts within these walls would be restocking from the remains between the lull of violence and the firm order once the city guard swept through.
None of her business, that, she had to get free of the Quarter before she made those fights her own, she had to find Renidus. If for anything a minor comfort to see one face that wasn't twisted up in utter rage or a complete mask of rabbit's fear. Turning abruptly she ducked down another street as a diminutive pack of gnomes and humans tore past moments later, most certainly not kin from the warlock circles. She pressed against the wall, thankful for the shadows, blackened hand still upon her sword as she held her breath, prepared to fight. Casting or calling her demons here would only attract more attention.
Not here, you don't see me, not here, none of your concern. Move along. Nothing here for you. Move along. The sound of feet continued down the cobbled street, bouncing off the walls, they would pass the remains, and they would likely meet the gathering of warlocks two streets over with the felhounds playing fox hunt. It would be messy.
Not her business, not her concern, she wished she had Searscar, but the dreadsteed even if masked in the general illusion of a normal beast would only make her a larger moving target. Make her way on foot, avoid the outright siege occurring upon the Stockades, and make her way through the Park towards the Square. The Park would be a sanctuary, it always was, you wanted peace it would be in there, it would be where she could plan the remainder of navigating the Canals. Simple enough if she could continue to travel unnoticed and unmolested.
--
Nothing is ever simple.
She sat up slowly, finding her mask gone, robes barely remaining and at the first touch of her hands to her face, a split lip, eyes aching and likely a full order of bruises, cuts... looking in the mirror wouldn't be on the top of her list anytime soon. Touching her cheekbone again with a broken finger or three was second on that list. What had gone wrong? She had made it to the Park. Everything seemed all right.
No. Not all right. She had patted herself on the back for making it this far without being spotted, and walked into a scene of sheer depravity. She had been grabbed before any chance of backing down the tunnel once more, sword taken from her, arms twisted behind her back.
Punches, kicks... stay on your feet, no matter what, stay on your feet. Her wooden mask had been torn away, and her head had been roughly yanked back once one of them had gotten a fistful of her silver hair. "Would you be lookin' at this now! I know this gul - we've got Lady Sooty Hands here visitin' us right honest folk! Renidus Funil's pet warlock herself! Tell us gul, did you and that bastard you're screwing work to get the Wordweaver loose for yourselves?"
They had been working on the civilians that had run to the Park for safety, and these brutes, they had... she couldn't look at them, the battered sobbing forms of those unfortunate enough to survive their attacks. Her head was forced back again to those crowded around her. Dull expressions in their daily lives, these men and women of the city, now hungry. Eager. A few laughed between each other, recognizing the name. Others knew they had been seen, marked, they had to move closer. She could be just another victim of the violence gripping the city. One more body in the canals. One more warlock to add to the pile of the others tearing themselves apart in the battle for the Mage Quarter.
Kicks, punches, strikes with tools of the craft now used as weapons, rocks, more demands to know what they had done, spitting, where he had gone, grabbing, robes ripped. They wanted screaming, begging, answers.
Finally she had only laughed at the gathering before her, all masks stripped away but one, it was a horrible guttural sound. One that left those still half invested reconsidering as the others drew closer to pound that bloody toothed grin from her face. Blackened hands shook loose of their hold, fingers hooking into dripping claws, shadows gathering as they moved as one. Horns, hooves, claws, teeth. Fists and kicks fell and landed, a chunk of her hair had tore away as the fight to keep her still grew harder. She hissed as their mutters, their accusations, their low nervous suggestions became cries of surprise as she attacked them in turn. Calling for her family. Cries became screams.
This one set upon by a snarling and drooling mound of teeth and tentacles, screaming into the grass as the back of his head was finally snapped open with the sound of a breaking eggshell. This one mowed down by the swift swing of an axe, his begging covered by the bellowing challenge of the Felguard cutting his path. They had scattered, some firm in their fighting, others fleeing and falling to the demons and the creature their keeper had become.
She looked down at the body she had been left straddled across, her metamorphosis spell finally slipping away, not wanting to pull her eyes away from the clawed and chewed ruin that was the face of a man who had likely once been a tailor, a dockworker, a noble. Now another corpse to join the savaged remains of the others littering the park. She was too tired to check for witnesses, or to care. She patted her robes back into some form of order, pulling the blade he had planted into her side free with a thick wet sound and slowly got to her feet.
She still had to see if Renidus was all right.
Writing Assignment: Riot in Stormwind
Moderator: Guild Officer
Re: Writing Assignment: Riot in Stormwind
Not being able to govern events, I govern myself.
Re: Writing Assignment: Riot in Stormwind
Loreli's Partner in crime here. This writing assignemtn seems to have come up in the middle of other happenings and seems to be a good time to get introduced to everyone. The lead in to this story is located at Loreli's RP Blog Here. I figured I'd only post the portion of that entry that applies to this story, however.
Zha'ane has just tracked down where Channi (Loreli's adopted daughter turned deathknight) had been transferred in Northrend, and they are being sent home via a 7th Legion staff mage portal to Stormwind. Zha'ane, Channi and her mount pass through the portal...
… and into chaos! The bottle of Snowplum Brandy that Zhan’ane had brought back, crashed onto the floor as he and Channi narrowly missed being hit by crossing bolts of energy in the Mage tower by dueling mages and warlocks. Zha’ane pulled Channi down and toward a wall for protection as her charger reared up and raced toward the door. Channi instictively put up an anti-magic shield that deflected more than one set of Shadow bolts directed at them. They took refuge behind a fallen table that another mage was using for cover as well.
“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!?!” Zha’ane demanded.
The mage seemed to be breathing heavily and was clutching an arm that appered to have suffered some form of spell damage. “Riots… Some prisoner was let go… riots erupted… Warlocks attacked… city is *cough*” That was enough for Zha’ane. Channi’s charger made it out the door and he could hear the chaos coming from the stairwell. There was a slight lull in the fighting as the steed barrelled through the oncoming Warlocks and demon spawn.
He glanced at Channi who had already pulled her Battle Axe and was preparing for the next course of action. “How often can you use that shield?”
“I can use it again shortly. What do you have in mind?” she replied.
“When I give the signal, I want you to run headlong down those stairs and I’ll meet you outside. Got it?”
She nodded. “Wait… what’s the signal?”
Zha’ane just smiled and then seemed to shimmer into the shadows. “You’ll know it, trust me!”
Channi’s Charger must have made it out of the tower as there were more sounds of demons approaching from the stairwell. 3 Fel-hounds and a Fel-guard came up next. The demonic dog-like creatures searching for magic users, and the taller fel-guard was there for physical protection. As they cleared the doorway, the Fel-hounds pounced on the nearest of the mages… only to be frozen in place as the mages blinked away. There was a puff of smoke behind the Fel-guard as it reared up in agony. Zha’ane had popped up and attacked it viciously from behind. Apparently this was the Signal…
Channi jumped up as the Fel-guard turned on Zha’ane, and buried her Axe in it’s back and watched it crumple to the floor. Zha’ane smiled and allowed her to take the lead down the stairs. As soon as she saw Warlocks, she was again encompassed by a field of anti-magic as she barreled through them. Zha’ane was close behind and left a cloud of blinding powder in his wake. They didn’t want to kill the warlocks, just incapacitate them so they could get out.
And out they made it to fresh air… or not… The air was rancid with smoke and fire. Spells were flying every which way across the courtyard. Zha’ane tugged on Channi’s cloak to get her attention and pointed down. She nodded in response and they jumped into the nearby tree to get down to the ground. A few broken branches and scrapes and bruises later, they were able to gather their bearings. They hadn’t even had a chance to think of where to go next. Just to get out of the tower…
It was at that point Zha’ane could tell the magnitude of the damage being done to the city. The sky in the direction of the Cathedral was filled with a huge plume of crimson smoke. The sounds from the market District were getting louder as well. It was almost as if the city were being culled by it’s own citizens. For the moment, they were safe, but the tree only provided so much protection. Zha’ane could hide in the shadows, but Channi was another matter. He had to keep her safe. Where to go…? Loreli was security at the University, surely she would have somewhere for them to go to… LORELI! Where was she? Was she alright? “We need to get to the Campus! Follow Me!” he called over the sounds of battle around them. Channi nodded in agreement and followed close behind.
He wasn’t sure where to find her once he got there, but he was sure he’d find a way. But first thing’s first…
Zha'ane has just tracked down where Channi (Loreli's adopted daughter turned deathknight) had been transferred in Northrend, and they are being sent home via a 7th Legion staff mage portal to Stormwind. Zha'ane, Channi and her mount pass through the portal...
… and into chaos! The bottle of Snowplum Brandy that Zhan’ane had brought back, crashed onto the floor as he and Channi narrowly missed being hit by crossing bolts of energy in the Mage tower by dueling mages and warlocks. Zha’ane pulled Channi down and toward a wall for protection as her charger reared up and raced toward the door. Channi instictively put up an anti-magic shield that deflected more than one set of Shadow bolts directed at them. They took refuge behind a fallen table that another mage was using for cover as well.
“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!?!” Zha’ane demanded.
The mage seemed to be breathing heavily and was clutching an arm that appered to have suffered some form of spell damage. “Riots… Some prisoner was let go… riots erupted… Warlocks attacked… city is *cough*” That was enough for Zha’ane. Channi’s charger made it out the door and he could hear the chaos coming from the stairwell. There was a slight lull in the fighting as the steed barrelled through the oncoming Warlocks and demon spawn.
He glanced at Channi who had already pulled her Battle Axe and was preparing for the next course of action. “How often can you use that shield?”
“I can use it again shortly. What do you have in mind?” she replied.
“When I give the signal, I want you to run headlong down those stairs and I’ll meet you outside. Got it?”
She nodded. “Wait… what’s the signal?”
Zha’ane just smiled and then seemed to shimmer into the shadows. “You’ll know it, trust me!”
Channi’s Charger must have made it out of the tower as there were more sounds of demons approaching from the stairwell. 3 Fel-hounds and a Fel-guard came up next. The demonic dog-like creatures searching for magic users, and the taller fel-guard was there for physical protection. As they cleared the doorway, the Fel-hounds pounced on the nearest of the mages… only to be frozen in place as the mages blinked away. There was a puff of smoke behind the Fel-guard as it reared up in agony. Zha’ane had popped up and attacked it viciously from behind. Apparently this was the Signal…
Channi jumped up as the Fel-guard turned on Zha’ane, and buried her Axe in it’s back and watched it crumple to the floor. Zha’ane smiled and allowed her to take the lead down the stairs. As soon as she saw Warlocks, she was again encompassed by a field of anti-magic as she barreled through them. Zha’ane was close behind and left a cloud of blinding powder in his wake. They didn’t want to kill the warlocks, just incapacitate them so they could get out.
And out they made it to fresh air… or not… The air was rancid with smoke and fire. Spells were flying every which way across the courtyard. Zha’ane tugged on Channi’s cloak to get her attention and pointed down. She nodded in response and they jumped into the nearby tree to get down to the ground. A few broken branches and scrapes and bruises later, they were able to gather their bearings. They hadn’t even had a chance to think of where to go next. Just to get out of the tower…
It was at that point Zha’ane could tell the magnitude of the damage being done to the city. The sky in the direction of the Cathedral was filled with a huge plume of crimson smoke. The sounds from the market District were getting louder as well. It was almost as if the city were being culled by it’s own citizens. For the moment, they were safe, but the tree only provided so much protection. Zha’ane could hide in the shadows, but Channi was another matter. He had to keep her safe. Where to go…? Loreli was security at the University, surely she would have somewhere for them to go to… LORELI! Where was she? Was she alright? “We need to get to the Campus! Follow Me!” he called over the sounds of battle around them. Channi nodded in agreement and followed close behind.
He wasn’t sure where to find her once he got there, but he was sure he’d find a way. But first thing’s first…
Re: Writing Assignment: Riot in Stormwind
***** Warning: This post has content that might be disturbing to some *****
Some nights breathe. Enough people get together in fear or love or lust or all three, it bleeds over into the world, gives something life. The air pulses and wraps around a man, lifts him up to new heights, takes him places he never thought he go, shows him things he never thought he'd see. Some nights breathe. Others choke.
In the dark loft over a nameless pub, Giorgi wrapped his hand around a woman's neck and squeezed. He pinned one of her wrists down against the floorboards with a knee, his other arm wrestling with her as she grabbed at his hair. The scent of smoke drifted in through the open window, carrying with it the sounds that exist in the dark recesses of humanity. Screams and sobs mixed with dark laughter and rage, all twisting together to make a sweet symphony that filled the old man's ears. The sounds of bygone days.
The woman thrashed against his hand, the cords of her neck standing out as she struggled to breath. Her head made a dull thumping against the floor as she thrashed, and one of her knees managed to come up far enough to hit him in the small of the back, rocking him forward on top of her. His beard tangled in her hair, and his face lay in the nape of her neck as he struggled to maintain his position. He breathed deeply, intoxicated by the sweat and fear.
The old man was forced to release her neck and plant his hand to stay on top of the woman. As he leaned back a particularly shrill shriek echoed into the room. Giorgi's eyes met that of the woman, and he smiled.
"Scream", he said.
They'd trusted him, to an extent, with the boy out of town. Those that knew about his relation, anyway. He'd assured them that with the boy out of town, he'd take a hand in how things on the street were handled. Old Giorgi would make sure that the Riders didn't lose what the boy and his friends had worked for all these years. Only they shouldn't ask questions. And, to be sure, they didn't. He knew most of them were only playing at being bad, and those that actually WERE of an ill nature had no vision, no patience. They wouldn't take the steps necessary to assure their own futures. After all, why should they? They hadn't been trained to sacrifice anything and everything for a cause greater than themselves, not like Giorgi.
It hadn't been difficult to orchestrate. A few palms greased, a few words in the right ears. Slowly, patiently he'd worked the gangs of Old Town into a frenzy, but he'd kept them on a leash. If you spring a dog too soon, it gets hurt and runs back to its cage. Giorgi didn't want these dogs running home. He wanted them to be so committed that they were dead before they knew they were wounded. The riot had been a gift. When the Cathedral went up in flames, it was a sign from the Light, just for him. He hardly even needed to give the word before the war spilled into the streets. They were ready for this, all of them, before he even came along. They just didn't know it. It hadn't been difficult to orchestrate, now that the boy was out of town. Easy as sailing Janeiro Point in a blow.
The woman's scream joined that of the other's outside, mingling and adding a harmony. Giorgi rocked forward, putting his weight onto the woman's shoulders, and reached down to his belt to free his dagger. He plunged it into the woman again and again, long practiced smooth strokes. Her scream rose in intensity, then cut off in a gasp as her hand grabbed his hair and tightened. One more thrust, and then the dark wet warmth, and Giorgi shuddered with the pleasure of a task finished. Her hand loosened and then fell limply to the floor.
He lay on her for a few moments, breathing heavily, and then rolled off onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling, illuminated dimly by the red firelight streaming in through the window. It reminded him pleasantly of a sunset at sea. Red sky at night, sailor's delight. He fumbled in the dark for his belt pouch and produced his pipe. The old man snagged a fortuitous piece of smoldering parchment that drifted through the window and used it to light the bowl, taking a long puff and blowing a solid column of smoke into the air. There was just one final piece to arrange, involving a dull knife and the entrance of SI:7 into the streets, and then he could rest. By this time tomorrow, the gangs would be shattered. It would take them years to recover.
"That'll be twenty quid, love." Her voice was surprisingly sweet given her experience in the trade. "No discounts for repeat customers tonight."
He waved at her in the darkness. "'s on tha stand, 's usual. Do ol' Gio a favor, eh lass? Stay in 'ere tonight. Gonna be a strong blow fer it's finished." Giorgi lay in the darkness with a smile on his face and listened to Old Town bleed.
