Huckleberry @huck-west - Tumblr Blog

The End.. (Short)

Weston opened his eyes, finding himself in an alley he didn't quite recognize, at least at first. He made his way through, racking his brain to figure out just where he was, he was supposed to be home wasn't he?

The streets were cobbled and lined on either side with trenches where water flowed and broke off to the canals that he now reached. "Stormwind.."

The human capital had not looked like this for nearly twenty years. People walked the streets, smiles on their faces, children ran and played. The dead were nowhere to be seen. Did the stranger send him to the wrong place? Or perhaps the wrong time?

Weston began to panic, what if he'd been sent where Harper should be and the poor soul was sent to his time where the dead roamed in herds thicker than Gilnean fog. He broke into a sprint, crossing a bridge across the canal towards the Cathedral District, his heart hammering in his chest, lungs burning, legs aching. The redhead took the steps three at a time to enter the church, the faces around him were a blur, his eyes focused on a priest near the podium at the back.

"Father, please, tell me, where are the dead?" He asked, trying to catch his breath while holding the stitch in his side.

"In the graveyard, Sir Knight, are you well? Do you need assistance?" The priest looked confused.

"No, the undead, foul abominations that roam without pause and endless hunger.." He gasped, reaching out for the priest's robes but instead found his hand held in both of theirs.

"The dead haven't roamed since Arthas fell at Light's Hope, Sir. Relax, you're clearly having some sort of panic, perhaps a vivid dream or a bit too much to drink?" The priest winked, patting the top of his hand.

"I.. Light's Hope.. yes.. I.. forgive me." Weston pulled his hand free and went to turn away.

"Were you there?" The priest asked, his eyes full of sympathy and understanding. "I see the ears, forgive me, I took you for a drunken human at first given your youthful appearance."

"Yes.. I was.. just memories, dreams, too real. I apologize for my outburst." Once more he went to turn away but the priest placed a hand on his shoulder now, giving it a light squeeze. "Rest, you've earned it, let me pray for you. I may not be able to remove these haunting memories but perhaps the Light will help shoulder some of that burden you carry."

He was going to protest but thought against it, offering the priest a smile and a nod and kneeling at the steps while they prayed together. Back at the entrance he could hear the click of heels and heavy footfalls of boots, but he paid them no mind. As the priest continued he could almost feel the panic leave him, causing the redhead to take a deep, shaky breath, opening his eyes. "Thank you.. I needed that more than you know."

He rose to his feet and turned, feeling his heart suddenly jump into his throat. Half-way from the entrance to the steps was the broad-shouldered and imposing presence of a man he'd not seen with the smile he now wore as he walked hand in hand with a woman that brought a tear to Weston's eyes.

When their eyes met, Weston nearly fell to his knees once more but instead he swallowed the lump in his throat and smiled.. his heart skipping a beat when she smiled back.

He was home.. truly.

#The End

Weston crashed into the stairs, the monster's jaws snapping mere inches away from his face. "Locke... Little help.."

The gnome raised the cracked and splintered remains of the artifact, a brilliant streak of light slamming into the monstrosity, giving West the moment he needed to roll away.

This had been their life since sacrificing themselves so the others could escape, locked in an eternal battle against the darkness that had threatened Duskwood. Time had no meaning here, and though they never seemed to tire, though they never felt hunger, or thirst in this realm, something else was happening the longer they remained.

It was Father Locke who noticed it, that breathing was more of a habit than a need. Then, much later, that perhaps it wasn't the realm itself that allowed them to go without sleep, water, or food when the monster they were fighting backed off, gasping for air.

Weston raised his hammer while the beast was recovering from Locke's attack, bringing it down, a wet crunch followed by a heavy thud as his hammer went through the monster's head.

"Do you know what I miss most?" Locke made his way to the door of the manor the pair had called home since donning the collars. "Wine."

"I'm surprised, given your profession." Weston chuckled softly.

Locke smiled, letting out a sigh as his eyes focused on the road leading to the manor. What about you?"

"The things I miss have been gone long before I ever found myself here. Only things in my life worth missing." Weston left it at that. He closed his eyes as memories flooded to the surface, reading stories to his son's by the fire, holding his wife in the early hours of the mornings, riding side by side with his Lord. Then other memories pushed through, the hordes of undead crashing through the gates, the sheer madness that filled him as he and the Lord carved a path through the dead only to find his wife, his boys, being made a meal for the abominations. His eyes snapped open. "Damned thing is runnin' late."

Locke hummed thoughtfully. "Mm. Seems so. Odd. You don't think it's over, do you?"

Weston shook his head. "Something tells me if it was over we'd know."

Locke stood up, leaning on the artifact more out of habit than need. "It should have been here already. That's why we're here to keep it at bay, right? The collars are lock and key. That's what we know. West is locked up with the Sunshields, and you and I are here. So why isn't that damned thing running up the road like it has hundreds of times before."

Light streaked, zigged and zagged across the sky, splitting into trails that quickly spread and spider webbed until, with a final shift, the sky shattered. The shards lifted, vanishing into the endless white that peaked through the shards.

"Locke, looks like we have an answer. Whole damn place is collapsing." He felt a familiar pull, both arcane and.. other. Without another thought he grabbed Locke by the collar.

"What the blazes are you d-.." The rest of Locke's protest was cut off. A deep, resonating, deafening gong filled their ears just as the realm around them disappeared in a flash of light.

When the ringing stopped and the smell of the sea in the air hit Weston, he opened his eyes and released Locke's collar.

"Where are we?" The gnome asked, sitting up. Waves lapped at the sand the pair had been deposited.

Weston stared at a horizon, open ocean as far as the eye could see. "Considering how real this all feels.. I'd say we're definitely no longer trapped in that accursed place." Weston reached out with his mind, hoping to find a hint, a tether, something. There it was, a ley line. They were home, or at least one of them.

"What now?" The gnome asked.