Some nights breathe. Enough people get together in fear or love or lust or all three, it bleeds over into the world, gives something life. The air pulses and wraps around a man, lifts him up to new heights, takes him places he never thought he go, shows him things he never thought he'd see. Some nights breathe. Others choke.
In the dark loft over a nameless pub, Giorgi wrapped his hand around a woman's neck and squeezed. He pinned one of her wrists down against the floorboards with a knee, his other arm wrestling with her as she grabbed at his hair. The scent of smoke drifted in through the open window, carrying with it the sounds that exist in the dark recesses of humanity. Screams and sobs mixed with dark laughter and rage, all twisting together to make a sweet symphony that filled the old man's ears. The sounds of bygone days.
The woman thrashed against his hand, the cords of her neck standing out as she struggled to breath. Her head made a dull thumping against the floor as she thrashed, and one of her knees managed to come up far enough to hit him in the small of the back, rocking him forward on top of her. His beard tangled in her hair, and his face lay in the nape of her neck as he struggled to maintain his position. He breathed deeply, intoxicated by the sweat and fear.
The old man was forced to release her neck and plant his hand to stay on top of the woman. As he leaned back a particularly shrill shriek echoed into the room. Giorgi's eyes met that of the woman, and he smiled.
"Scream", he said.
They'd trusted him, to an extent, with the boy out of town. Those that knew about his relation, anyway. He'd assured them that with the boy out of town, he'd take a hand in how things on the street were handled. Old Giorgi would make sure that the Riders didn't lose what the boy and his friends had worked for all these years. Only they shouldn't ask questions. And, to be sure, they didn't. He knew most of them were only playing at being bad, and those that actually WERE of an ill nature had no vision, no patience. They wouldn't take the steps necessary to assure their own futures. After all, why should they? They hadn't been trained to sacrifice anything and everything for a cause greater than themselves, not like Giorgi.
It hadn't been difficult to orchestrate. A few palms greased, a few words in the right ears. Slowly, patiently he'd worked the gangs of Old Town into a frenzy, but he'd kept them on a leash. If you spring a dog too soon, it gets hurt and runs back to its cage. Giorgi didn't want these dogs running home. He wanted them to be so committed that they were dead before they knew they were wounded. The riot had been a gift. When the Cathedral went up in flames, it was a sign from the Light, just for him. He hardly even needed to give the word before the war spilled into the streets. They were ready for this, all of them, before he even came along. They just didn't know it. It hadn't been difficult to orchestrate, now that the boy was out of town. Easy as sailing Janeiro Point in a blow.
The woman's scream joined that of the other's outside, mingling and adding a harmony. Giorgi rocked forward, putting his weight onto the woman's shoulders, and reached down to his belt to free his dagger. He plunged it into the woman again and again, long practiced smooth strokes. Her scream rose in intensity, then cut off in a gasp as her hand grabbed his hair and tightened. One more thrust, and then the dark wet warmth, and Giorgi shuddered with the pleasure of a task finished. Her hand loosened and then fell limply to the floor.
He lay on her for a few moments, breathing heavily, and then rolled off onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling, illuminated dimly by the red firelight streaming in through the window. It reminded him pleasantly of a sunset at sea. Red sky at night, sailor's delight. He fumbled in the dark for his belt pouch and produced his pipe. The old man snagged a fortuitous piece of smoldering parchment that drifted through the window and used it to light the bowl, taking a long puff and blowing a solid column of smoke into the air. There was just one final piece to arrange, involving a dull knife and the entrance of SI:7 into the streets, and then he could rest. By this time tomorrow, the gangs would be shattered. It would take them years to recover.
"That'll be twenty quid, love." Her voice was surprisingly sweet given her experience in the trade. "No discounts for repeat customers tonight."
He waved at her in the darkness. "'s on tha stand, 's usual. Do ol' Gio a favor, eh lass? Stay in 'ere tonight. Gonna be a strong blow fer it's finished." Giorgi lay in the darkness with a smile on his face and listened to Old Town bleed.
A rhombus is the kind of rectangle a bitch would draw.
The Beast Unleashed
((in ur forums, addin to ur stories))
SW Riots: The Beast Unleashed
Stormwind, somewhere beyond the canal side doors of the University
(Related to events from here: http://arrens.net/phpbb/viewtopic.php?f=3&t=55)
If you asked Lyestra how she knew him as SI:7, she wouldn't have been able to tell you. Her knowledge was comprised of many things-the way he moved, the way he observed people, and the way his eyes widened knowingly as the 6'7 Kaldorei woman approached him, filled with grim purpose.
"Can I...help you, ma'am?" He tilted his head back as she towered over him.
"That's what I'm about to find out." Lyestra put one gauntled fist on his shoulder and propelled him towards an allyway.
"I wouldn't reccomend that you lay hands on me-"
"You make the mistake of assuming that I give a shit." She shoved him against the wall and held him there, leaning down to stare into his eyes. "Don't try denying that you're SI:7. You're crawling all over the place now, and I know the stink of dog when I smell it. So tell me, did you know Hazard?"
The man's eyes darted to the side. "I've heard of him."
Her fingers tightened their grip. "Do you know who he answered to?"
His lips thinned with pain. "He didn't work for us...directly. More like he was...on loan. We were owed favors. He owed them favors. That sort of thing."
Lyestra's brow creased as she frowned, and a dagger found its way from her belt to her hand. "Who...did...he...answer...to?"
"I told you, he wasn't one of us!"
Steel dented the soft flesh of his throat. "But someone in your organization knows who he answered to. Ultimately I just want to find out who was responsible for taking him from me-and I don't care what happens to those who stand in my way. Refuse to tell me, and you die in a slow, unpleasant fashion. Tell me, and I'll kill you nicely." She lowered her voice. "You'd much prefer the latter option."
He disagreed.
She dropped him to the ground and, humming cheerfully, and popped his right eyeball from its socket.
He changed his mind. "We just knew him as Shadow. But Hazard killed him, anyway. Blew him right up, they said. Lost some of our guys in the building, too."
Lyestra tilted her head. By now the man was on his back in the alley's filth, Lyestra's considerable bulk planted on top of him. He'd occasionally struggle, but she was rather good at pinning someone down. "But who did Shadow answer to?"
"I don't...I don't know." He swallowed a scream as she decided to pop his other eye out of the socket, as well.
"I can keep this up all day, you know." She shifted her position so that one hand was clamped around both of his wrists. Her dagger made several cuts in his flesh, barely enough to bleed, but like a good papercut they stung like a bitch. She sheathed her weapon only to bring out one of her hip flasks. Rather than being filled with her usual drug-laced whisky, however, this one contained another alcohol-and-herb concoction that set his skin afire.
"I don't...know...anything else! He really worked for Ravenholdt!"
"There now, was that so hard?" She lifted her head and stared down the alleyway, alerted by the sound of footsteps. "You're one lucky fuck," She slit his throat as whoever-it-was rounded the corner and rose to her feet.
Fionnualah stepped out from around the crate she had been hiding behind, if you could call it hiding when the crate was bigger than the gnome, recognition slowly dawning on her as the voice carried over the sounds of the city. The movements seemed familiar-they should, Lyestra was the her combat trainer after all. And Ly was probably going to be pissed when she realized that Fi had been spying, even if that wasn't Fi's intention. Who wouldn't stop to see what was going on hearing muffled screams coming from a dark alleyway? Fi just thought it might be a chance to use her newly learned skills on some lowly criminal, not thinking she would run into her professor looking downright gleeful as she popped someones eyes out.
"Well, I suppose that's one hell of a lesson.", she thought, as she slowly walked up to the Kaldorei. As she brushed her bangs out of her eyes, she gazed up at the towering warrior, nearly falling over with the three and half foot difference between the two.
"Well that's one hell of a punishment, Ly! I hope detention with you doesn't leave me looking that that." She peered at the body again, "Elune's tits! How the fuck did he manage to piss you off so badly? And who or what is Ravenholdt? Who is Hazard?"
Lyestra tensed, eying her student warily. Being caught was one thing...being caught by someone she couldn't kill was another. "Revenge is a dish best served with sides of blood and gore," she said slowly, glancing back at the corpse. "He got in my way, I don't know for sure but I'll kill everyone I need to until I find out, and Hazard was..." She trailed off. The warrior was visibly shaken for a moment, swallowing hard a couple of times before she continued. "Everything. He was...everything." The Kaldorei abrubtly stalked past Fionnualah and out of the ally.
She had to get away.
((Thanks to Tart for the guest appearance! Yay, Tart!))
SW Riots: The Beast Unleashed
Stormwind, somewhere beyond the canal side doors of the University
(Related to events from here: http://arrens.net/phpbb/viewtopic.php?f=3&t=55)
If you asked Lyestra how she knew him as SI:7, she wouldn't have been able to tell you. Her knowledge was comprised of many things-the way he moved, the way he observed people, and the way his eyes widened knowingly as the 6'7 Kaldorei woman approached him, filled with grim purpose.
"Can I...help you, ma'am?" He tilted his head back as she towered over him.
"That's what I'm about to find out." Lyestra put one gauntled fist on his shoulder and propelled him towards an allyway.
"I wouldn't reccomend that you lay hands on me-"
"You make the mistake of assuming that I give a shit." She shoved him against the wall and held him there, leaning down to stare into his eyes. "Don't try denying that you're SI:7. You're crawling all over the place now, and I know the stink of dog when I smell it. So tell me, did you know Hazard?"
The man's eyes darted to the side. "I've heard of him."
Her fingers tightened their grip. "Do you know who he answered to?"
His lips thinned with pain. "He didn't work for us...directly. More like he was...on loan. We were owed favors. He owed them favors. That sort of thing."
Lyestra's brow creased as she frowned, and a dagger found its way from her belt to her hand. "Who...did...he...answer...to?"
"I told you, he wasn't one of us!"
Steel dented the soft flesh of his throat. "But someone in your organization knows who he answered to. Ultimately I just want to find out who was responsible for taking him from me-and I don't care what happens to those who stand in my way. Refuse to tell me, and you die in a slow, unpleasant fashion. Tell me, and I'll kill you nicely." She lowered her voice. "You'd much prefer the latter option."
He disagreed.
She dropped him to the ground and, humming cheerfully, and popped his right eyeball from its socket.
He changed his mind. "We just knew him as Shadow. But Hazard killed him, anyway. Blew him right up, they said. Lost some of our guys in the building, too."
Lyestra tilted her head. By now the man was on his back in the alley's filth, Lyestra's considerable bulk planted on top of him. He'd occasionally struggle, but she was rather good at pinning someone down. "But who did Shadow answer to?"
"I don't...I don't know." He swallowed a scream as she decided to pop his other eye out of the socket, as well.
"I can keep this up all day, you know." She shifted her position so that one hand was clamped around both of his wrists. Her dagger made several cuts in his flesh, barely enough to bleed, but like a good papercut they stung like a bitch. She sheathed her weapon only to bring out one of her hip flasks. Rather than being filled with her usual drug-laced whisky, however, this one contained another alcohol-and-herb concoction that set his skin afire.
"I don't...know...anything else! He really worked for Ravenholdt!"
"There now, was that so hard?" She lifted her head and stared down the alleyway, alerted by the sound of footsteps. "You're one lucky fuck," She slit his throat as whoever-it-was rounded the corner and rose to her feet.
Fionnualah stepped out from around the crate she had been hiding behind, if you could call it hiding when the crate was bigger than the gnome, recognition slowly dawning on her as the voice carried over the sounds of the city. The movements seemed familiar-they should, Lyestra was the her combat trainer after all. And Ly was probably going to be pissed when she realized that Fi had been spying, even if that wasn't Fi's intention. Who wouldn't stop to see what was going on hearing muffled screams coming from a dark alleyway? Fi just thought it might be a chance to use her newly learned skills on some lowly criminal, not thinking she would run into her professor looking downright gleeful as she popped someones eyes out.
"Well, I suppose that's one hell of a lesson.", she thought, as she slowly walked up to the Kaldorei. As she brushed her bangs out of her eyes, she gazed up at the towering warrior, nearly falling over with the three and half foot difference between the two.
"Well that's one hell of a punishment, Ly! I hope detention with you doesn't leave me looking that that." She peered at the body again, "Elune's tits! How the fuck did he manage to piss you off so badly? And who or what is Ravenholdt? Who is Hazard?"
Lyestra tensed, eying her student warily. Being caught was one thing...being caught by someone she couldn't kill was another. "Revenge is a dish best served with sides of blood and gore," she said slowly, glancing back at the corpse. "He got in my way, I don't know for sure but I'll kill everyone I need to until I find out, and Hazard was..." She trailed off. The warrior was visibly shaken for a moment, swallowing hard a couple of times before she continued. "Everything. He was...everything." The Kaldorei abrubtly stalked past Fionnualah and out of the ally.
She had to get away.
((Thanks to Tart for the guest appearance! Yay, Tart!))
Re: Writing Assignment: Riot in Stormwind
((This would start after everyone else left the Pig that night.))
Shaurria had gone to the back rooms to sleep, but Pitch felt restless. He heard the Cathedral bells toll the hour as he sat alone in the common room, then his ears perked as something else came to them. Distant shouts, screams, and then a gunshot. He stared at the door for a minute, then abruptly stood and went to the back. In the dark he could just see the furry dark huddle of a sleeping Shaur on one of the bunks. Satisfied, he grabbed his cloak and spear, and left the tavern.
* * * * * *
Shaurria woke suddenly, listening to the commotion coming from outside. A soft "mreow?" brought no answer, and she shifted out of her cat form. "Pitch?" she called as she crept out to the common room. No one was there, and she stopped to listen again. Whatever was going on, it didn't sound like it was near the Pig. Yet. She shivered, then abruptly made her decision. Changing back into cat, she snuck out of the Pig, keeping to the shadows, and followed Pitch's faint scent-trail.
She nearly panicked when she reached the Trade District and saw the rioters for the first time. Skirting the edges, staying in shadows, she managed to get away without being seen. She reached the edge of the canal and glanced toward the Cathedral, then she froze. The Cathedral was in flames.
A group of guardsmen coming around the corner startled her out of her shock, and she fled up the canal. She had lost Pitch's trail. Where was he? The Mage District had all kinds of explosions and lights flashing from it, giving her more than enough reason to stay away. Finally, and in an almost blind panic, she headed for the one spot in Stormwind besides the Pig where she felt safe: the Park.
Crossing the canal, Shaur ran across Pitch's scent and felt a rush of relief. She unshifted when she reached the entrance, so she could call for him, but froze again as a human male came out of the darkness. "Oi," he called. "What's a pretty lass doin' out 'ere on 'er own?" She moved away from his vicious, leering grin, then changed back to cat and turned to run- and came face-to-face with the wall. She was trapped. Mewling in fear, she turned back to the human, whose grin had become downright evil now that he knew he had her. He took another step toward her.... and a huge black shape leaped from the darkness, crashing into him with a savage growl and carrying him out of Shaur's sight. His scream ended abruptly in a wet gurgle, then suddenly Pitch stepped into view, eyes wild and blood dripping from his chin. Shaur squeaked, and he looked at her blankly for a moment, then his eyes cleared and he quickly trotted over to stand above her protectively.
"What are you doing here, kitty?" he asked as he began sniffing her over for injuries. She unshifted again, pushing his head away. "M'not hurt. Woke up and heard a fuss, and nobody was there," she explained. "I didn't know where you went, so I just came here." She shuddered. "Town's gone all crazy." "Well, I'm not sending you back through that mess," he said. "There's a lot of... unpleasant stuff going on here, kitty. Stay close to me and out of sight. We'll see if we can find a bolt-hole til it all blows over."