Weston simply smiled, shaking his head. Memories twisted and warped, fiction replaced with reality. A tavern, sitting across from a man that could damn well be his twin if he weren't so young. It was a plan that would take years and a plan that wouldn't come to fruition until the man had at least a dozen more seasons under his belt.

"Weston?" Locke sounded worried. He could hear the gnome shuffling through the sand.

The memories still remained at the forefront of his mind. Twisting and shaping the lad into the perfect reflection.

"Are we back?" The gnome turned away. "I.. I think we're back, Weston, we're free!"

A final memory bloomed to the surface.. watching himself hang. The lad had gone around making amends and stirring pots, brewing a believable tale of redemption. One that he'd made certain there wasn't a loose end that wasn't tied tight.

He reached into the folds of the heavy coat that he wore over his armor, fingers closing around the grip of a gnomish pistol, a rail gun revolver crafted by none other than Jakk Boltor.

"If we're back.. aren't you a mage? Can't you teleport us to Stormwind or, hell, anywhere but here." The gnome laughed, his head turning. "Weston?" His eyes went wide as he stared down the barrel.

"Just West." The bastard replied right before he pulled the trigger. Much like with the weapon's creator, the sheer blast from the weapon sent what was left of the gnome tumbling in the sand, meat and blood splattering in a stark contrast against the pale beach. West holstered it, humming thoughtfully to himself as he reached out a hand, feeling the ebb and flow of the ley line, drawing from it, feeding from it.. Duskwood came to mind first, but that image was quickly replaced with another, Southwatch. A smile pulled at his lips as a thought came bubbling to the forefront of his mind. How much he'd love to see his body just one last time.. call it vanity, call it crazy, but curiosity had certainly gripped him in the moment.

The air rippled, twisted, and blurred just beyond his extended arm, before the very fabric of reality tore, revealing a jagged edged portal to an open field. He knew the place, several miles away from anything but close enough for a determined man to make the trek on foot if needed. "Time to go home.."

#bloody little secrets

Against the dark.. (The end)

A noose tightens..

A man speaks..

The people listen..

"Weston Bailey.. you are charged with the abduction and ritualistic killing of.. three hundred and seventeen people? Is.. is this accurate?" The man asked one of the guards.

"We're still recovering the remains.. those are just what we've counted so far. Official reports will correct the number once we have completed our investigation." The guard nodded to the papers in the man's hand.

The man stared at West with a mixture of disgust, horror, and even a hint of awe. "As.. as you've turned yourself in along with the evidence of your crimes.. you've been given a manner of death of your choosing.. to hang from the neck until death. Do you have any last words?"

West bowed his head. "I make no excuses for my actions. But my actions were my own. I can give no peace to the lives and families I've destroyed. I only pray that those I've touched find justice in my death."

The man nodded to the executioner. West heard the lever pull, felt the brief moment of weightlessness, before the rope snapped taught. His vision swam, his throat closed, he struggled. His neck didn't break from the fall as he'd hoped. He choked, felt his eyes attempting to force past his eyelids, felt the blood flood his mouth from biting his tongue when the rope stopped his fall. Then.. blissful abyss.

Lord Araian Sunshield,

First and foremost I thank you for sending me to the Abbey. It opened my eyes. Brother Morris is a good man, he was the one I accidentally stabbed that I told you about. I feel he helped me find the clarity you spoke of.

In that clarity came a realization, that my past needs to be faced once and for all.

My name is Weston Bailey and I'm a killer. I won't go into the details of my actions, but I'm certain there will be records of them once all is said and done. By the time this letter reaches you I will likely be dead. Know that it was because of you and Brother Morris that the families of my victims will finally find justice.

-West

Lady Rosemarrie Sunshield,

By the time you read this I will likely be dead. I am doubtful anything I say will matter but should you have questions ask about Weston Bailey. You will have more answers than you bargained for, but perhaps you will feel justice has been served from my betrayal.

-West

Captain,

News will reach you of my death, Captain. When it does, head to Booty Bay, speak with Lenny Fizziks, I know, goblins. He’ll have a large shipment of your favorite rum. I may have stolen it at one point. But I won’t be needing it where I’m going.

-West

Sel,

By now you’ve got word of the man you thought you knew. Sorry, doll, wish I could say it was all a lie. I’ve avoided you since I heard you were back in Stormwind because a part of me didn’t want to see that look in your eyes when you saw me for who I really am.

See you around, gorgeous.

-West

Lawson (Or Ping Pang, if you are reading this to him),

We both know I was a piece of shit. Now you know a whole lot more, well, if someone read the reports to you and also this letter.

-West

Tremaine,

Your contract has been transferred to a new party. Seemed pleased to have you. He’s not exactly a friend. But he’ll make sure you’re still protected. Ask for the serpent in Old Town.

-West

( @theoldlord / @agilneanrose / @captaingreystone / @ofseasandwitches / @theycallmeblubber / @whatever tremaine’s would be - Mentions)

"That's quite the tale, West.."

The old man he'd stabbed, Brother Morris, frowned.

"Difficult to believe, I know.." West sighed. The two were having tea in the library of the abbey, their conversation turned to their respective pasts. Compelled by reasons he couldn't explain, West was brutally honest.

"How much do think was the stone and how much do you think was you?" Morris took a sip from his cup, leveling their gaze on the redhead.

"I couldn't say.. and because of that.. I can't say I'm entirely innocent." The bastard turned his cup with his fingers, staring at the old man's reflection in the tea's surface. "So you see my problem.. why I came here.."

"You want to know why the light answered your plea, you of all people." Morris nodded slowly. "What do you think?"

"The Lord said it was in all things.. in all of us.. but.. it doesn't answer-.." West cursed under his breath.

"Perhaps there's no answer.. you asked for aid and you received it. It seems pretty straightforward to me." The old man smiled, taking another sip.

"I need to know what it means. That's why I'm here. But no one seems to want to tell me and all you've had me do is read and sit with you each night. These books are all starting to blur together." The bastard gestured to the library around them.

"You're trying to understand something greater and wiser men before you never could. There is no understanding. Just faith.. and acceptance. You were in a moment of dire need.. you opened yourself up. Something that was always there answered you plea. And I now sit with you because of that." Morris set his cup down, resting his elbows on the table, fingers threading together.

"So what now?" West sat back in his chair, arms folding over his chest.

"There's two paths before you, West.. one is long and painful, things will get worse and worse before they get better. On that path.. perhaps.. in time.. you will find peace."

"And the other?"

Morris sighed heavily as he stood, pushing his chair back. "The other.. is the path you were already on, West."

#against the dark

Northshire Abbey

I did as the Lord suggested, headed to Northshire for clarity, and hopefully answers. It would be half a night’s ride to reach it, and so I reflected on both the incident, and the Lady’s words.

Two days ago..

There they are again, cloaked and hooded, slipping just outside the edge of my vision. Perhaps one of hers, perhaps not, can’t take chances, she wants me dead.. wouldn’t put it past her to keep sending her shades after me until the job’s done. Maybe I’m being paranoid..

No.. cautious. I am being cautious. Without my magic.. all I have is my wits and my blade. There they are again! Not this time.. not like Jakk.. this time I strike first.

His blade found its target just under the figure’s ribs.. and it was there.. feeling the knife against the bone of the figure’s ribcage that West saw them clearly. “Shit.. no.. no..”

Before he lost everything he might of felt nothing at this single act, but as he watched the hood fall back to reveal an elderly man in simple robes, a man he’d never seen before, an innocent man. He felt guilt, regret, remorse..

“Shit.. I’m sorry.. hang on.. whoa..” The robed man sagged against him, his legs no longer supporting them. “Shit, fuck, shit..” West carefully lowered them to the ground.

“W-why...” The man asked, struggling to catch his breath as a dark stain began to spread from the knife wound.

“I thought.. I’ve been hunted.. I thought.. I thought you were one of them.. shit.. there’s so much blood.” West looked up and down the road, no one in sight. He should run, leave the man, he won’t last long. No.. that was the old him talking. He couldn’t leave him.. he couldn’t run. End his suffering.. it would take only a twist of the knife. No..

“H-help..” The man held on to West weakly, eyes barely able to stay open.

“There’s no time to get help.. I can’t.. I don’t..” He glanced around desperately, no one in sight. “HELP! HELP US!!”

No answering cries, no shouts, nothing..

West tore the robes away around the knife, lips twisting in a frown as the old man’s eyes rolled back in his head. “Please.. not like this.. I’m trying to make it all right.. not like this.. please.. please.. please..” He gathered his cloak in his hands, pressing them around the knife. He couldn’t remove the blade..

He held the wadded cloak against the wound with one hand while the other hovered over the wound, he had to have some strength left.. if he could just alter the fabric of time just a bit.. he could.. he could.. but the arcane refused to answer, the leylines lost to him.. it was all truly lost to him. “COME ON!!!”

The old man was breathing weakly, chest barely rising with each wheezing breath. He was every bit the monster he blamed the darkness within him on, every single bit.. here was proof.. there was no going back, he’d be found here with the body, no words would save him, the old man was unarmed. His friend’s sacrifice was for nothing, West would face hanging, his grave rotting away just like Matteo’s, slanderous notes nailed to his wooden marker.

“I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry..” His eyes burned as he bowed his head. “Please..” West’s hand began to shake as he held it over the wound. A wave of emotion filled the void within him, consuming him. “Help me.. please..” The tears that clouded his vision caught the glimmer of something hovering just beyond his fingers. A tiny, flickering spark of something. As he focused on the spark he could see it clearly, the faintest spec of something he never thought he’d see as he knelt here with the dying man, begging for aid. He knew the warmth that danced just beyond his fingertips, but even as he watched the spark hover there, West knew he didn’t deserve the aid that had come.

Painfully slow, the spark moved towards the wound, slipping between blade and flesh. He watched as the knife was forced out, slumping down on his knees as it bounced against the road. A gasp, faint, but there it was.. and the old man’s eyes fluttered open. “What.. how?”

“I don’t.. I don’t know. How do you feel?”

The old man tried to focus on West but groaned and closed his eye. “You saved me.. you also tried to kill me.. but.. you saved me.”

West frowned as he collected his bloodstained cloak and knife, tucking them both behind him.

“I should turn you in...” The old man has turned onto his side, struggling to pull himself up. “But.. you could have left me. And you didn’t..” He put a hand over the wound.

There was so much going on in his head, where.. how.. why him.. this wasn’t possible.. he was.. he was a monster. A final tear rolled down his cheek as the bastard reached up to wipe it away. This too made no sense.. years of nothing, feeling nothing, other than when he thought the Lord was dead, West had been forced to fake every emotion he’d ever experienced just to seem normal. But this was different.. it came from within, from the warmth spreading through his chest. It swelled and it filled him, threatening to cloud his vision once more.

The old man was finally able to stand, a smile on his face. “Go.. before I change my mind, young man.”

Now..

Why did he let me go, he could have turned me in, and this.. light.. why him, why now, how was it possible?

Northshire Abbey loomed in the distance as West urged his horse on, sighing.

Then there’s the Lady and the others.. no matter what came of all this.. she’ll always see me as a traitor. There was also the matter of the two people who set off my security measures in Westbrooke, I’ll need to head there at some point, hopefully they aren’t dead.

As he slid from the saddle West felt very weak in the knees, legs beginning to shake. When was the last time he ate.. whoa.. getting lightheaded.. water, maybe some water. Saddle bag. Reach out.. grab..

His eyes fluttered open, he was on something soft, a bed perhaps, a candle flickering beside where he lay provided dancing shadows over stone walls he didn’t recognize. Movement by his feet caused the bastard to look down, catching the faint outline of a shadowy figure at the foot of the bed.

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again, young man..” The figure said as West squinted into the darkness beyond the candle’s flame. They leaned forward, the candle catching their features.