The two druid-cats headed deeper into the Park, hoping to find a safe place amid the madness.
Shaurria had gone to the back rooms to sleep, but Pitch felt restless. He heard the Cathedral bells toll the hour as he sat alone in the common room, then his ears perked as something else came to them. Distant shouts, screams, and then a gunshot. He stared at the door for a minute, then abruptly stood and went to the back. In the dark he could just see the furry dark huddle of a sleeping Shaur on one of the bunks. Satisfied, he grabbed his cloak and spear, and left the tavern.
* * * * * *
Shaurria woke suddenly, listening to the commotion coming from outside. A soft "mreow?" brought no answer, and she shifted out of her cat form. "Pitch?" she called as she crept out to the common room. No one was there, and she stopped to listen again. Whatever was going on, it didn't sound like it was near the Pig. Yet. She shivered, then abruptly made her decision. Changing back into cat, she snuck out of the Pig, keeping to the shadows, and followed Pitch's faint scent-trail.
She nearly panicked when she reached the Trade District and saw the rioters for the first time. Skirting the edges, staying in shadows, she managed to get away without being seen. She reached the edge of the canal and glanced toward the Cathedral, then she froze. The Cathedral was in flames.
A group of guardsmen coming around the corner startled her out of her shock, and she fled up the canal. She had lost Pitch's trail. Where was he? The Mage District had all kinds of explosions and lights flashing from it, giving her more than enough reason to stay away. Finally, and in an almost blind panic, she headed for the one spot in Stormwind besides the Pig where she felt safe: the Park.
Crossing the canal, Shaur ran across Pitch's scent and felt a rush of relief. She unshifted when she reached the entrance, so she could call for him, but froze again as a human male came out of the darkness. "Oi," he called. "What's a pretty lass doin' out 'ere on 'er own?" She moved away from his vicious, leering grin, then changed back to cat and turned to run- and came face-to-face with the wall. She was trapped. Mewling in fear, she turned back to the human, whose grin had become downright evil now that he knew he had her. He took another step toward her.... and a huge black shape leaped from the darkness, crashing into him with a savage growl and carrying him out of Shaur's sight. His scream ended abruptly in a wet gurgle, then suddenly Pitch stepped into view, eyes wild and blood dripping from his chin. Shaur squeaked, and he looked at her blankly for a moment, then his eyes cleared and he quickly trotted over to stand above her protectively.
"What are you doing here, kitty?" he asked as he began sniffing her over for injuries. She unshifted again, pushing his head away. "M'not hurt. Woke up and heard a fuss, and nobody was there," she explained. "I didn't know where you went, so I just came here." She shuddered. "Town's gone all crazy." "Well, I'm not sending you back through that mess," he said. "There's a lot of... unpleasant stuff going on here, kitty. Stay close to me and out of sight. We'll see if we can find a bolt-hole til it all blows over."
The two druid-cats headed deeper into the Park, hoping to find a safe place amid the madness.
Will you carry me down the aisle that final day
With your tears and cold hands shaking from the weight
When you lower me down beneath that sky of gray
Let the rain fall down and wash away your pain
With your tears and cold hands shaking from the weight
When you lower me down beneath that sky of gray
Let the rain fall down and wash away your pain
Re: Writing Assignment: Riot in Stormwind
3:00 PM
Naiara buried her face into her grandfather's shoulder while she cried. Padraig rubbed the small of her back to soothe her, and spoke softly to her parents to soothe them. "She always has at least one good cry when she's helping us work." He said. "Naiara just senses your nerves about today." He looked over Threnn and Bricu, both standing as tall as new recruits, both armed with thin blades. A practical concession to the current environment in Stormwind. "Are you sure this is something you both need to do?" His voice betrayed his concern.
"Aye," Bricu said, "I was there at the beginnin', I want t'see this how this ends."
Padraig, still soothing Naiara, looked at Threnn. She answered the question before he had a chance to ask it another way. "We'll hear the verdict and then come back. We can't bring Naiara into a crowd that size, and neither one of us wants to bring her any closer to him. But we have to see this pan out."
"I don't want her dealin' with anythin' like this till she can throw a solid punch." Bricu said. Even he knew the half-hearted joke would do little to lighten the mood. "But thank yeh for watchin' her."
Naiara's cries started to fade. Bricu, Threnn and Padraig visibly relaxed from the stress. "You both have to do this," he said. "I understand. Hopefully, it will be quick. You won't stay for the execution itself...."
As he spoke, Thenia and Maggie came out of the back room. Thenia glared at Threnn and stared daggers at Bricu. Maggie, the shop girl, cooed at Naiara. "Oh-h hullo sw-sw-sweetp-pea!" she said in a sing-song.
Naiara wailed again. She pulled herself away from Padraig and lunged at her parents. "Mumamama!"
Behind the work counter, Padraig visibly strained as he struggled to comfort Naiara. For her part, Naiara started pointing at both Threnn and Bricu. It was something she had just learned to do, much to the delight of her family. The gesture was heartbreaking.
Bricu and Threnn, simultaneously started to move towards Padraig and take their daughter back. Almost as quickly, they stopped themselves. On their side of the counter, Threnn reached for Bricu's hand. He took hers and squeezed it for reassurance. Instead of scooping their daughter up, the each held on to each other.
"Och, me wee one." Bricu said, his voice cracking with her cries. "We'll be back soon."
Threnn reached for Naiara's hand with her free one, kissing her fingers gently. "Mommy will be back for her little kitten soon." Threnn continued to hold on to Naiara, even after Bricu let go of her hand.
"Oh, sh-shee s-s-sounds ss-so t-t-tired!" Maggie said to no one in particular. She started organziing the new shipment of silks that had arrived earlier this morning. The vibrant blues and greens did little to brighten anyone's mood.
"She had a long night last night," Threnn eventually said.
"ANOTHER long night." Thenia proclaimed. She fiddled with displays of winter wool. She focused on one particular swatch of cloth, repositioning it and shifting other displays. "You keep her out too long last night, and now you both leave her in this state to march off to hear something morbid. It isn't as if the runners won't be spreading the news of that monster's demise the minute Stichter makes the King's Pronouncement. You can keep her safe and sound in the Rose." Thenia settled on the wool, putting it back to the way it was before she started moving the cloth again.
"The Rose is already full, Thenia. Folk are gathered there spinnin' tales an' talkin'...tough." Bricu said softly. "And this is something we have to do."
"Mother, if you can't watch her..." Threnn started to speak, but Thenia cut her short.
"Oh, no!" Thenia said. She had moved from the wool to the new linens. She was starting to disassemble the entire display. "I adore my granddaughter. There is no one more important to me than my Naiara." Thenia focused her glare on her daughter, letting the accusation hang between them.
Naiara hid her face deeper into her grandfather's shoulder.
"Go on now." Padraig said to the two paladins. "We can take care of her. In fact," He hefted Naiara from his shoulder and frowned. "I think I'll go change her diaper. Maggie, be a dear and manage the counter, please?"
"Of course Mr. al'Cair." Maggie said. She stopped straightening the mage and frostweaves, and finished clearing off the counter.
Padraig took Naiara to the back of the store. Padraig's charm, the hallway and the thick velvet curtain blocked most of Naiara's cries. After he passed through, Thenia stepped in front of the hallway. She glared at Threnn.
"You're both such strong parents to be able to do your work when she cries like that," Maggie said.
"I simply do not approve of this." Thenia crossed her arms over her chest. "There is going to be a mob there. You already work with rabble, why surround yourself with them when you're not working?"
"Hearin' the Crown pass judgement on Uthas is exactly what I need now, Thenia. It's what the entire bloody city needs t'hear. I need it t'be o'er."
"Mother," Threnn said softly, "we both need to do this. If you knew..."
"Oh, I know all I need to know, Threnody. When you return, I need to speak to each of you about your priorities." Thenia's tone was sharp, rising with her anger.
Bricu clenched his teeth. "Right then. We can discuss this when we get back. I'll bring supper."
"I'll bring the tea," Threnn said flatly. She gave Bricu's hand one more squeeze before pivoting around and marching out the door. Bricu followed wordlessly.
The door shut behind them, leaving Maggie and Thenia alone. Thenia was flushed from her anger, her knuckles white across her arms.
-
"I k-know that Uthas and B-b-had a hi-history," Maggie said quietly, "but he's j-j-just focusing on his past instead of Threnn and N-n-naiara."
"And my daughter is too infatuated with that... man to see how dangerous it is." She let go of her arms and pulled at her hair. "GODS, this is frustrating!" she yelled. "At least this will be over in a few hours."
"I kn-know Mrs. Al'Cair." Maggie said, "And with t-t-this Uthas business over, you c-c-can p-push your family on to b-b-bigger and b-b-better things."
Thenia exhaled sharply and put on her best smile. Her mood brigthened considerably. "What would I ever do without you my dear?"
"B-b-be sick with worry over T-t-threnn, B-b-bricu and your darling granddaughter, I s-s-suppose."
Thenia laughed and Maggie giggled. In the back, Naiara continued to cry until she finally passed out from exhaustion.
---
5:01pm
"Citizens of Stormwind! You have gathered here today to see that the justice of the crown be done. Uthas, called Wordweaver and Plaguefather, has been secured in the safe cells of the Stockades awaiting trial for weeks, awaiting justice at your hands. Now, after these weeks, you may at last lay your fears to rest, for ruling has been made. The crown finds that the pardon extended to all members of the Knighthood of the Ebon Blade shall also include Uthas and all of his followers, called the Unblinking Eye. From this moment on they stand as free citizens of the Alliance. In the name of King Varian Wrynn and Stormwind, so it is judged." And with that, Strichter darted back through the doors, which were already swinging closed before he finished the proclamation.
"FUCKIN' BALLACKS!" Bricu screamed. "FUCKIN BALLACKS!" His voice joined the chorus of the mob behind him. Threnn tried to comfort him by slipping an arm around around his waist, but she was jostled forward as the mob surged. Bricu didn't notice at first. All of his breath rushed out of his lungs and bile started to rise in his throat. Threnn pushed back through the crowd and shook Bricu back to awareness.
"LOVE," she yelled.
Bricu started to right himself, but he ducked again as rocks and cobblestones started flying. He pulled Threnn down with him. "Missus."
The sound of the mob--the yelling, the cheers, the sound of rocks and cobblestones--drowned out almost everything. "We need to get back to my parents shop," yelled Threnn. The crowd surged again, pushing the two Bittertongues together. The took a heartbeat to steady each other. Bricu motioned to the buckler on his back. Threnn nodded. Both paladins pulled their shields down and worked their way through the front of the mob. With each surge forward, both would push back with their shields. One man, whip thin and tall, tried threading his way through the crowd. Someone, or someones, pushed back. The Bittertongues saw him fall. No one helped him get up as the mob surged again; he was swallowed whole. Bricu kept marching. He pointed over Threnn's shoulder to the armorer's shop.
"EASIER T'PUSH THROUGH." He had to shout to be heard over the angry din. Threnn slammed her shield as one of the rioters tried to get ahead of her, and kept moving towards the store.
By the time they reached the steps of Righteous Plates, the mob had become something more than the sum of the angry people of Stormwind. Every surge was a breath. Individual cries and chants stopped. The rain of stones was joined by the sounds of the mob banging against the closed doors of the Catherdal. Not a single member of the Watch could be seen anywhere. Some of the luckier people near the fringe of the crowd managed to break free. Others still ran to join, adding to its size and ferocity.
"There!" Threnn pointed towards the bridge to the canals. A trickle of people were running unimpeded from the chaos by the Cathedral. Bricu went first, freely slamming his shield into anyone unlucky enough to be close to him. Threnn followed closely, dodging, jumping and smashing when the mob got too close.
It felt like hours had passed by the time they broke out of the press of bodies. Sweat trickled down Threnn's back beneath her armor. A bruise bloomed on Bricu's cheek where someone's fist had gotten past his shield. But they were out, at least for the moment, and able to breathe again. Logic would dictate that people would be running away from the Square, but as they watched, more and more people would approach, hear the news, and rush forward to scream their outrage.
"This is gonna spread, Threnny." Bricu watched as two men tried to cram themselves into the same gap and, absent of the Wordweaver himself to pummel, turned their fists on one another.
"We have to get back to the shop."
"Aye." He looked back over the crowd, his eyes searching past the raised fists and jostling bodies. He squinted beyond all of them, to the steps where Uthas had stood quietly by, watching his pardon ring out over the courtyard.
But his nephew was gone.
"This way," said Threnn, tugging on his arm, bringing him back to focus. "Love, we have to go. Naiara's --"
He nodded, lifting his shield once more. "Let's get movin', then."
---
They'd just about made it to the first bridge when the shout went up: "Oi! I know you, don't I?" A gaggle of six men approached them from the edge of the bridge. The myriad pieces of a fireplace set were distributed among four of them; the other two carried short lengths of wood that had probably recently resided in the bin beside a hearth.
Bricu and Threnn halted well out of striking range. "Sorry, squire, none o'yeh lot look familiar."
"No, we wouldn't. But we know who you are." The speaker was the one wielding the poker. He brought it up and smacked it into the palm of his hand. "You're the one that calls himself the Plaguefather's uncle, aren't you?"
Bricu met the speakers glare with one of his own. "Aye," he said. "That's me. Now if that's all," he said calmly, "we've got somewhere else t'be."
"That bastard stole our families." He speaker gestured with the stolen poker to the rest of his crew. "Maybe its time we evened out that score." The men fanned out, blocking the Bittertongues' way."
Threnn started to draw her sword and lifted her shield. Bricu threw his onto his back.
"We don't have time fer this..." Bricu started to say. The man with the poker interrupted him.
"He had time to send us plagued food and blankets...."
"AND HIRE ASSASSINS fer folks better the the lot o'yeh wankers." Bricu shouted back. The man with the poker took a step back into his motley. Bricu walked forward.
"How many folk did he kill? Friends an' Family o'his. How many were targeted by his knives? Eh?" Bricu was a few feet away from the men.
"Sixty?" A good lunge with the poker could have pierced his chest.
"Seventy?" The the hook of the poker could have torn Bricu's eye from his socket. The gaggle of men fidgeted, but didn't raise a makeshift club or their voices.
"A hundred?" Bricu was one Andorhal Kiss away from the man with the poker.
"What's your point?" Poker asked.
Bricu put his finger in the man's chest. "I'm the Plaguefather's Uncle. He killed thousands. He had his friends an' colleagues killed t'keep his plans movin'. Yet he spared me. Now he's got a pardon. He could be right around the corner, walkin' this way t'find his favorite uncle. How angry would he be if he saw yeh lot threatenin' me. The one man he never wanted t'hurt." He waited for one of the men to swing, for someone to make contact with their bits of wood or iron.
No one, not even the man with the poker, moved.
"Right. Me an' the missus are leavin'. Yeh wee gobshites go join the rest o'the wankers in the square. Now get outta me sight, unless yeh want me t'tell Him about yer threats."
Half of the men walked off. The one with the poker started to say something. Threnn could hear the knuckles and tendons pop as Bricu clenched his fist.
"Get. Goin'." He said softly.
The man with the poker bumped his shoulder into Bricu's as he walked by. The rest of the crew followed. Bricu turned back to Threnn.
"C'mon missus, we're in a hurry."
--
(more to come)
Naiara buried her face into her grandfather's shoulder while she cried. Padraig rubbed the small of her back to soothe her, and spoke softly to her parents to soothe them. "She always has at least one good cry when she's helping us work." He said. "Naiara just senses your nerves about today." He looked over Threnn and Bricu, both standing as tall as new recruits, both armed with thin blades. A practical concession to the current environment in Stormwind. "Are you sure this is something you both need to do?" His voice betrayed his concern.