“You..” West stared wide eyed at the face that had been burned into his memory. The face of the old man he’d stabbed.

#against the dark

Against the dark..

It was near nightfall when the two travelers stopped outside the ruins of Westbrooke, an armored man, shield and sword strapped to his back and leading a mule, and a robed figure, hunched and leaning heavily on their walking stick. “We make camp here, things I’ve heard about this place after dark, I don’t fancy finding out they’re true just yet.” The armored man said, tying the mule to a tree as the robed figure lowered himself down with a groan to sit in the dirt. “You still haven’t told me why you wanted to come here, Father. Forgive me, but, true or not.. this land is tainted.”

“And a tainted land should be cleansed..” The robed figure said flatly, his face hidden in the shadows of his hood. “Get a fire going, Henry.”

Henry sighed, gathering sticks and dried leaves as the robed figure bowed his head. Faint whispers reached Henry’s ears as he returned to the Father, piling the leaves and sticks before striking a match along his boot, cupping the flame from the evening breeze and setting it within the pile. He hunkered down, blowing softly into the pile before the leaves caught. Henry added more sticks and set a few of the larger ones aside. “The third time today you’ve prayed, Father.. are you worried?”

The robed figure lifted his hooded head, a single piercing blue eye caught in the flicker of the flames. “I’m not worried.. merely.. seeking guidance.”

Henry shook his head, “Lot of stories surround this place, some say the young Lord went mad, others say his people rose against him.”

The Father nodded slowly, “I’d heard the tales as well.. there’s usually a grain of truth in rumors..”

“Some of men in the tavern, after you and I had our chat, warned me against comin’ here. Said dark magic was at play, said that’s why nothing grows here anymore. Think there’s some truth in that?” Henry added one of the larger sticks to the fire as the robed figure looked to the ruined gates up the road.

“Perhaps.. perhaps not.. a fire is more likely, burned the buildings, the land..” The Father shrugged.

“Hell of a risk, Father.. who knows what we may face inside.” Henry set his shield and sword aside, stretching out to lay his head against the shield, staring up at the sky.

“Darkness has held this place long enough.. rumors aside.. I am going in there come morning.” The Father tucked his hands in his sleeves, bowing his head once more.

“Since we may face untold horrors within, care to finally tell me your name, Father? Like to know somethin’ about the man I’ve been travelin’ with for the past two days, rather not keep callin’ you Father.”

The robed figure reached up, drawing back his hood to reveal a mane of fading red hair and a thick bushy beard, “Bailey..”

“Father Bailey.. Weston Bailey? I’d heard about you.. came into this later in life than most. What did you do before this?” Henry pulled himself up on an elbow, taking a sudden interest in the redhead across the fire.

“I was..” Father Bailey paused, humming to himself. “I was not the man I am today.. I was advised to keep the past I spent so long trying to make up for as just that.. my past. I was not a good man, but one day.. I saw something that brought me to the path I am now on. It changed me. I may never be able to make up for the things I’d done.. but at least.. I have the rest of my life to try.”

Henry stared at the redhead, smiling at Bailey smiled, “We all start somewhere, I suppose.. I was a bandit, spent some time in the Stockades, turned my life around. Tryin’ to get into the guard.”

Father Bailey chuckled softly, nodding his head. “I’ll put in a good word for you.. one of the guard, Sergeant Bertha Fairway, she’s an old friend.”

Henry snorted, he knew the woman Bailey spoke of. “Big Bertha? How do you two know each other?”

“It’s a long story, Henry.. maybe I’ll tell you once this is all over.. we should get some sleep. We go in at first light.” Father Bailey said as he lowered himself to lay down in the dirt next to the fire, folding an arm under the side of his head.

(To be continued. A possible future/alt timeline)

“You have got to be fucking kidding me..”

Adamar’s words cut through the quiet as I knelt there pretending to pray in the Cathedral. My return to the city had been a quiet one, a few odd looks, a few whispers behind trembling hands, but nothing more. The Lord stood in silent prayer only a few feet away from his angered knight, I was curious how I’d be received upon my return, but Adamar’s reaction and the Lord quiet indifference in the moment was relatively close to what I expected.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve..” The rest of the man’s words were drowned out by an odd ringing in my ear. Anger welled up inside of me, threatening to burst through my chest and crush the man for speaking in that tone to me. The ringing stopped, I took a breath, I smiled. The Lord scolded Adam, as did a woman. I offered to take our conversation elsewhere.. but to my shock.. the noble knight attempted to strike me from behind. Not very gentlemanly, if you ask me. Reflex and instinct alone saved me, and though the knight didn’t know it then, saved him as well. Self preservation and wearing the mask I needed in the moment stayed my hand and my blade.. though I could feel the trigger of the blade’s mechanism pressed against the arm that held Adam’s in place. Just a flex of my forearm, a pull of a finger, and the flesh just before the bracer would spill his sweet life’s essence over the Cathedral floor.

I apologized to one of the priests on Sir Meadowcroft’s behalf, following the man outside. His already tired line repeated before I managed to reach the road. I said my peace, and I didn’t even need to embellish or outright lie, the truth was the truth, whether they liked what I had to say or not. Naturally he didn’t believe me, funny how that happens.. the truth is always the harder pill to swallow from anyone’s lips when you’ve so blindly put your faith in what that truth speaks against.

Betrayer.. Liar.. Bastard.. I am all these things. But.. in this.. my motive, while selfish, was a natural one. I was scared when I took those shards. Scared of what I was going to face, scared to face it alone, but more importantly, scared that I put someone else in the crosshairs of a fate meant for me. I didn’t know if the others would survive what came for them.. and though I had things in place should I be wrong and they made it through, I didn’t trust that they wouldn’t abandon me once again.

Once Adamar was done restating his feelings on the matter, I told the Lord the same story I told his knight, the same one I had told anyone who had listened when we returned from beyond. Whether he accepted what I said or not remained to be seen. He wanted Rose’s side. I knew how her version of events would play out. Betrayer.. Liar.. Bastard.. Oathbreaker.. Death.

My fate hangs in the hands of a woman blind to the realities of what I had to endure at the hands of her people there, and her father. If death is what they want from me, death is what they shall have. My affairs are in order, my loose ends are tied, all that remains now is to wait.

Gone.

It was getting late, the bastard cursed under his breath as he shoved his way through the bustling streets of Stormwind. The docks were his destination, the promise of a new life and purpose awaited him. Familiar faces and voices passed and faded, none gave him a shout or spared him more than a passing glance. He'd grown out his beard, dyed it dark brown and shaved his head down to a mere stubble, even he couldn't find the West they had known in his reflection. Pale blue eyes, through a painful and nearly blinding process, were now black, still sensitive to even the light of the moon and lamps.

The docks were in sight, the ragged and stained hooded cloak he surrounded himself in was pulled tighter, shadowing his features as he approached the ship. One of the crewmen was checking the papers of those boarding and when the bastard approached he gave West a long, scrutinizing look. "Papers.."

West dug into his tunic, taking care to hide his blades and the gnome's rail-revolver as best he could.

"James Crowley.. we have a Crowley on board, our cook, any relation?"

"No relation. Just passage to Booty Bay."

The crewman nodded, handing West's papers back. "Best get on and settled, we're heading out soon. Storm's comin', Captain wants to get ahead of it."

The bastard smiled, "Heard about that.."

He boarded the ship, moving along the deck and avoiding the eyes of the crew and travelers alike as he made his way to his assigned quarters. His things had already been brought aboard while he went about settling his affairs in the city. One of the deckhands was just shoving a large trunk against the wall.

"What do you have in here? A body?" The hand laughed, clapping West on the shoulder.

"All my worldly possessions, mate.. new life.. new opportunities." The bastard closed his door behind the deckhand, locking the latch in place before moving to the trunk. It was a chore undoing all the padlocks and latches, but they were a necessary precaution. The heavy lid was lifted to reveal a pale, blue eyed, redhead. The corpse's features had been altered enough to pass for him.

Once the ship docked at Booty Bay, he'd dump the body where it would be found and hopefully Huckleberry West would be no more. There was nothing left for him in this life and it was a life he'd long since been tired of living, it was time to move on.

Six weeks later..

His horse was nervous beneath him as James twisted the map in his hand around. “Easy, Bess, easy.. we’re almost there.”

Since dumping the body, he’d been traveling, by foot, by horse, by sea.. rarely staying in one place for long. A mere week after leaving Booty Bay, he’d taken up freelance work as a bounty hunter. Pay was few and far between but it kept him moving, food in his belly, drink when he needed it. Right at this moment he was was hunting a particularly elusive target that had been ducking him for over a month. Every time James came close to finding him, the target would slip away.

“Just pass this ridge should be their camp.. mm.. really should have hired those mercs back in town. Ah well.. nothing for it now.” He snapped the reins with one hand while the other tucked the map away.

Just as he’d thought, no sooner did they round the ridge than the sound of voices reached his ears. He brought Bess to a stop, frowning to himself as he looked through the trees as the various campfires. “MY NAME IS JAMES CROWLEY! YOU KNOW WHO I AM! I’M HERE FOR RICHTER BRENT! NO ONE ELSE NEEDS TO DIE TONIGHT! SEND HIM OUT AND YOU WILL BE FREE TO GO!” Bess started to move back, “Easy, girl, easy.. don’t worry..” The camp went silent, each of the fired snuffed out one by one. James pulled the long rifle from its holster against Bess’ side, humming to himself as he screwed its scope in place. From the pouch on his belt, James removed a thin green crystal, locking it in place over the end of the scope. “What do you think? He comes out with his hands raised or invites us in?” He shouldered the rifle, peering through the scope as he swept the camp. Bodies moved, their heat illuminated through the crystal. One stood still near the center of camp, hands raising to their mouth. “YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO COME AND GET ME, CROWLEY!” Bess shook her head, snorting.

“Mm.. guess you’re right, Bess..” He settled the crosshairs over Brent’s head, adjusting for distance and drop. “Pity.. was really hoping for the extra bonus for bringing him in alive.” The crack of gunfire echoed off the ridge, the one shouting crumpled to the ground. The rest of the camp scattered, fleeing in every direction but where the gunfire came from. “Hopefully that was him.. sounded like it.” He eased Bess forward, taking them carefully through the trees towards the camp. The remnants of the camp were still crashing through the trees to get away as James brought Bess to a stop at the body. “I did not expect you to be alive, Brent.”

His target was gasping for air, the gurgling sound giving evidence to a punctured lung.

“I mean.. you’re going to die.. that’s happening, literally right now. Should have just gave yourself up.”

James hopped down from Bess, kneeling down beside Brent. “I really don’t want to drag your body through the woods.. thankfully.. they just wanted your head if you couldn’t be taken in alive. Look away, Bess.. you’re still too young for this.”

It wasn’t a glamorous life.. as he started cutting through the flesh, muscle and bone of Brent’s neck. But it was a life. No one expected anything of him, he was free to live as he saw fit. Plus.. as a bonus.. it scratched a familiar itch that still hounded him even all this time after giving up the crystal. Time would tell if he ever returned to civilization or any place those who once knew him lived, for now.. he had a job to do. Head bagged and tied to Bess, James climbed back in the saddle. “Let’s get our coin..”

#The End

Saltwood

“Tell me, West.. make me believe it..”

“You don’t have to do this, Jakk..”

“You left me no choice..”

West sat in the trees just beyond the border of Saltwood, staring at the gates.

“They were a cartel, mate, a cartel, not some respectable group of upstanding gents. A cartel. There would have been another side to the coin. There always is.”

“Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re wrong, West.. but you took that away from us. You left us. You took the shards.”