"Aye," Bricu said, "I was there at the beginnin', I want t'see this how this ends."
Padraig, still soothing Naiara, looked at Threnn. She answered the question before he had a chance to ask it another way. "We'll hear the verdict and then come back. We can't bring Naiara into a crowd that size, and neither one of us wants to bring her any closer to him. But we have to see this pan out."
"I don't want her dealin' with anythin' like this till she can throw a solid punch." Bricu said. Even he knew the half-hearted joke would do little to lighten the mood. "But thank yeh for watchin' her."
Naiara's cries started to fade. Bricu, Threnn and Padraig visibly relaxed from the stress. "You both have to do this," he said. "I understand. Hopefully, it will be quick. You won't stay for the execution itself...."
As he spoke, Thenia and Maggie came out of the back room. Thenia glared at Threnn and stared daggers at Bricu. Maggie, the shop girl, cooed at Naiara. "Oh-h hullo sw-sw-sweetp-pea!" she said in a sing-song.
Naiara wailed again. She pulled herself away from Padraig and lunged at her parents. "Mumamama!"
Behind the work counter, Padraig visibly strained as he struggled to comfort Naiara. For her part, Naiara started pointing at both Threnn and Bricu. It was something she had just learned to do, much to the delight of her family. The gesture was heartbreaking.
Bricu and Threnn, simultaneously started to move towards Padraig and take their daughter back. Almost as quickly, they stopped themselves. On their side of the counter, Threnn reached for Bricu's hand. He took hers and squeezed it for reassurance. Instead of scooping their daughter up, the each held on to each other.
"Och, me wee one." Bricu said, his voice cracking with her cries. "We'll be back soon."
Threnn reached for Naiara's hand with her free one, kissing her fingers gently. "Mommy will be back for her little kitten soon." Threnn continued to hold on to Naiara, even after Bricu let go of her hand.
"Oh, sh-shee s-s-sounds ss-so t-t-tired!" Maggie said to no one in particular. She started organziing the new shipment of silks that had arrived earlier this morning. The vibrant blues and greens did little to brighten anyone's mood.
"She had a long night last night," Threnn eventually said.
"ANOTHER long night." Thenia proclaimed. She fiddled with displays of winter wool. She focused on one particular swatch of cloth, repositioning it and shifting other displays. "You keep her out too long last night, and now you both leave her in this state to march off to hear something morbid. It isn't as if the runners won't be spreading the news of that monster's demise the minute Stichter makes the King's Pronouncement. You can keep her safe and sound in the Rose." Thenia settled on the wool, putting it back to the way it was before she started moving the cloth again.
"The Rose is already full, Thenia. Folk are gathered there spinnin' tales an' talkin'...tough." Bricu said softly. "And this is something we have to do."
"Mother, if you can't watch her..." Threnn started to speak, but Thenia cut her short.
"Oh, no!" Thenia said. She had moved from the wool to the new linens. She was starting to disassemble the entire display. "I adore my granddaughter. There is no one more important to me than my Naiara." Thenia focused her glare on her daughter, letting the accusation hang between them.
Naiara hid her face deeper into her grandfather's shoulder.
"Go on now." Padraig said to the two paladins. "We can take care of her. In fact," He hefted Naiara from his shoulder and frowned. "I think I'll go change her diaper. Maggie, be a dear and manage the counter, please?"
"Of course Mr. al'Cair." Maggie said. She stopped straightening the mage and frostweaves, and finished clearing off the counter.
Padraig took Naiara to the back of the store. Padraig's charm, the hallway and the thick velvet curtain blocked most of Naiara's cries. After he passed through, Thenia stepped in front of the hallway. She glared at Threnn.
"You're both such strong parents to be able to do your work when she cries like that," Maggie said.
"I simply do not approve of this." Thenia crossed her arms over her chest. "There is going to be a mob there. You already work with rabble, why surround yourself with them when you're not working?"
"Hearin' the Crown pass judgement on Uthas is exactly what I need now, Thenia. It's what the entire bloody city needs t'hear. I need it t'be o'er."
"Mother," Threnn said softly, "we both need to do this. If you knew..."
"Oh, I know all I need to know, Threnody. When you return, I need to speak to each of you about your priorities." Thenia's tone was sharp, rising with her anger.
Bricu clenched his teeth. "Right then. We can discuss this when we get back. I'll bring supper."
"I'll bring the tea," Threnn said flatly. She gave Bricu's hand one more squeeze before pivoting around and marching out the door. Bricu followed wordlessly.
The door shut behind them, leaving Maggie and Thenia alone. Thenia was flushed from her anger, her knuckles white across her arms.
-
"I k-know that Uthas and B-b-had a hi-history," Maggie said quietly, "but he's j-j-just focusing on his past instead of Threnn and N-n-naiara."
"And my daughter is too infatuated with that... man to see how dangerous it is." She let go of her arms and pulled at her hair. "GODS, this is frustrating!" she yelled. "At least this will be over in a few hours."
"I kn-know Mrs. Al'Cair." Maggie said, "And with t-t-this Uthas business over, you c-c-can p-push your family on to b-b-bigger and b-b-better things."
Thenia exhaled sharply and put on her best smile. Her mood brigthened considerably. "What would I ever do without you my dear?"
"B-b-be sick with worry over T-t-threnn, B-b-bricu and your darling granddaughter, I s-s-suppose."
Thenia laughed and Maggie giggled. In the back, Naiara continued to cry until she finally passed out from exhaustion.
---
5:01pm
"Citizens of Stormwind! You have gathered here today to see that the justice of the crown be done. Uthas, called Wordweaver and Plaguefather, has been secured in the safe cells of the Stockades awaiting trial for weeks, awaiting justice at your hands. Now, after these weeks, you may at last lay your fears to rest, for ruling has been made. The crown finds that the pardon extended to all members of the Knighthood of the Ebon Blade shall also include Uthas and all of his followers, called the Unblinking Eye. From this moment on they stand as free citizens of the Alliance. In the name of King Varian Wrynn and Stormwind, so it is judged." And with that, Strichter darted back through the doors, which were already swinging closed before he finished the proclamation.
"FUCKIN' BALLACKS!" Bricu screamed. "FUCKIN BALLACKS!" His voice joined the chorus of the mob behind him. Threnn tried to comfort him by slipping an arm around around his waist, but she was jostled forward as the mob surged. Bricu didn't notice at first. All of his breath rushed out of his lungs and bile started to rise in his throat. Threnn pushed back through the crowd and shook Bricu back to awareness.
"LOVE," she yelled.
Bricu started to right himself, but he ducked again as rocks and cobblestones started flying. He pulled Threnn down with him. "Missus."
The sound of the mob--the yelling, the cheers, the sound of rocks and cobblestones--drowned out almost everything. "We need to get back to my parents shop," yelled Threnn. The crowd surged again, pushing the two Bittertongues together. The took a heartbeat to steady each other. Bricu motioned to the buckler on his back. Threnn nodded. Both paladins pulled their shields down and worked their way through the front of the mob. With each surge forward, both would push back with their shields. One man, whip thin and tall, tried threading his way through the crowd. Someone, or someones, pushed back. The Bittertongues saw him fall. No one helped him get up as the mob surged again; he was swallowed whole. Bricu kept marching. He pointed over Threnn's shoulder to the armorer's shop.
"EASIER T'PUSH THROUGH." He had to shout to be heard over the angry din. Threnn slammed her shield as one of the rioters tried to get ahead of her, and kept moving towards the store.
By the time they reached the steps of Righteous Plates, the mob had become something more than the sum of the angry people of Stormwind. Every surge was a breath. Individual cries and chants stopped. The rain of stones was joined by the sounds of the mob banging against the closed doors of the Catherdal. Not a single member of the Watch could be seen anywhere. Some of the luckier people near the fringe of the crowd managed to break free. Others still ran to join, adding to its size and ferocity.
"There!" Threnn pointed towards the bridge to the canals. A trickle of people were running unimpeded from the chaos by the Cathedral. Bricu went first, freely slamming his shield into anyone unlucky enough to be close to him. Threnn followed closely, dodging, jumping and smashing when the mob got too close.
It felt like hours had passed by the time they broke out of the press of bodies. Sweat trickled down Threnn's back beneath her armor. A bruise bloomed on Bricu's cheek where someone's fist had gotten past his shield. But they were out, at least for the moment, and able to breathe again. Logic would dictate that people would be running away from the Square, but as they watched, more and more people would approach, hear the news, and rush forward to scream their outrage.
"This is gonna spread, Threnny." Bricu watched as two men tried to cram themselves into the same gap and, absent of the Wordweaver himself to pummel, turned their fists on one another.
"We have to get back to the shop."
"Aye." He looked back over the crowd, his eyes searching past the raised fists and jostling bodies. He squinted beyond all of them, to the steps where Uthas had stood quietly by, watching his pardon ring out over the courtyard.
But his nephew was gone.
"This way," said Threnn, tugging on his arm, bringing him back to focus. "Love, we have to go. Naiara's --"
He nodded, lifting his shield once more. "Let's get movin', then."
---
They'd just about made it to the first bridge when the shout went up: "Oi! I know you, don't I?" A gaggle of six men approached them from the edge of the bridge. The myriad pieces of a fireplace set were distributed among four of them; the other two carried short lengths of wood that had probably recently resided in the bin beside a hearth.
Bricu and Threnn halted well out of striking range. "Sorry, squire, none o'yeh lot look familiar."
"No, we wouldn't. But we know who you are." The speaker was the one wielding the poker. He brought it up and smacked it into the palm of his hand. "You're the one that calls himself the Plaguefather's uncle, aren't you?"
Bricu met the speakers glare with one of his own. "Aye," he said. "That's me. Now if that's all," he said calmly, "we've got somewhere else t'be."
"That bastard stole our families." He speaker gestured with the stolen poker to the rest of his crew. "Maybe its time we evened out that score." The men fanned out, blocking the Bittertongues' way."
Threnn started to draw her sword and lifted her shield. Bricu threw his onto his back.
"We don't have time fer this..." Bricu started to say. The man with the poker interrupted him.
"He had time to send us plagued food and blankets...."
"AND HIRE ASSASSINS fer folks better the the lot o'yeh wankers." Bricu shouted back. The man with the poker took a step back into his motley. Bricu walked forward.
"How many folk did he kill? Friends an' Family o'his. How many were targeted by his knives? Eh?" Bricu was a few feet away from the men.
"Sixty?" A good lunge with the poker could have pierced his chest.
"Seventy?" The the hook of the poker could have torn Bricu's eye from his socket. The gaggle of men fidgeted, but didn't raise a makeshift club or their voices.
"A hundred?" Bricu was one Andorhal Kiss away from the man with the poker.
"What's your point?" Poker asked.
Bricu put his finger in the man's chest. "I'm the Plaguefather's Uncle. He killed thousands. He had his friends an' colleagues killed t'keep his plans movin'. Yet he spared me. Now he's got a pardon. He could be right around the corner, walkin' this way t'find his favorite uncle. How angry would he be if he saw yeh lot threatenin' me. The one man he never wanted t'hurt." He waited for one of the men to swing, for someone to make contact with their bits of wood or iron.
No one, not even the man with the poker, moved.
"Right. Me an' the missus are leavin'. Yeh wee gobshites go join the rest o'the wankers in the square. Now get outta me sight, unless yeh want me t'tell Him about yer threats."
Half of the men walked off. The one with the poker started to say something. Threnn could hear the knuckles and tendons pop as Bricu clenched his fist.
"Get. Goin'." He said softly.
The man with the poker bumped his shoulder into Bricu's as he walked by. The rest of the crew followed. Bricu turned back to Threnn.
"C'mon missus, we're in a hurry."
--
(more to come)
I drink to keep you pretty
--
--
Doom's Day.
Thenia Al'Cair paced through the shop, a sniffling, fidgeting red headed baby on her shoulder. She paused to kiss a fat cheek, wiping away a rivulet of tears before addressing the pale haired girl behind the counter. "Why don't you take the rest of the day to yourself? Business will be slow with the hanging."
Maggie Emerson folded the last of her swatches and stacked them in a neat pile in the corner. Her hand ran over the silks to smooth the wrinkles away, tucking the corners tight so they displayed just the way Padraig liked. With small, satisfied smile she turned to regard the child across the room, tilting her head to the side as she peered at her.
"Sh-she's lovely ma'am. V-Very pretty," she said, slowly approaching, a finger extended it Naiara's direction. Naiara immediately hollered and buried her face in her grandmother's neck, a fresh round of ear splitting wails commencing.
"O-oh. I'm s-s-sorry, Ma'am. S-so sorry."
"Don't. It's not you. She was out far too late and . . . shhhh. Shhh. Padraig! It's . . go, Maggie. We have it under control. Someone has to."
"I-If you insist. Have a g-good night, Ma'am."
Maggie retrieved her cloak from the back room and shrugged it on, pausing to study the seven month old with her fists balled in her grandmother's gown. Blue eyes met green as Naiara lifted her head. They regarded one another for a moment, and then Naiara shrieked again, twisting like someone had lit her diaper on fire.
Magdalena turned around before anyone could see the smile oozing across her lips.
Suffer, girl. Suffer.
*****
The tension in Stormwind was palpable. People had been camped outside of the courthouse since dawn, waiting for justice's hammer to drop on the Wordweaver's head, waiting to hear the edict, the squeal of the lever, and the telltale thud of a body finding the end of the rope. As the throng pushed towards the dwarven district, trying to get a better view of the proceedings as they unfurled, Maggie Emerson walked the opposite way, her fingers digging into her palms, her teeth clenched tight. A man in thick cotton overalls and a checkered shirt made the mistake of smacking right into her as he tried to navigate around everyone, and in doing so, nearly sent her skittering into a stack of barrels.
"Watch where you're goin'," he barked, softening the bite in his tone by offering her a hand so she could steady herself. She looked at it, and then him, and then her fingers were snapping out to grip the thick muscles of his upper arm. Her nails dug through cloth and skin. He had long enough to register something as very wrong, to grunt and try to jerk away, but anything else he may have wanted to do was lost to the venom dripping from the slight woman's tongue.
"Kalee Richnaro Fen," she hissed. She watched his eyes flutter, his massive body weaving like he might collapse as the curse took root. The stain began in his arm and now worked its way to his shoulder, then his chest, his heart . . .
"You burn in three. Get out of my sight." She pushed him back, reveling in the glaze forming over his eyes.
As the memory of what she'd just said drifted from his thoughts, he continued towards the courthouse, remembering only that Uthas Wordweaver was supposed to hang today, and he needed to be there to see it. It was a once in a lifetime chance.
*****
The basement was underneath an abandoned pie shop in Old Town. The only way to get to it was to take the stairs around back, six concrete steps that were collapsing in on the left side, but still usable on the right - and unlock the chains on the door. Maggie fumbled with the combination, her eyes flickering about for anyone who might witness her incursion.
Left 12, Right 31, Left 8.
There's no one around. They're all waiting for the great reveal. He did well.
Her lips twisted into an ugly smirk as she thrust the door wide. Inside, the room was dim, lit only by three gas lanterns swinging from nails in the ceiling beams. Things skittered through the dark here. Some were obvious like the rats and mice who'd made their home in the basement long ago, but others were not so simple. They were Reed's creatures, his summoned friends, those little blobs of shadow that whispered ugly promises and nightmares. These dark gifts empowered him, but they'd also made him mad as a hatter.
Neither thing was a character flaw in her estimation.
"Puppy."