“You don’t even know if they would have worked, Jakk! Think about it! Mortals were so new to the other side of the veil, every creature you encountered was shocked to see the living there.” “You took that away from us as well when you took the shards! What if he wasn’t waiting for us?! What then!?” The bastard sighed as he leaned against the tree trunk, his legs hanging off the sides of the thick branch he was sitting on.

“I had contingencies in place.. and I was on my way back to you before the cartel swept me up. You would have had the shards again.”

“Guess we’ll never know..”

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Jakk.. talk to her.. don’t make me do this.”

“If she wanted it any other way.. she’d have stopped me. Three days, West.. you have three days to get your affairs in order. Then I am coming for you.”

West cursed under his breath, shaking his head as he stared at the guards patrolling along the walls.

The gnome’s body fell forward, their face a mess of meat and shards of bone. “Damnit..” He could hear the sounds of panicked citizens, the shouts of approaching guards. “Damnit.. you hard headed little shit. Why didn’t you listen to me?”

The shouts were getting closer..

Saltwood.. he needed to get to Saltwood. Face this head on..

West checked and rechecked the rail-revolver he’d taken off the gnome, having had some time with the weapon and the ammunition Jakk had created for it. The belt of ammo was wrapped around the bastard’s thigh.. eight shots. Then it was just knives and however long his body could stay standing if it came to it. He hoped a sensible ear could be found among them. “Who will listen.. who will fall..”

A deal's a deal..

(Shadowlands Storyline)

The Broker took their time counting and recounting the anima hanging in the air before them. West was trying to be patient but that patience was wearing thin.

“This is acceptable, Mister West. And appreciated. Now to our deal.”

“What.. oh no, you aren’t doing shit to me again. You fucked me royally before, no tellin’ what’ll happen if I let you start poking around again.” Huck turned, attempting to leave only to find the Broker’s guards blocking his path.

“You are a curious creature, Mister West. Very curious. Brimming with power when we first meet, begging to be free of it. Though it appears to be diminished now, it is still there, lingering. We thought it was part of you. So we didn't remove it. It appears that simply isn't so. We know how to proceed from here. Sever that lingering tie. So..” The Broker stepped closer, the guards gripped him by the arms, holding him in place. “A deal is a deal. Hold still, this will be exceptionally painful. Should you black out, the guards will keep you standing until we are finished.” He didn't even see the Broker move before it felt like he was on fire..

Pain.

Cold.

Pulling.

Screaming.

Was that him?

Far away.

Confusion.

Fear.

Silence.

When West came to the guards released him, sending the bastard crashing to the floor.

“Our business is done, Mister West.” The Broker’s face came into view hovering a few inches above his face. “Get him out of here.”

He felt the guards grip him by the arms once more, why was he so weak? West struggled to break free, to no avail. He tried to summon forth the arcane.. nothing.. "What did you do to me?!"

The Broker nodded to the guards who hoisted him up, West could feel his legs dangling beneath him, the tips of his boots only a hair's breath from the floor. "Gave you what you asked, fulfilled our end of the bargain now that you've kept yours. The power at your control was not one you learned on your own, so we carved it out."

"This isn't what I asked for!" No matter how much he struggled, West couldn't break free from the guards.

"It is precisely what you asked for. And as a bonus, you served as a lesson to any that might think of reneging one of our deals again. The blood you spilled, the souls you captured, the anima you stole. We can't think of a stronger message to send." The Broker motioned to the guards who turned and began dragging West from the room. "Send him home. Send him properly."

The bastard felt something strike the back of his head, his vision swam, black spots crept in.. the cry of a seagull pierced his ears like a white hot knife. Blood matted West's hair against his head, tangled and knotted in his beard. He tried to speak but his mouth felt like it was filled with sand. Hang on a minute.. he spat and coughed, rolling into his side. It was filled with sand. "Where the fuck am I?"

His voice was horse, no telling how long he'd been here, long enough that everything hurt. The sun beat down on West, he could just barely see it through the gaps in his hair. The clank of armor interrupted him in his attempt to sit up.

"Looks like you've been through hell. Come on, let's get you up." Hands grabbed him beneath the arms and pulled the bastard up. There was a brief moment of panic that shot through him as his legs shook, but they eventually seemed to hold.

"Where am I?" West asked, trying to see the armored stranger's colors in the hopes it would give him an idea. Blue and gold.. it was at least an alliance territory.

"Stormwind harbor, mage at the tower said you came crashing through about an hour ago. He tried to help you, you apparently screamed in such a way as he's never heard a man scream before. Then you ran through the first portal you saw. Then came running through others, wearing less and less of your clothes."

Wait.. was he naked? As if in answer the sea breeze tickled his under carriage, causing West to immediately clasp his hands over man-land and clear his throat. "I don't suppose you thought to bring any clothes with you while you went looking for me?"

"Sorry, was of a mind I'd just find you dead. Thought you were too. And we have a long walk back to get you sorted out."

West sighed, cursing to himself. "Then we'd best get this sideshow over with.. lead on, my good man. Perhaps we can procure something that at least covers enough of me"

The guard gave his shoulder a squeeze, causing West to cringe, of all the moments to give some form of comfort to another man..

Several agonizing hours later..

West stood outside the gates to Saltwood, running a hand through his freshly cut hair as they slowly opened. The clothes he'd been provided with were a bit loose, but they were clean. He almost didn't recognize himself as he was being cleaned up, so many scars had reappeared since his final ties to the stone we're severed by the Brokers.

A pair of guards stood at the gates, "State your business."

"Lord West.. no business.. just coming home."

One of the guards stepped closer. "You don't look much like him, no offense."

West recognized the guard now, a smile pulling at his lips. "Thomas.. it's me. I once caught you staring at the maids through the gap in the fence while-.."

"It's him, let him through!" The guard cut him off, clearing his throat as he stepped aside to allow West to pass.

A glimpse of the future..

It was just after midday in Stormwind, West was making his way through the canals towards the Stockades. He didn't care if he was being foolish, he was responsible. Blood was on his hands, an ocean of it, and even free of the stone he couldn't risk the darkness creeping back in.

A guard held up their hand as West approached. "State your business, citizen."

"I'm here to turn myself in."

The guard looked confused, "Um.. for?"

"I am a murderer. I've killed more people than I can even keep track of anymore. I'm the notorious Butcher of Elwynn. The Man in the Mirror. And--"

The guard had raised a hand again to cut him off. "That's impossible. He turned himself in already. What are you playing at?"

"Wait.. when was this?"

"Maybe six months or so? He died in his cell about a week before his execution. To tell you the truth, he was pretty sick when he'd turned himself in, coughing up blood."

This didn’t make sense. “Was he buried?”

The guard sighed, shaking his head. “Look, I can’t just give you that information. All I can say is if he was.. his wishes were followed. He wanted to rest with his friend. Bloke may not have deserved it, but it was a slow day, helped pass the time. Just go, make a left at the second entrance, in the back. Wood plank.”

West blinked rapidly, it was as if he’d seen exactly what the guard was saying in his mind. Another forgotten memory. The bastard thanked the guard and set off towards the cemetery, racking his brain to think of just who had taken the fall.

It was mostly empty when he arrived, there was a small funeral taking place towards the back that seemed to be wrapping up. West followed the guard’s instructions to the letter, cutting left at the second break in the low wall lining either side of the path. His eyes caught the wooden plank and he paused, next to it was a worn wood cross, crooked, weathered and stained. It was as if his legs were suddenly weighed down, he couldn’t bring himself to move them. Those pale blue eyes immediately saw the letters on that worn cross..

“No.. it can’t be..” He dragged his feet forward, reading the worn marker first.

Here lies Ayalah Flynn, Friend and Family, You will be missed.

“Ayalah..” He knelt down before the grave, both hands now covering his mouth as wide eyes slowly turned to the marker beside hers.

Matteo Kingsley

Notes were pinned to the wooden plank that marked his grave.

MURDERER! MONSTER! BASTARD! Many of the notes were faded, or torn free by the wind, a small few were brand new, likely as early as a few days.

“Why did you do it, mate.. why.. this wasn’t your burden to bear.” West sighed, his eyes were getting watery, a single tear rolled down his cheek and into his beard. “Damnit, Matty..”

He could feel something stirring within him as he knelt there staring at their markers, he couldn’t put the feeling into words. The old lute hanging from his back, West slid it around before him. It was from his youth and missing strings, but his fingers still found their way across them. A shifting of robes alerted West that someone was near, causing the bastard to look over his shoulder and spot the hooded priest feeling his way along with his walking stick.

“Who do you mourn, my child?” The priest said, settling on the low wall a few markers away from West.

“Friends..” He left it at that, his voice gave away the emotion that demanded the bastard buckled against its weight.

“I am sorry, how did they pass?”

“They..” His voice cracked, West sniffed as he adjusted the lute in his lap. “They met their end because they chose me.. they chose me when they shouldn’t have.”

“I see. So your friends saw something in you worth choosing.”

West looked back to the markers, Ayalah first, then Matteo, “People really need to stop doing that.”

“Mm. So you feel you are unworthy of such loyalty or devotion.”

West looked at the notes still pinned to Matteo’s marker, sighing softly to himself, “I was never worthy.”

“And yet.. they chose you, my son.” The priest leaned forward, his hands clasped together over the walking stick. Their hood shifted back and West saw that the priest was blind, jagged scars crisscrossing where his eyes should have been, peeking out behind a strip of linen cloth embroidered in the same fashion of his robes. “Perhaps there’s something in that.”

The bastard frowned, “Perhaps, perhaps not. Now though, it appears my plans have changed, I’m not sure how to go from here.”

The priest chuckled. “Well.. if I were in your shoes, my son, I’d try living. If choosing you brought about their deaths, then clearly they wanted you to live.”

West stared at their graves one last time, pushing himself to his feet. “I suppose I didn’t consider that..”

“Few see what’s right before them until it’s too late. Seems to me that you’ve been given a second chance, Mister Bailey. I’d take it.” The priest’s deep chuckle seemed to echo around West who just realized what the priest had called him.

“Wait.. who--..” And he was gone, leaving West with more questions than answers.

Remember..

He’d broke off from the marksman, stating he’d needed to take care of something before joining the others. In truth.. he had an urge, one that needed to be filled and not done so in command of another. Once Tremaine was far enough down the road with the toad, West broke into a run. He ran until his legs threatened to give out, until his lungs burned, he pushed through the pain and kept running until he couldn’t, crashing through the trees and coming to a stop on a grassy hillside.

Huck laid their for some time, trying to catch his breath while staring at the sky. When he felt ready, the mage got shakily to his feet and dusted himself off, removing the enchantment that hid his form with an almost lazy wave of his hand. He remembered this area as he looked around, there was a small settlement not far from here, he decided to go there and see if a cure for the urge screaming for release might present itself.

“Weston?” A voice came to him, causing the mage to pause and look about only to find a woman that appeared to be more plant than human. “Weston what’re you doing here? How.. you’re.. you’re alive.. how are you alive!”

Suddenly he was wrapped in the woman’s arms and pressed tightly against them, confusion began to trickle in only to crash to the surface when they quickly pushed him to arms length, one of their hands coming to rest over his heart. “No.. no, no, no.. we.. we got rid of it.. how.. how did you find it again? What did you do?!” The woman began shaking him. “Why do you have the stone?!”

Shit.. Weston.. he’d not heard the name in so long he’d forgotten all about killing the man, then again he didn’t have the list until after he’d returned from the island. “It actually found me...” He began. What was this blasted woman’s name, he’d been certain to remember all of Weston’s associates before killing him. “Ayalah..” He said the name softly at first, it stirred something in the back of his mind, a young woman, a campfire, he had lute in his lap. The stone hummed in his chest. “Ayalah! Bloody hell it’s good to see you! I didn’t even know you’d passed.. when? What happened?”