"Yessssssssss," he hissed, and she swung around. He was sitting in front of the girl the chair. She could see his tongue poking out of his mouth, waggling obscenely, before he dragged it up the girl's bare ankle, flicking the tip over and over. His eyes closed in rapture as began to lap at her, foot to knee and back again. Reaching her thigh he stopped and shuddered, overcome by the decadence of his perversion.
"She tastes of fear," he said, throwing himself onto the floor, his back arching in ecstasy. "Of fear and desperation. Nnnnnggh."
"Of course she does. You've cut off half of her toes."
And he had. Elizabeth Smithston, barely twenty years old and as pretty as porcelain shop doll, sat tethered to a chair, her blond hair lank and stringy. Four days inside of an unlit basement had not been kind to her. Her right foot, the foot Reed was having his way with, was soiled but otherwise untouched, but her left was wrapped in fresh, clean bandages, and noticeably shorter on one side than it ought to have been. They'd started with her big toe and were working their way in; one toe was delivered to Uncle Monty every day, demanding that he play nice else other, more important parts were severed next.
Maggie pulled a time piece from her cloak and stared at it.
"Two and a half hours. We need one last delivery made."
Elizabeth had been still to this point, but hearing that, she started to sob, screeching into the gag in her mouth. Her panic made the chair hop a few inches to the right and nearly topple. Reed's hand snapped out to manacle her ankle, holding her down, and he climbed to straddle her, sitting in her lap in the chair. He kissed her forehead and held her as she shrieked into his chest.
Maggie watched him rock back and forth, crooning and grinding at his captive.
"It's all right, baby love. It's all right. The shadows love you, I love you. It's all right. I cut you because I love you." He nuzzled at her ear, his hand stroking down her side, fingertips grazing the outside of her thigh.
"Oh for gods' sake." Maggie closed the space between them to tangle her hand in Elizabeth's greasy hair, jerking her head back so Reed was forced to let go. "Listen well, girl. Your entire future lies in the hands of your uncle and the lunatic in your lap. If Monty plays nice, you go free this very evening. If he doesn't, he cuts you to pieces and feeds you to his shadows. Do you understand?"
The only answer was a torrent of tears spilling out beneath a blindfold.
Maggie thrust her away, a cold smirk spilling over her mouth.
"Send the last two toes, Puppy. She'd look funny with only one left."
As she left the basement to see to the last of her plans, Elizabeth began to shriek, and Reed began another round of rapturous moaning. A knife glinted, there were muffled screams, and blood spilled on the concrete floor.
******
His honor Montrose "Monty" Smithston's gavel dropped, and the courtroom went eerily still.
"Court dismissed."
He stepped off of his bench, every pair of eyes in the room burning through the back of his robes. It made his shoulders itch, but he did not turn around, he would not meet their accusatory stares. He would not allow himself to look upon Uthas Wordweaver.
Silence. Perfect silence. How often do you get that in life?
He wound his way into the back halls of the building, his gaze set upon the black and white tiles of the floor.
"Monty, wait!"
This from one of the other judges, whose face telegraphed what he thought of the verdict. Monty waved him off and slipped into his chambers, locking the door behind him. His eyes spilled to the box on his desk. Inside were two graying toes on a bed of silk cloth, the nails painted pale pink, the polish chipped along the edges. He'd tossed their sisters into the garbage on his way out of the office the three nights previous, hiding them amidst shredded papers and the remnants of lunch.
He'd be ruined for this. They all would. The city'd go to the nether now.
With a groan, he thumped into his high backed chair, staring at the "gift". His fingers smoothed over the top of his desk, sweeping back and forth, leaving smears in the glass top.
"Bloody fuck." He opened his right hand drawer to pull out a pad of paper and a pen. The note was hasty but direct. Someone began knocking on his door, shouting his name and demanding that he allow them inside for 'atrocities against Stormwind', but he didn't answer. Instead he turned to his draperies and started unwinding the tie backs, knotting them together and checking their hold.
When his door was forced open a half hour later, Montrose Smithton's eyes and tongue had popped from his skull, and he'd pissed himself.
On top of a box of severed toes was a note that read "I'm sorry Lizzie."
*****
"Stormwind demands j-justice!" He screamed, but his voice cracked on the second half. He opened his mouth to chant along with the crowd, to begin his angry litany at the release of the Wordweaver, but no words would come. It was like his tongue had suddenly swelled up to three times its normal size.
The farmhand felt faint. He'd managed to get himself into the dwarven district, was actually by the armor shop on the Old Town side of of the quarter when his stomach started to burn. His temples erupted into sweat dollops, his knees quaked, and then the retching started. People cut him a wide berth as he gurgled and spewed, his insides feeling like someone was stabbing him with a hot poker.
"Doctor. H-HEALER!" He managed, but his fellow protesters just stared, just watched him collapse onto his hands and knees. He retched again and again, his vomit red but not from blood.
George Linwell, aforementioned farmhand, was spewing forth glowing embers.
And then his skin was turning yellow.
And then black, swirling sigils appeared all over his face and hands
And then he lit on fire.
His death was agony, and those around him screamed, pushing and shoving to get away from the terrifying display. Little did any of them know twenty three others were experiencing the exact same phenomenon at the exact same time in different places throughout the city. Maggie's living embers erupted and Stormwind began to burn.
*****
Reed found her in her apartment as night fell, sitting by the window to watch the smoking cityscape. There was dried blood under his fingernails and he smelled of copper and sweat, but she allowed him to crawl to her feet, she allowed him to wrap his arms around her leg and lay prone upon her floor. Her hand spilled into his hair, and he cooed at the attentions. The shadows beneath him undulated, a rippling, malign tar that would spread and collapse, collapse and spread. Tendrils of black twisted over his arms and up his back, and he shivered and quaked, moaning in rapture as his host began to whisper sweet nothings in his ear.
"Puppy, my sweet. Kill the girl when you get back," she said, stroking her pinky finger down his cheek. "We have no need for her any longer."
The ensuing giggle ended with a whine. "May I feed it to Him? As an offering?" He grabbed a fist of the shadow mass and stuffed it into his mouth with a chuff and a snarl.
"Of course you may."
He shuddered as he swallowed his god, kissing the toe of her shoe and stroking up her leg.
The house across the street erupted into flame. There were screams as people tried to flee and couldn't; the streets were so packed with bodies that there was simply nowhere to go other than where you were. The choices were to suffer alone, or beget suffering in others. Most chose the latter.
A shrill whistle from the kitchen beckoned. She disentangled herself from Reed's bony arms, pouring herself a cup of tea before returning to her perch by the window. She sipped chamomile and a dash of lemon as her eyes shifted to two men dragging a girl into an alley up the street. The girl thrashed, another man jumped into her defense, a brawl ensued that ended with blood and tears. Reed climbed up to rest his head on Maggie's knee, and she went back to petting him. He yawned and curled around her, a beatific smile on his face.
"I love you, Puppy."
"I love you too, Mama."
Watching his eyes flutter closed, watching him murmur and twitch as a shadow tendril slid into his mouth, she found her own smile. She wasn't done with her trials, not by a long shot, but for the first time in over a year, Maggie Maunt was content.
Maggie Emerson folded the last of her swatches and stacked them in a neat pile in the corner. Her hand ran over the silks to smooth the wrinkles away, tucking the corners tight so they displayed just the way Padraig liked. With small, satisfied smile she turned to regard the child across the room, tilting her head to the side as she peered at her.
"Sh-she's lovely ma'am. V-Very pretty," she said, slowly approaching, a finger extended it Naiara's direction. Naiara immediately hollered and buried her face in her grandmother's neck, a fresh round of ear splitting wails commencing.
"O-oh. I'm s-s-sorry, Ma'am. S-so sorry."
"Don't. It's not you. She was out far too late and . . . shhhh. Shhh. Padraig! It's . . go, Maggie. We have it under control. Someone has to."
"I-If you insist. Have a g-good night, Ma'am."
Maggie retrieved her cloak from the back room and shrugged it on, pausing to study the seven month old with her fists balled in her grandmother's gown. Blue eyes met green as Naiara lifted her head. They regarded one another for a moment, and then Naiara shrieked again, twisting like someone had lit her diaper on fire.
Magdalena turned around before anyone could see the smile oozing across her lips.
Suffer, girl. Suffer.
*****
The tension in Stormwind was palpable. People had been camped outside of the courthouse since dawn, waiting for justice's hammer to drop on the Wordweaver's head, waiting to hear the edict, the squeal of the lever, and the telltale thud of a body finding the end of the rope. As the throng pushed towards the dwarven district, trying to get a better view of the proceedings as they unfurled, Maggie Emerson walked the opposite way, her fingers digging into her palms, her teeth clenched tight. A man in thick cotton overalls and a checkered shirt made the mistake of smacking right into her as he tried to navigate around everyone, and in doing so, nearly sent her skittering into a stack of barrels.
"Watch where you're goin'," he barked, softening the bite in his tone by offering her a hand so she could steady herself. She looked at it, and then him, and then her fingers were snapping out to grip the thick muscles of his upper arm. Her nails dug through cloth and skin. He had long enough to register something as very wrong, to grunt and try to jerk away, but anything else he may have wanted to do was lost to the venom dripping from the slight woman's tongue.
"Kalee Richnaro Fen," she hissed. She watched his eyes flutter, his massive body weaving like he might collapse as the curse took root. The stain began in his arm and now worked its way to his shoulder, then his chest, his heart . . .
"You burn in three. Get out of my sight." She pushed him back, reveling in the glaze forming over his eyes.
As the memory of what she'd just said drifted from his thoughts, he continued towards the courthouse, remembering only that Uthas Wordweaver was supposed to hang today, and he needed to be there to see it. It was a once in a lifetime chance.
*****
The basement was underneath an abandoned pie shop in Old Town. The only way to get to it was to take the stairs around back, six concrete steps that were collapsing in on the left side, but still usable on the right - and unlock the chains on the door. Maggie fumbled with the combination, her eyes flickering about for anyone who might witness her incursion.
Left 12, Right 31, Left 8.
There's no one around. They're all waiting for the great reveal. He did well.
Her lips twisted into an ugly smirk as she thrust the door wide. Inside, the room was dim, lit only by three gas lanterns swinging from nails in the ceiling beams. Things skittered through the dark here. Some were obvious like the rats and mice who'd made their home in the basement long ago, but others were not so simple. They were Reed's creatures, his summoned friends, those little blobs of shadow that whispered ugly promises and nightmares. These dark gifts empowered him, but they'd also made him mad as a hatter.
Neither thing was a character flaw in her estimation.
"Puppy."
"Yessssssssss," he hissed, and she swung around. He was sitting in front of the girl the chair. She could see his tongue poking out of his mouth, waggling obscenely, before he dragged it up the girl's bare ankle, flicking the tip over and over. His eyes closed in rapture as began to lap at her, foot to knee and back again. Reaching her thigh he stopped and shuddered, overcome by the decadence of his perversion.
"She tastes of fear," he said, throwing himself onto the floor, his back arching in ecstasy. "Of fear and desperation. Nnnnnggh."
"Of course she does. You've cut off half of her toes."
And he had. Elizabeth Smithston, barely twenty years old and as pretty as porcelain shop doll, sat tethered to a chair, her blond hair lank and stringy. Four days inside of an unlit basement had not been kind to her. Her right foot, the foot Reed was having his way with, was soiled but otherwise untouched, but her left was wrapped in fresh, clean bandages, and noticeably shorter on one side than it ought to have been. They'd started with her big toe and were working their way in; one toe was delivered to Uncle Monty every day, demanding that he play nice else other, more important parts were severed next.
Maggie pulled a time piece from her cloak and stared at it.
"Two and a half hours. We need one last delivery made."
Elizabeth had been still to this point, but hearing that, she started to sob, screeching into the gag in her mouth. Her panic made the chair hop a few inches to the right and nearly topple. Reed's hand snapped out to manacle her ankle, holding her down, and he climbed to straddle her, sitting in her lap in the chair. He kissed her forehead and held her as she shrieked into his chest.
Maggie watched him rock back and forth, crooning and grinding at his captive.
"It's all right, baby love. It's all right. The shadows love you, I love you. It's all right. I cut you because I love you." He nuzzled at her ear, his hand stroking down her side, fingertips grazing the outside of her thigh.
"Oh for gods' sake." Maggie closed the space between them to tangle her hand in Elizabeth's greasy hair, jerking her head back so Reed was forced to let go. "Listen well, girl. Your entire future lies in the hands of your uncle and the lunatic in your lap. If Monty plays nice, you go free this very evening. If he doesn't, he cuts you to pieces and feeds you to his shadows. Do you understand?"
The only answer was a torrent of tears spilling out beneath a blindfold.
Maggie thrust her away, a cold smirk spilling over her mouth.
"Send the last two toes, Puppy. She'd look funny with only one left."
As she left the basement to see to the last of her plans, Elizabeth began to shriek, and Reed began another round of rapturous moaning. A knife glinted, there were muffled screams, and blood spilled on the concrete floor.
******
His honor Montrose "Monty" Smithston's gavel dropped, and the courtroom went eerily still.
"Court dismissed."
He stepped off of his bench, every pair of eyes in the room burning through the back of his robes. It made his shoulders itch, but he did not turn around, he would not meet their accusatory stares. He would not allow himself to look upon Uthas Wordweaver.
Silence. Perfect silence. How often do you get that in life?
He wound his way into the back halls of the building, his gaze set upon the black and white tiles of the floor.
"Monty, wait!"
This from one of the other judges, whose face telegraphed what he thought of the verdict. Monty waved him off and slipped into his chambers, locking the door behind him. His eyes spilled to the box on his desk. Inside were two graying toes on a bed of silk cloth, the nails painted pale pink, the polish chipped along the edges. He'd tossed their sisters into the garbage on his way out of the office the three nights previous, hiding them amidst shredded papers and the remnants of lunch.
He'd be ruined for this. They all would. The city'd go to the nether now.
With a groan, he thumped into his high backed chair, staring at the "gift". His fingers smoothed over the top of his desk, sweeping back and forth, leaving smears in the glass top.
"Bloody fuck." He opened his right hand drawer to pull out a pad of paper and a pen. The note was hasty but direct. Someone began knocking on his door, shouting his name and demanding that he allow them inside for 'atrocities against Stormwind', but he didn't answer. Instead he turned to his draperies and started unwinding the tie backs, knotting them together and checking their hold.
When his door was forced open a half hour later, Montrose Smithton's eyes and tongue had popped from his skull, and he'd pissed himself.
On top of a box of severed toes was a note that read "I'm sorry Lizzie."
*****
"Stormwind demands j-justice!" He screamed, but his voice cracked on the second half. He opened his mouth to chant along with the crowd, to begin his angry litany at the release of the Wordweaver, but no words would come. It was like his tongue had suddenly swelled up to three times its normal size.
The farmhand felt faint. He'd managed to get himself into the dwarven district, was actually by the armor shop on the Old Town side of of the quarter when his stomach started to burn. His temples erupted into sweat dollops, his knees quaked, and then the retching started. People cut him a wide berth as he gurgled and spewed, his insides feeling like someone was stabbing him with a hot poker.
"Doctor. H-HEALER!" He managed, but his fellow protesters just stared, just watched him collapse onto his hands and knees. He retched again and again, his vomit red but not from blood.
George Linwell, aforementioned farmhand, was spewing forth glowing embers.
And then his skin was turning yellow.
And then black, swirling sigils appeared all over his face and hands
And then he lit on fire.
His death was agony, and those around him screamed, pushing and shoving to get away from the terrifying display. Little did any of them know twenty three others were experiencing the exact same phenomenon at the exact same time in different places throughout the city. Maggie's living embers erupted and Stormwind began to burn.
*****
Reed found her in her apartment as night fell, sitting by the window to watch the smoking cityscape. There was dried blood under his fingernails and he smelled of copper and sweat, but she allowed him to crawl to her feet, she allowed him to wrap his arms around her leg and lay prone upon her floor. Her hand spilled into his hair, and he cooed at the attentions. The shadows beneath him undulated, a rippling, malign tar that would spread and collapse, collapse and spread. Tendrils of black twisted over his arms and up his back, and he shivered and quaked, moaning in rapture as his host began to whisper sweet nothings in his ear.
"Puppy, my sweet. Kill the girl when you get back," she said, stroking her pinky finger down his cheek. "We have no need for her any longer."
The ensuing giggle ended with a whine. "May I feed it to Him? As an offering?" He grabbed a fist of the shadow mass and stuffed it into his mouth with a chuff and a snarl.
"Of course you may."
He shuddered as he swallowed his god, kissing the toe of her shoe and stroking up her leg.
The house across the street erupted into flame. There were screams as people tried to flee and couldn't; the streets were so packed with bodies that there was simply nowhere to go other than where you were. The choices were to suffer alone, or beget suffering in others. Most chose the latter.
A shrill whistle from the kitchen beckoned. She disentangled herself from Reed's bony arms, pouring herself a cup of tea before returning to her perch by the window. She sipped chamomile and a dash of lemon as her eyes shifted to two men dragging a girl into an alley up the street. The girl thrashed, another man jumped into her defense, a brawl ensued that ended with blood and tears. Reed climbed up to rest his head on Maggie's knee, and she went back to petting him. He yawned and curled around her, a beatific smile on his face.
"I love you, Puppy."
"I love you too, Mama."
Watching his eyes flutter closed, watching him murmur and twitch as a shadow tendril slid into his mouth, she found her own smile. She wasn't done with her trials, not by a long shot, but for the first time in over a year, Maggie Maunt was content.
So if you meet me have some courtesy, have some sympathy and some taste. Use all your well-learned politesse or I'll lay your soul to waste.
Re: Writing Assignment: Riot in Stormwind
5:30
The door to the Al'Cair's shop was wide open. Both Bricu and Threnn could hear the someone inside, knocking over displays and breaking the wooden shelves. Neither one could hear their daughter.
Threnn stormed in first, rapier drawn and at the ready. She stopped as she saw her father knocking over the recently discounted bolts of wool.
"Threnny! Good! Help me with the Linen!"
"Dad?" She asked, "What are you doing."
Bricu stood in the doorway, shield out and rapier drawn. He looked over his shoulder, towards his father-in-law, who was manically throwing the expensive fabrics towards the center of the room. "Padraig, what the hell are yeh doin?"
"Criers have been barking the news since five bells. Thenia has Naiara in the back. She gave her a shot of whisky with her milk. She's out like a light."
"OI!" Bricu said.
"Oi yourself! We did the same for Threnn during reconstruction when we needed to move quickly. You just stand there and look scary, alright?"
Bricu turned back to the canals and did as he was told.
Threnn sheathed her thin blade and began to throw bolts of linen to the floor. She did so hesitantly, lifting the bolts high over her head and letting them fall to the ground.
"No! Hold on to a loose end and throw the rolled up bit. Then trample it. Like this." Padraig jumped and kicked around the fabrics, muddying and tearing them. The frown on his face was the only indication that this was serious work.
"Why are we doing this, we need to go!" Threnn said.
"No, we need to hide the stock that is worth hiding. Threnny, you were better at this as a child." Padraig stopped destroying the shop long enough to point at a pile of fine fabrics in the center. "Take the pile in the center to your mother, she's in the back. She has most of the good stock anyway."
Threnn took an arm full of the fabrics--linens, wools, mageweave, runecloth, silk--and marched them to her mother. Padraig knocked over a candle and burned some of the discarded cloth.
"Yeh sacked a store before Padraig?" Bricu said.
"One, shortly after the walls were built, there was a bread riot. Can you imagine? People rioting because they hadn't had enough to eat. It was a dispute between guilds, nobles and merchants. It was terrible." Padraig said. He was out of breath, as he kept running through the shop, making a mess wherever he could. "Thenia, Threnn, Annalea and I were lucky to get out alive. They destroyed everything. The stole whatever they could take. I'm not sure what they wanted. You can't really eat fabrics--well, if you boil the cotton and linens, you could--but in the end, this is what we had left." He jumped up at the shelves and pulled down on them. Bolts of fabric and dust fell around his head. "We were lucky. We lost most of the inventory, but the never checked the store room. In the chaos of the riot, they grabbed what they could see, not what we there.
"It took us days to clean up the shop and we didn't get proper shelves for months. But once peace was restored, we could sell things." Padraig surveyed the damage to the shop. He nodded approvingly at the disaster he created, and moved on to the last of the good fabrics. "Thenia should have wrecked most of the back room enough by now. I'm going to get her the rest of this. You good there?"
"Aye, just lookin' scary Padraig. Real scary." Bricu said.
"Good." Padraig said.
While Padraig carried his fabrics to the back room, Bricu watched the streets of Stormwind come to life. Children were being ushered home by parents or concerned adults. Even Pomeroy, the pony-tailed bastard, was making sure the children were safe. On the other side of the canal, shops were closing and boarded up. Through this increase in activity, members of the Watch were rushing to the Cathedral. They were stopped by groups of angry men and women who were marching from the opposite direction. Armed with billy clubs and short blades, but lacking the conviction of the mob, the Watch had to send runners for reinforcements. The tension in Stormwind had finally broken, and the people of Stormwind were past angry. Some of the groups of people broke and fled back to other neighborhoods. Others started to merge, becoming louder in their words and deeds.
The sounds of they city drowned out the whispers from the back room. It was only when Threnn called to him that Bricu knew Threnn, Naiara, Thenia and Padraig were ready to leave. Bricu looked over his shoulder. Threnn had her sword drawn and her shield ready. Naiara was snoring peacefully in her grandmother's arms. Her grandmother held onto her tightly, her face set and battle-ready. The resemblence between Threnn and Thenia was never more clear to him.
"Right." He said, "Let's get somewhere safer."
---
They moved out into the street, Bricu at point, Thenia behind him cradling Naiara, Threnn and Padraig flanking her. It had grown eerily quiet here in the past few minutes, but the sounds of rioting and violence echoed down the canals. The tunnel connecting the Trade District to this side of Old Town made a strange kind of amplifier, carrying the shouts and screams along the stone. Bricu and Threnn shared a glance that was worry tinged with guilty relief: they'd nearly left Naiara at the Gilded Rose in Kara's care rather than bringing her to her grandparents' shop. Bricu shook his head: Later. Worry about them later.
Padraig tightened his grip on his sword. For years, it had remained in its oilcloth wrapping in the attic, where he'd stored it away after the Second War ended and Stormwind had no longer needed citizen defenders. It looked odd there in his hands -- not at all like the bolts of fabric he usually handled -- but he held it as though he'd never put it down. It hurt Threnn's heart a bit to witness. Padraig caught her looking and cocked a grin. "Eyes front, now, Threnny. We've work to do."
They skulked along the streets, avoiding the few other roaming knots of angry citizens. Bricu kept his head low any time someone else drew near. The last thing they needed was a repeat of their earlier confrontation. From all around them came an angry buzzing as fury and outrage spread through the city. It wouldn't be long before it boiled into Old Town.
But for now, they still had time. The Pig was the safest place -- if the Riders would be centralized anywhere, it would be there. They'd defended it on The Longest Night; they could do so again. As much as Thenia had professed her dislike for the tavern in the past, even she had agreed it was the best place to go. Just a little further, and they'd be there.
The door to the Al'Cair's shop was wide open. Both Bricu and Threnn could hear the someone inside, knocking over displays and breaking the wooden shelves. Neither one could hear their daughter.
Threnn stormed in first, rapier drawn and at the ready. She stopped as she saw her father knocking over the recently discounted bolts of wool.
"Threnny! Good! Help me with the Linen!"
"Dad?" She asked, "What are you doing."
Bricu stood in the doorway, shield out and rapier drawn. He looked over his shoulder, towards his father-in-law, who was manically throwing the expensive fabrics towards the center of the room. "Padraig, what the hell are yeh doin?"
"Criers have been barking the news since five bells. Thenia has Naiara in the back. She gave her a shot of whisky with her milk. She's out like a light."
"OI!" Bricu said.
"Oi yourself! We did the same for Threnn during reconstruction when we needed to move quickly. You just stand there and look scary, alright?"
Bricu turned back to the canals and did as he was told.
Threnn sheathed her thin blade and began to throw bolts of linen to the floor. She did so hesitantly, lifting the bolts high over her head and letting them fall to the ground.
"No! Hold on to a loose end and throw the rolled up bit. Then trample it. Like this." Padraig jumped and kicked around the fabrics, muddying and tearing them. The frown on his face was the only indication that this was serious work.
"Why are we doing this, we need to go!" Threnn said.
"No, we need to hide the stock that is worth hiding. Threnny, you were better at this as a child." Padraig stopped destroying the shop long enough to point at a pile of fine fabrics in the center. "Take the pile in the center to your mother, she's in the back. She has most of the good stock anyway."
Threnn took an arm full of the fabrics--linens, wools, mageweave, runecloth, silk--and marched them to her mother. Padraig knocked over a candle and burned some of the discarded cloth.
"Yeh sacked a store before Padraig?" Bricu said.
"One, shortly after the walls were built, there was a bread riot. Can you imagine? People rioting because they hadn't had enough to eat. It was a dispute between guilds, nobles and merchants. It was terrible." Padraig said. He was out of breath, as he kept running through the shop, making a mess wherever he could. "Thenia, Threnn, Annalea and I were lucky to get out alive. They destroyed everything. The stole whatever they could take. I'm not sure what they wanted. You can't really eat fabrics--well, if you boil the cotton and linens, you could--but in the end, this is what we had left." He jumped up at the shelves and pulled down on them. Bolts of fabric and dust fell around his head. "We were lucky. We lost most of the inventory, but the never checked the store room. In the chaos of the riot, they grabbed what they could see, not what we there.
"It took us days to clean up the shop and we didn't get proper shelves for months. But once peace was restored, we could sell things." Padraig surveyed the damage to the shop. He nodded approvingly at the disaster he created, and moved on to the last of the good fabrics. "Thenia should have wrecked most of the back room enough by now. I'm going to get her the rest of this. You good there?"
"Aye, just lookin' scary Padraig. Real scary." Bricu said.
"Good." Padraig said.
While Padraig carried his fabrics to the back room, Bricu watched the streets of Stormwind come to life. Children were being ushered home by parents or concerned adults. Even Pomeroy, the pony-tailed bastard, was making sure the children were safe. On the other side of the canal, shops were closing and boarded up. Through this increase in activity, members of the Watch were rushing to the Cathedral. They were stopped by groups of angry men and women who were marching from the opposite direction. Armed with billy clubs and short blades, but lacking the conviction of the mob, the Watch had to send runners for reinforcements. The tension in Stormwind had finally broken, and the people of Stormwind were past angry. Some of the groups of people broke and fled back to other neighborhoods. Others started to merge, becoming louder in their words and deeds.
The sounds of they city drowned out the whispers from the back room. It was only when Threnn called to him that Bricu knew Threnn, Naiara, Thenia and Padraig were ready to leave. Bricu looked over his shoulder. Threnn had her sword drawn and her shield ready. Naiara was snoring peacefully in her grandmother's arms. Her grandmother held onto her tightly, her face set and battle-ready. The resemblence between Threnn and Thenia was never more clear to him.
"Right." He said, "Let's get somewhere safer."
---
They moved out into the street, Bricu at point, Thenia behind him cradling Naiara, Threnn and Padraig flanking her. It had grown eerily quiet here in the past few minutes, but the sounds of rioting and violence echoed down the canals. The tunnel connecting the Trade District to this side of Old Town made a strange kind of amplifier, carrying the shouts and screams along the stone. Bricu and Threnn shared a glance that was worry tinged with guilty relief: they'd nearly left Naiara at the Gilded Rose in Kara's care rather than bringing her to her grandparents' shop. Bricu shook his head: Later. Worry about them later.
Padraig tightened his grip on his sword. For years, it had remained in its oilcloth wrapping in the attic, where he'd stored it away after the Second War ended and Stormwind had no longer needed citizen defenders. It looked odd there in his hands -- not at all like the bolts of fabric he usually handled -- but he held it as though he'd never put it down. It hurt Threnn's heart a bit to witness. Padraig caught her looking and cocked a grin. "Eyes front, now, Threnny. We've work to do."
They skulked along the streets, avoiding the few other roaming knots of angry citizens. Bricu kept his head low any time someone else drew near. The last thing they needed was a repeat of their earlier confrontation. From all around them came an angry buzzing as fury and outrage spread through the city. It wouldn't be long before it boiled into Old Town.
But for now, they still had time. The Pig was the safest place -- if the Riders would be centralized anywhere, it would be there. They'd defended it on The Longest Night; they could do so again. As much as Thenia had professed her dislike for the tavern in the past, even she had agreed it was the best place to go. Just a little further, and they'd be there.
Re: Writing Assignment: Riot in Stormwind
(( Sorry for the near absurd lateness. I figure if I keep putting this off I'll never put it up, so... ))
There was a time and a place for everything, and when the time is nearing five PM and the place is the Noble Stormwind Counting House, it makes one wonder what kind of a madman mr. Everything must be.
Either that, or Renidus was just talking crazy to himself in order to just stave off the boredom.
"And of course, you have to remember the point zero five percent fee due to the Masons act..."
And the accountant went off on another of his rants.
It made one wonder how life even got to this state of affairs. Laws had once been simple. Mine is mine, yours is yours, don't take mine and we won't take yours, stabbing your neighbor in the face is impolite, and that sort of thing. Now, the sophistication of civilization set in, and what's mine is also yours but we both suspect it's his, and while stabbing your neighbor in the face is still frowned upon, everyone realized that stabbing them in the back could be much more subtle and polite.
Which reminded him yet again why he never set foot into Old Town without full combat gear and a head full of mana.
Nevertheless, dealing with the goblins was so -simple-. I have money, you want money, I want to make money, you have an idea for making money that requires money, I give you money, you implement your money-making idea, you pay me back my money and some more money because I'm the one who takes the fall if your idea fails.
And then it was all name-calling and finger-pointing and occasionally cracked knuckles behind the house, but all in the name of tradition and in good will.
Well, the fact that he could slap the bruisers around with one hand tied behind his back nowadays certainly helped.
Stormwind traders, on the other hand, piled layer upon layer of paperwork upon innocent businessmen until they were so confused they didn't understand what was going on, and then they took their money away.
So, kind of like a rogue. Other traders presumably paid their own accountants to do this stuff, but none would work for Renidus at the time.
He interrupted the accountant. "Okay, okay. I get it. Look... John. It's okay if I call you John, right? The point being, even with you explaining everything..." His voice dropped to a mutter "for three hours until my girlfriend is so bored she decides to just leave..." and his voice rose to its usual hearty, friendly tone, "I'm just not going to get it till I brush up on my trade ordinances. So... tell you what, I'll be back next week after I've hit the books?"
"Very well, mr. Funil. Say, if you don't mind my asking..." The accountant took off his monocle and fixed his gaze on Renidus.
"Go on?"
"Was it you that arranged for Uthas' pardon?"
Renidus blinked. "He was -pardoned-?"
The accountant peered at Renidus suspiciously. "You didn't know?"
"I was in Stranglethorn, man! You mean they're releasing him?"
The accountant looked surprised. "Well, yes. Right about now, in fact."
Renidus got up, knocking the chair over. He apologized as he pulled it back up before rushing outside.
The day was cold and windy, and for a moment Renidus missed the protection of his battle garb. Regrettably, they were not clothes to conduct peaceful negotiation with, but cold weather and ominous news made him wary.
So did the large crowd of men arguing loudly right in front of him. He'd seen this sort of crowd before. A jumble of emotions, people yelling out simple yet probably made-up "facts" that would stoke such emotions, and everyone wanted to take part, if only because being left out might mean getting trodden on.
This was a lynch mob waiting to happen, each person dreading and hoping for that one line, that one final drop that would trigger the mob reaction, that would mean going out of control would be fine.
That would mean that if it's -our- fault then it's not -my- fault so it's okay.
Renidus took a deep breath and straightened up. He needed his voice to project, and yet still sound friendly, to interrupt without appearing to mean to. "Hey, what's going on around here?"
A tall, gruff, burly and bearded man turned around, expecting to tower over Renidus as he replied, and was surprised to find that despite his brain telling him that there was a harmless, friendly man before him, he nevertheless had to look -up- to look at Renidus in the eye. "... the Wordweaver is being set free, and... heeey, ain'tcha one of his friends?"
Renidus laughed heartily. He didn't feel it, but he knew he absolutely -had- to stay friendly if he was to defuse this situation. "If by friends, you mean he killed me? Sure. Damned right bastard, he is. How come he's being released?"
The people in the crowd looked wary, but also curious. It was working. He just couldn't give them anything to disagree with. "A Royal pardon! The murderer's getting a damned royal pardon! The Ebon blade's bad enough, but-"
"Ah. Okay, shouldn't we be complaining to the King, then?"
The crowd became even warier. Someone called out "You nuts? They have guards, with swords, there!"
"Okay. Then we send a representative." Murmurs were his reply, but his voice still projected over theirs. "Be -reasonable-, gentlemen. You're upset. I'm upset. The Guard is upset. If I'm any judge, the King himself must be upset! If Wordweaver is getting away on a loophole, don't you think it would just be best if someone let the King know, instead of being so afraid of the Guard that we let him get away?"
The crowd shifted uncomfortably. Renidus was familiar with the reaction; it was far easier when "we" were to blame rather than "I". No one wanted to take personal responsibility for things.
"Tell you what. How about I go in your name, and since you don't trust me all that much, you send, say, one or two more people with me to make sure I behave, and we'll all go right up to the Keep and talk to the King, while the rest of you fine folks just head on home and stop causing trouble, hmm?"
The men started discussing this idea amongst each other. There was still a tension among them, but the buildup had stopped. They were seeking solutions to a problem now, not venting emotions.
Which was when one of them interrupted. "That's... a lot of smoke."
Renidus turned to watch. His heart sank. The Cathedral! "... crap. A fire! I have to go help-"
A man placed a hand on his shoulder. "Wait, what happened to complaining to the King?"
"You'll have to go without me. I'm a healer, there's a fire, I need to go help! People could die and be lost like that."
"But-"
Renidus broke off and ran towards the Cathedral Square. People seldom expected his strength, since he looked about as threatening as a lamb, but sometimes, being six feet tall and broad shouldered had its advantages.
The scene that greeted him when he arrived was horrible. He was used to fire, and buildings ablaze didn't particularly scare him. However...
The Cathedral was home, so very much more so than the apartment that he absently noted was burning.
Oh no, he thought. The high priestess... He started running towards the Cathedral, where volunteers were forming a bucket line to use water from the canals to attempt to douse the flames.
It would be a bit like trying to drink the sea at this point. He hoped some mages would arrive soon for real support, but...
He started for the stairway that led to the main entrance, but he was immediately stopped by a guard, who seized his arm as if he was expecting him. He was unexpectedly strong.
"You can't go in there."
"Yes I can. I'm a healer, I might be needed inside. Step aside! We can't wait!"
"You misunderstand. I'm not going to let you go in there because I suspect you had something to do with this. You're working to try and get Uthas free, aren't you!"
People turned around to stare at Renidus, stopping the bucket chain. There was a crash, as a section of the Cathedral's ceiling caved in.
"I don't have time for this..." Renidus' eyes flashed violet, and he stared at the guard. "I'm not the man you're looking for."
The guard blinked. "You're right. You're not."
"And you're going to let me go in and help people."
The guard let go. "Of course. Good luck, sir."
"And now you're going to calm these people down and explain it was all a mistake."
The guard nodded. "Certainly!"
Renidus ran into the building, dipping his scarf into a nearby bucket and wrapping it around his mouth and nose, to avoid inhaling the ash. The flames raged around him, but in the blink of an eye, an oval-shaped shield of light formed around him, as his soul warded off any damage to his body.
He was right. There were people inside. He picked up the first person he found and dragged him as close to the entrance as possible, where he unceremoniously dumped him at the top of the stairs- someone else could take care of him. He had to make sure. He had to.
Each trip he made, the flames seemed hotter, and he kept finding people, knocked unconscious by the fumes. He found men and women who had been his teachers, his students, his classmates.
But not the woman who had, for a while, been like his mother. Going past the flames was getting truly hazardous now, and he'd been forced to revive people inside the building before he could get them out, for the last few trips.
Finally, at the entrance to the catacombs, he found Laurana. The smoke was so dense he could barely see, but at this distance, he could feel the familiar, comforting presence of her mind (even unconscious), calling to him. He picked her up and ran, out of breath, the now-dry scarf choking him almost as much as he expected the smoke would, but knowing that he had only a few dozen yards to go before he made it out.
Another crash, and more falling debris from the crumbling ceiling. He crouched, shielding the high priestess with his body, until the rocks fell. One of them hit his shoulder, breaking past the shield and quite probably shattering it, but he'd used his magic to make sure he felt no pain quite a while ago. Using his good arm, he dragged the priestess outside the building, noting how poorly designed the entrance foyer was, making him walk around the pillar to get outside.
When he got outside, people cheered. He didn't quite remember how many people he'd dragged out, but his heart felt at peace, that he'd managed to save the one person he really, really wanted to.
Of course, there were also guards outside. "Renidus Funil, you are under arrest for charges of assaulting an officer of the law, Use of Mind Control magic, and resisting arrest."
Renidus nodded, healing his shoulder with a snap that made everyone else wince (he was so thankful for not feeling that, right now!), and extended his arms in front of him, offering them to be manacled. "Sure. Now, I have time."
He was led to the stockades in front of a bewildered, but far too busy crowd.
There was a time and a place for everything, and when the time is nearing five PM and the place is the Noble Stormwind Counting House, it makes one wonder what kind of a madman mr. Everything must be.
Either that, or Renidus was just talking crazy to himself in order to just stave off the boredom.
"And of course, you have to remember the point zero five percent fee due to the Masons act..."
And the accountant went off on another of his rants.
It made one wonder how life even got to this state of affairs. Laws had once been simple. Mine is mine, yours is yours, don't take mine and we won't take yours, stabbing your neighbor in the face is impolite, and that sort of thing. Now, the sophistication of civilization set in, and what's mine is also yours but we both suspect it's his, and while stabbing your neighbor in the face is still frowned upon, everyone realized that stabbing them in the back could be much more subtle and polite.
Which reminded him yet again why he never set foot into Old Town without full combat gear and a head full of mana.
Nevertheless, dealing with the goblins was so -simple-. I have money, you want money, I want to make money, you have an idea for making money that requires money, I give you money, you implement your money-making idea, you pay me back my money and some more money because I'm the one who takes the fall if your idea fails.
And then it was all name-calling and finger-pointing and occasionally cracked knuckles behind the house, but all in the name of tradition and in good will.
Well, the fact that he could slap the bruisers around with one hand tied behind his back nowadays certainly helped.
Stormwind traders, on the other hand, piled layer upon layer of paperwork upon innocent businessmen until they were so confused they didn't understand what was going on, and then they took their money away.
So, kind of like a rogue. Other traders presumably paid their own accountants to do this stuff, but none would work for Renidus at the time.
He interrupted the accountant. "Okay, okay. I get it. Look... John. It's okay if I call you John, right? The point being, even with you explaining everything..." His voice dropped to a mutter "for three hours until my girlfriend is so bored she decides to just leave..." and his voice rose to its usual hearty, friendly tone, "I'm just not going to get it till I brush up on my trade ordinances. So... tell you what, I'll be back next week after I've hit the books?"
"Very well, mr. Funil. Say, if you don't mind my asking..." The accountant took off his monocle and fixed his gaze on Renidus.
"Go on?"
"Was it you that arranged for Uthas' pardon?"
Renidus blinked. "He was -pardoned-?"
The accountant peered at Renidus suspiciously. "You didn't know?"
"I was in Stranglethorn, man! You mean they're releasing him?"
The accountant looked surprised. "Well, yes. Right about now, in fact."
Renidus got up, knocking the chair over. He apologized as he pulled it back up before rushing outside.
The day was cold and windy, and for a moment Renidus missed the protection of his battle garb. Regrettably, they were not clothes to conduct peaceful negotiation with, but cold weather and ominous news made him wary.
So did the large crowd of men arguing loudly right in front of him. He'd seen this sort of crowd before. A jumble of emotions, people yelling out simple yet probably made-up "facts" that would stoke such emotions, and everyone wanted to take part, if only because being left out might mean getting trodden on.
This was a lynch mob waiting to happen, each person dreading and hoping for that one line, that one final drop that would trigger the mob reaction, that would mean going out of control would be fine.
That would mean that if it's -our- fault then it's not -my- fault so it's okay.
Renidus took a deep breath and straightened up. He needed his voice to project, and yet still sound friendly, to interrupt without appearing to mean to. "Hey, what's going on around here?"
A tall, gruff, burly and bearded man turned around, expecting to tower over Renidus as he replied, and was surprised to find that despite his brain telling him that there was a harmless, friendly man before him, he nevertheless had to look -up- to look at Renidus in the eye. "... the Wordweaver is being set free, and... heeey, ain'tcha one of his friends?"
Renidus laughed heartily. He didn't feel it, but he knew he absolutely -had- to stay friendly if he was to defuse this situation. "If by friends, you mean he killed me? Sure. Damned right bastard, he is. How come he's being released?"
The people in the crowd looked wary, but also curious. It was working. He just couldn't give them anything to disagree with. "A Royal pardon! The murderer's getting a damned royal pardon! The Ebon blade's bad enough, but-"
"Ah. Okay, shouldn't we be complaining to the King, then?"
The crowd became even warier. Someone called out "You nuts? They have guards, with swords, there!"
"Okay. Then we send a representative." Murmurs were his reply, but his voice still projected over theirs. "Be -reasonable-, gentlemen. You're upset. I'm upset. The Guard is upset. If I'm any judge, the King himself must be upset! If Wordweaver is getting away on a loophole, don't you think it would just be best if someone let the King know, instead of being so afraid of the Guard that we let him get away?"
The crowd shifted uncomfortably. Renidus was familiar with the reaction; it was far easier when "we" were to blame rather than "I". No one wanted to take personal responsibility for things.
"Tell you what. How about I go in your name, and since you don't trust me all that much, you send, say, one or two more people with me to make sure I behave, and we'll all go right up to the Keep and talk to the King, while the rest of you fine folks just head on home and stop causing trouble, hmm?"
The men started discussing this idea amongst each other. There was still a tension among them, but the buildup had stopped. They were seeking solutions to a problem now, not venting emotions.
Which was when one of them interrupted. "That's... a lot of smoke."
Renidus turned to watch. His heart sank. The Cathedral! "... crap. A fire! I have to go help-"
A man placed a hand on his shoulder. "Wait, what happened to complaining to the King?"
"You'll have to go without me. I'm a healer, there's a fire, I need to go help! People could die and be lost like that."
"But-"
Renidus broke off and ran towards the Cathedral Square. People seldom expected his strength, since he looked about as threatening as a lamb, but sometimes, being six feet tall and broad shouldered had its advantages.
The scene that greeted him when he arrived was horrible. He was used to fire, and buildings ablaze didn't particularly scare him. However...
The Cathedral was home, so very much more so than the apartment that he absently noted was burning.
Oh no, he thought. The high priestess... He started running towards the Cathedral, where volunteers were forming a bucket line to use water from the canals to attempt to douse the flames.
It would be a bit like trying to drink the sea at this point. He hoped some mages would arrive soon for real support, but...
He started for the stairway that led to the main entrance, but he was immediately stopped by a guard, who seized his arm as if he was expecting him. He was unexpectedly strong.
"You can't go in there."
"Yes I can. I'm a healer, I might be needed inside. Step aside! We can't wait!"
"You misunderstand. I'm not going to let you go in there because I suspect you had something to do with this. You're working to try and get Uthas free, aren't you!"
People turned around to stare at Renidus, stopping the bucket chain. There was a crash, as a section of the Cathedral's ceiling caved in.
"I don't have time for this..." Renidus' eyes flashed violet, and he stared at the guard. "I'm not the man you're looking for."
The guard blinked. "You're right. You're not."
"And you're going to let me go in and help people."
The guard let go. "Of course. Good luck, sir."
"And now you're going to calm these people down and explain it was all a mistake."
The guard nodded. "Certainly!"
Renidus ran into the building, dipping his scarf into a nearby bucket and wrapping it around his mouth and nose, to avoid inhaling the ash. The flames raged around him, but in the blink of an eye, an oval-shaped shield of light formed around him, as his soul warded off any damage to his body.
He was right. There were people inside. He picked up the first person he found and dragged him as close to the entrance as possible, where he unceremoniously dumped him at the top of the stairs- someone else could take care of him. He had to make sure. He had to.
Each trip he made, the flames seemed hotter, and he kept finding people, knocked unconscious by the fumes. He found men and women who had been his teachers, his students, his classmates.
But not the woman who had, for a while, been like his mother. Going past the flames was getting truly hazardous now, and he'd been forced to revive people inside the building before he could get them out, for the last few trips.
Finally, at the entrance to the catacombs, he found Laurana. The smoke was so dense he could barely see, but at this distance, he could feel the familiar, comforting presence of her mind (even unconscious), calling to him. He picked her up and ran, out of breath, the now-dry scarf choking him almost as much as he expected the smoke would, but knowing that he had only a few dozen yards to go before he made it out.
Another crash, and more falling debris from the crumbling ceiling. He crouched, shielding the high priestess with his body, until the rocks fell. One of them hit his shoulder, breaking past the shield and quite probably shattering it, but he'd used his magic to make sure he felt no pain quite a while ago. Using his good arm, he dragged the priestess outside the building, noting how poorly designed the entrance foyer was, making him walk around the pillar to get outside.
When he got outside, people cheered. He didn't quite remember how many people he'd dragged out, but his heart felt at peace, that he'd managed to save the one person he really, really wanted to.
Of course, there were also guards outside. "Renidus Funil, you are under arrest for charges of assaulting an officer of the law, Use of Mind Control magic, and resisting arrest."
Renidus nodded, healing his shoulder with a snap that made everyone else wince (he was so thankful for not feeling that, right now!), and extended his arms in front of him, offering them to be manacled. "Sure. Now, I have time."
He was led to the stockades in front of a bewildered, but far too busy crowd.
Re: Writing Assignment: Riot in Stormwind
This took me altogether too much time to finish up. I also apologize for how long it took me to get to it, but there it is.
5:41pm
Israia hadn't been keeping up with what was happening to Uthas, or even the trial date. She was completely oblivious as to the day's happenings, but, felt the need to go out. She hadn't seen Varenna in over a month, and that was beginning to tear at her. The way that friendship had come crumbling down- at Israia's hands- tore at her, and she aimed to fix it.
Stepping into the rest of the city that evening, the air was electric. People spoke loudly, arguments broke out, even there in the Mage District. Israia thought that maybe some new law was put into place, perhaps taxes raised once more. But then, as she came out of her home's district, she saw it: Huge pillars of black smoke, coming from her destination. The Cathedral District.
Even with hooves, running in a dress was difficult. Though Israia often wore kilts, she had always cut slits in them to allow easier movement, and perhaps to show a bit of skin. But tonight's gown was a fine piece specially tailored for her from one of Dalaran's best, a blue-grey gown emblazoned with the symbol of the Kirin Tor. And it was especially not made for pushing past the people running from the District.
Dashing across the bridge and into the archway, she found herself instantly in a crowd of people that seemed to extend all the way into the square. Most of the crowd was pushing to get out, but enough anger-ridden brutes were trying to push their way in, that many were unable to find a way past them. Israia didn't know what was going on, but already she was regretting this plan of action. With this gown, she had never planned on fighting- any weapons or enchanted armor was at home. All she had were her hands, her horns, and the elements. To top it off, she hadn't fought without the aid of embellishments upon her elemental powers in years. This would be difficult.
The torches of the archway had been taken from their places, saved for one that seemed ripped in half, with it's lower half still in the holder. Embers from the square below began to get sucked through into the Archway, sounding loud screams from those tall enough to catch them upon skin. With it, the hold broke, and though Israia was sure she herself must have stepped over someone's body, she would follow another brute into the cacaphony, only to be stunned at the sight before her.
The fires raging inside the Citadel poured more embers over the crowds beyond, the black smoke even carrying some now beyond the district. Screams and roars of battle could be heard from every direction, though, Israia thought to herself, she was thankful to not hear the sound of children. Or so I hope that is a good sign.
Finally moving forward, she found her path largely blocked by a gigantic group of what must have been three dozen people, centered around some kind of brawl in the center. Suddenly, bursting from one side of the crowd was two men, wrestling with a guard, whose hands were around one's neck. Landing on two women of the crowd, one woman was crushed by all three, the sound of her scream quickly ending, and the other woman knocked away hard, though she did her best to scramble away afterwards. The men's wrestling ended only a moment later, as a dirk was shoved between the guard's armor, and his grip around one man's neck coming loose.
Moments later, from that hole in the crowd, it seemed to disperse into many smaller fights, though half of it seemed to only cause the crowd to run screaming. From the center of it, a dwarf who smelled of ale even so far away, swung his mace into anyone close enough to hit, shattering ribcages and destroying anyone small enough. Holding a moment to let out a blood-curdling roar, the rest of the crowd backed away from him, not eager to engage what was a berserk foe.
Israia used distraction to run past the vestiges of the crowd, finally getting herself to the orphanage, and only feet from her goal. Another woman's scream would sound to the North, and just as she turned her head, the sound would be snuffed out by a loud crack.
It was Israia's head.
5:55pm
From within the Argent Dawn's office, there was one small, underdeveloped night elf. Florinai looked over the violence of the square, where seemingly on every side would be a woman beaten or a man stabbed, and just in front of her, a familiar-looking female draenei being dragged away by two large human men.
Leaping down in front of the two, Florinai unsheathed her daggers, spreading her arms out to block their movements. The men dropped Israia in a heap, and moved to either side of Florinai. "You think you can take us, girl?" the taller, thin man said with a malicious grin. He would raise his wooden plank into the air, egging Florinai on to attack.
However, the short, fat man would be the first to attack anyone. Barreling straight for her with both arms open, the man moved to tackle Florinai by the waist. Twisting around him with an extra kick to the back, she would use the distraction to lunge at the taller man, slamming the pommel of her hilt into his temple, instantly rendering him unconscious, if on his feet. With a quick trip to him and a spin to her former enemy, the elf nearly found herself off guard. He was nearly back upon her, though this time he was smart enough to not throw all of his weight into it.
With a flick of her wrist, Florinai would fill the man's face with dream dust, the pink powder stinging his eyes and playing merry with his senses. Losing his balance quickly, the fat man found himself unable to keep on his feet, stumbling about almost at random.
the men dropped Israia, one pulling a wooden plank from his belt, and the other, rounder man, rushing toward her. Dodging him and pushing off of his body, she would slam the pommel of her dagger into the taller man's cheek, sending him reeling back, with his eyes rolling back into his head.
Taking advantage of the moment, Florinai would step back to her unconscious friend, before taking her by the arms, and dragging her up and into the office of the Argent Dawn. In moments, the door would lock behind them, hopefully shielding them from the riots below.
6:01pm
With the door sealed behind them, Florinai laid Israia down to rest. Almost suddenly, her adrenaline ran short, her body filling with exhaustion as she knelt down, then sat against, Israia.
It was only a few short moments until Israia awoke. With vision blurred and the fresh smell of smoke burning into her lungs, she almost shot up from the door, before the mild pain set in onto her head. "Ahh... hells, where am..." she began, looking around. It was indeed the office. But she couldn't remember getting here-
The small elf was beside her, breathing deeply. "Florinai." Israia whispered, reaching back up to hug the girl tight against her. "You're alright, aren't you?"
Florinai brought her head up with a smile. "Am fine... just took a lots, bringing you heres... was three bad-men trying to take you aways, I, I stopped 'um." she said, panting.
The sounds of battle could still be heard outside, and the flicker of the fire shone beneath them. "What's going on? Why is all of Stormwind in the streets?"
Florinai shakes her head slightly, looking back to the door. "Do not knows. Was in the Dawn thinking to 'self when heard people muttery, get angry outside door. Was loud... got louder, been trying to helps people get away from craziness, but became harder and harder, more, more people around."
"It's... well. You know it. You must have been what got me inside." Israia muttered to herself, turning her head away, and finally pushing herself up to her hooves. "Where is Varenna?" There would be a short pause, before she added "...and Chelody?"
Florinai looked mildly distressed. "Do not knows! Have not been to Dawn- was why was here, maybe meet them, but have not seen today. Am sure are okay, are both toughs, bu, but..." She shakes her head again. "Have not seen."
Israia nodded, and held her head low. "They must be safe. The rest of the city still seemed under control when I came looking." She let out a deep breath, but would be interrupted and startled by a sudden bang at the door. Then, a gunshot, just from outside. Part of the light from beneath the door was suddenly blocked out, and soon enough, blood began to seep through from the other side, against Florinai.
Upon seeing the blood, Israia's eyes grew wide, and she launched herself up from the door, wiping the blood off of her gown. "Oh, hells."
Florinai blinks and looks down, jerking back with Israia, her face going pale, and her panting turning into a strangled gasp. She looked around, her hand idly wiping the blood that had pooled onto the side of her pants. Seeming to spot something, Florinai rushes to the back of the room, leaping up to grasp one of the low hanging beams, using it to pull herself up, and push one of the ceiling boards away, revealing another floor above, sealed away. The elf would climb up quickly, before disappearing into the darkness.
"Florinai!" Israia yelled in a hushed tone after the girl. "You can't just leave me down here-"
A hand stuck out below, and soon enough, the entire upper half of the girl hung with it. "Come, now." Quickly, Israia came to her and took her hand, as Florinai pulled her up just enough for Israia to get a hold, and pull herself the rest of the way up. Pushing the board back into place, they would then be alone, in a room painted in the red tones of the fires outside.
A window was the only way out of the room with the plank closed away. Climbing to her hooves, Israia stepped close, and would sit on the floor against the wall below the sill, the window just low enough for her to rest her arms against. It was chaos outside.
"What could have someone done to cause all of this..." She whispered to the approaching Florinai, biting her lip and wishing she could close her eyes.
They would stay at that window all night long as the riots and fires raged, until neither could stay awake anymore. The office of the Argent Dawn would never be broken into, and soon enough, Stormwind's Cathedral District would return to some semblance of sanity.
5:41pm
Israia hadn't been keeping up with what was happening to Uthas, or even the trial date. She was completely oblivious as to the day's happenings, but, felt the need to go out. She hadn't seen Varenna in over a month, and that was beginning to tear at her. The way that friendship had come crumbling down- at Israia's hands- tore at her, and she aimed to fix it.
Stepping into the rest of the city that evening, the air was electric. People spoke loudly, arguments broke out, even there in the Mage District. Israia thought that maybe some new law was put into place, perhaps taxes raised once more. But then, as she came out of her home's district, she saw it: Huge pillars of black smoke, coming from her destination. The Cathedral District.
Even with hooves, running in a dress was difficult. Though Israia often wore kilts, she had always cut slits in them to allow easier movement, and perhaps to show a bit of skin. But tonight's gown was a fine piece specially tailored for her from one of Dalaran's best, a blue-grey gown emblazoned with the symbol of the Kirin Tor. And it was especially not made for pushing past the people running from the District.
Dashing across the bridge and into the archway, she found herself instantly in a crowd of people that seemed to extend all the way into the square. Most of the crowd was pushing to get out, but enough anger-ridden brutes were trying to push their way in, that many were unable to find a way past them. Israia didn't know what was going on, but already she was regretting this plan of action. With this gown, she had never planned on fighting- any weapons or enchanted armor was at home. All she had were her hands, her horns, and the elements. To top it off, she hadn't fought without the aid of embellishments upon her elemental powers in years. This would be difficult.
The torches of the archway had been taken from their places, saved for one that seemed ripped in half, with it's lower half still in the holder. Embers from the square below began to get sucked through into the Archway, sounding loud screams from those tall enough to catch them upon skin. With it, the hold broke, and though Israia was sure she herself must have stepped over someone's body, she would follow another brute into the cacaphony, only to be stunned at the sight before her.
The fires raging inside the Citadel poured more embers over the crowds beyond, the black smoke even carrying some now beyond the district. Screams and roars of battle could be heard from every direction, though, Israia thought to herself, she was thankful to not hear the sound of children. Or so I hope that is a good sign.
Finally moving forward, she found her path largely blocked by a gigantic group of what must have been three dozen people, centered around some kind of brawl in the center. Suddenly, bursting from one side of the crowd was two men, wrestling with a guard, whose hands were around one's neck. Landing on two women of the crowd, one woman was crushed by all three, the sound of her scream quickly ending, and the other woman knocked away hard, though she did her best to scramble away afterwards. The men's wrestling ended only a moment later, as a dirk was shoved between the guard's armor, and his grip around one man's neck coming loose.
Moments later, from that hole in the crowd, it seemed to disperse into many smaller fights, though half of it seemed to only cause the crowd to run screaming. From the center of it, a dwarf who smelled of ale even so far away, swung his mace into anyone close enough to hit, shattering ribcages and destroying anyone small enough. Holding a moment to let out a blood-curdling roar, the rest of the crowd backed away from him, not eager to engage what was a berserk foe.
Israia used distraction to run past the vestiges of the crowd, finally getting herself to the orphanage, and only feet from her goal. Another woman's scream would sound to the North, and just as she turned her head, the sound would be snuffed out by a loud crack.
It was Israia's head.
5:55pm
From within the Argent Dawn's office, there was one small, underdeveloped night elf. Florinai looked over the violence of the square, where seemingly on every side would be a woman beaten or a man stabbed, and just in front of her, a familiar-looking female draenei being dragged away by two large human men.
Leaping down in front of the two, Florinai unsheathed her daggers, spreading her arms out to block their movements. The men dropped Israia in a heap, and moved to either side of Florinai. "You think you can take us, girl?" the taller, thin man said with a malicious grin. He would raise his wooden plank into the air, egging Florinai on to attack.
However, the short, fat man would be the first to attack anyone. Barreling straight for her with both arms open, the man moved to tackle Florinai by the waist. Twisting around him with an extra kick to the back, she would use the distraction to lunge at the taller man, slamming the pommel of her hilt into his temple, instantly rendering him unconscious, if on his feet. With a quick trip to him and a spin to her former enemy, the elf nearly found herself off guard. He was nearly back upon her, though this time he was smart enough to not throw all of his weight into it.
With a flick of her wrist, Florinai would fill the man's face with dream dust, the pink powder stinging his eyes and playing merry with his senses. Losing his balance quickly, the fat man found himself unable to keep on his feet, stumbling about almost at random.
the men dropped Israia, one pulling a wooden plank from his belt, and the other, rounder man, rushing toward her. Dodging him and pushing off of his body, she would slam the pommel of her dagger into the taller man's cheek, sending him reeling back, with his eyes rolling back into his head.
Taking advantage of the moment, Florinai would step back to her unconscious friend, before taking her by the arms, and dragging her up and into the office of the Argent Dawn. In moments, the door would lock behind them, hopefully shielding them from the riots below.
6:01pm
With the door sealed behind them, Florinai laid Israia down to rest. Almost suddenly, her adrenaline ran short, her body filling with exhaustion as she knelt down, then sat against, Israia.
It was only a few short moments until Israia awoke. With vision blurred and the fresh smell of smoke burning into her lungs, she almost shot up from the door, before the mild pain set in onto her head. "Ahh... hells, where am..." she began, looking around. It was indeed the office. But she couldn't remember getting here-
The small elf was beside her, breathing deeply. "Florinai." Israia whispered, reaching back up to hug the girl tight against her. "You're alright, aren't you?"
Florinai brought her head up with a smile. "Am fine... just took a lots, bringing you heres... was three bad-men trying to take you aways, I, I stopped 'um." she said, panting.
The sounds of battle could still be heard outside, and the flicker of the fire shone beneath them. "What's going on? Why is all of Stormwind in the streets?"
Florinai shakes her head slightly, looking back to the door. "Do not knows. Was in the Dawn thinking to 'self when heard people muttery, get angry outside door. Was loud... got louder, been trying to helps people get away from craziness, but became harder and harder, more, more people around."
"It's... well. You know it. You must have been what got me inside." Israia muttered to herself, turning her head away, and finally pushing herself up to her hooves. "Where is Varenna?" There would be a short pause, before she added "...and Chelody?"
Florinai looked mildly distressed. "Do not knows! Have not been to Dawn- was why was here, maybe meet them, but have not seen today. Am sure are okay, are both toughs, bu, but..." She shakes her head again. "Have not seen."
Israia nodded, and held her head low. "They must be safe. The rest of the city still seemed under control when I came looking." She let out a deep breath, but would be interrupted and startled by a sudden bang at the door. Then, a gunshot, just from outside. Part of the light from beneath the door was suddenly blocked out, and soon enough, blood began to seep through from the other side, against Florinai.
Upon seeing the blood, Israia's eyes grew wide, and she launched herself up from the door, wiping the blood off of her gown. "Oh, hells."
Florinai blinks and looks down, jerking back with Israia, her face going pale, and her panting turning into a strangled gasp. She looked around, her hand idly wiping the blood that had pooled onto the side of her pants. Seeming to spot something, Florinai rushes to the back of the room, leaping up to grasp one of the low hanging beams, using it to pull herself up, and push one of the ceiling boards away, revealing another floor above, sealed away. The elf would climb up quickly, before disappearing into the darkness.
"Florinai!" Israia yelled in a hushed tone after the girl. "You can't just leave me down here-"
A hand stuck out below, and soon enough, the entire upper half of the girl hung with it. "Come, now." Quickly, Israia came to her and took her hand, as Florinai pulled her up just enough for Israia to get a hold, and pull herself the rest of the way up. Pushing the board back into place, they would then be alone, in a room painted in the red tones of the fires outside.
A window was the only way out of the room with the plank closed away. Climbing to her hooves, Israia stepped close, and would sit on the floor against the wall below the sill, the window just low enough for her to rest her arms against. It was chaos outside.
"What could have someone done to cause all of this..." She whispered to the approaching Florinai, biting her lip and wishing she could close her eyes.
They would stay at that window all night long as the riots and fires raged, until neither could stay awake anymore. The office of the Argent Dawn would never be broken into, and soon enough, Stormwind's Cathedral District would return to some semblance of sanity.
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