She looked confused, placing a hand on each of his shoulders, eyes narrowing. “You.. you don’t remember?”

Damn.. this was probably a moment Weston would remember, likely saw it happen. She must have passed before he’d been lost at sea. “Things have been.. foggy.” He said, the lie tasted sour on his tongue. “I’ve been trying to put the pieces of that time together but most of it is a blur.” Not much of a save, but the look of concern on her face made Huck believe he’d managed to at least convince her.

“When we tried to free you from the stone.. you.. attacked us. Before we were able to subdue you.. you managed to stab me. We’d thought I would be fine thanks to Matteo’s gifts but.. it wasn’t enough. You.. don’t remember do you? You held my hand as I took my last breath..” Ayalah’s hands squeezed his shoulders.

Images flashed through his mind, memories he couldn’t place, pain, loss, sorrow, cracking, breaking, broken.

“I..” Before he could speak.. her face, her true face before this land changed her, filled his thoughts, banishing the cloud that fogged his mind. He remembered the stone, locked away in a chest, a chest wrapped in chains. He remembered holding Ayalah’s hand as the chest was sent away. Promising her he’d do whatever he could to ignore the pull it had over him, squeezing her hand as the life left her eyes. He’d left the others then, needing time to process what had just happened, swearing he’d never go looking for the stone again. He’d meant it.

Ayalah’s fingers squeezed his as West felt new memories shatter their way into his thoughts, even as he felt this the stone in his chest hummed, burned, demanded his attention. Here was a perfect cure to the urge, here in his hand, it had come to him willingly, who was he to refuse such an eager offering. “NO!”

West pushed himself away from her, holding up a hand, “Stay back.. please..”

“You have to get rid of it... you have to.. you haven’t been the same since you found it. Please, Weston, please..” She was coming closer, the anima stake twitched in his pocket as West struggled with the urge to kill her and this foreign need to protect her.

Kill her, kill her now!

YES! KILL HER!

West blinked rapidly, he knew those voices.. “No.. I.. I can’t..”

DO IT!

END HER!

The mage held up a hand as Ayalah stopped a few paces away from him, “Don’t listen to them..” Her voice cracked as she spoke, sending a wave of memories through him.

Another boy, a girl, and him, hardly much older than Lyro, a strange stone discovered in a cave. The other two wanted to leave it but he.. he felt something when he touched it. Power. For someone with nothing, the promise of everything was too great, the boy, Matteo, and the girl, Ayalah, reluctantly agreed to let him take it.

ENOUGH OF THIS!

Suddenly everything was simple, West’s fingers curled around the anima stake in his pocket. “You’re right, Ayalah.. I need to get rid of it.” The hand held out towards her turned, palm facing up as she came closer. “I’ll find a way.. I promise.”

“They were whispers at first.. I.. I remember you telling me. You were scared. But then I’d find you awake by the fire, talking to yourself. We were worried, you were... different. Violent. Matteo and I were scared to stay with you, scared to leave you, we were just scared.” She was almost close enough, her hand reaching out for his, just a step more and he could pull her in.

“It’ll all be fine..” The words left his lips and Ayalah stopped, her hand hovering in the air, all he had to do was lean in and he could grab her.

“Your hold is too strong, isn’t it.. there’s not even enough left of him to fight it.” She let her hand fall to her side, her face calm, she seemed to welcome the fate she’d unwittingly walked into.

“He hasn’t had the fight to resist since you died.. we found him again soon enough. Helped him craft a new life, a better one.” He heard the words leave him, but they came from far away, even the view was changing, like watching Ayalah from down a long tunnel. Then everything faded away.

Thank you for your deposit. Goodbye.

The words from the stake snapped him back to reality. He was was breathing heavily, he didn’t recognize his surroundings, Ayalah lay beneath him, the stake buried in her chest, her body nothing more than a husk.

“No..” He was back. And everything was violently crashing down around him.

We had enough. He knew the voice, he’d not heard it in years. His mentor.

You were straying from the objective. Another familiar voice, one he’d always associated with Whitemane, the worgen that attacked him when he was a boy.

“This doesn’t make sense.. None of this makes sense.” West gripped his head, trying desperately to focus on Ayalah in his mind before the fog that threatened to cloud his thoughts once more consumed him.

You were broken when we found you, weak, you lacked guidance, discipline. We took you from nothing and made you who you are.

Focus, boy, you need to get back to the others before they know you’re missing. Return to Tremaine before he finds them. Go.

West shook his head, “You’re the reason I’m a monster.”

Get it together, hide the husk and move before someone finds you here.

Do it or I’ll do it for you.

“Who are you?”

We’ve been with the stone for what feels like an eternity.

Your mind was the perfect home. Fresh. Unbound by the restrictions other hosts possessed.

“You mean I was young, easily manipulated.” West pulled the anima stake free from Ayalah’s husk, running a finger along its surface. “Why do you sound human if you’ve been with the stone so long.”

Would joo be so open tah suggestion if we sounded like dis?

Joo’d ah’ve been scared, boy.

Trolls.. when he’d found the stone again as a man he’d suspected it had been from the old world, before... everything. “And the stone?”

It be our home. An’ you be dah roof.

Laughter filled his thoughts, they found it amusing. He turned the stake’s point towards himself.

‘Ey! What yah be tinkin’, boy! Joo do dis and we all be gone to de other side. Don’ be foolish.

Dis place be playin’ tricks on jah. Jah mind’s all twisted up here.

“Actually.. it feels like I’m thinking clearly for the first time.” West aimed the stake over his heart, the crystal humming angrily in his chest. He could feel it, their desperation, West wondered if that was the strangeness he’d felt when Grekk gave him the stake in Oribos. The edges of his flesh that met the crystal began to tear free, he could feel it trying to push itself out. They weren’t talking anymore, their only goal was to get away.

“I should have left you in the cave..” He hesitated, the last of his flesh still pressed against the stone came free before he pulled the stake towards him with all his might. It struck the stone as a gong reverberated through the air. A force threw him back, the stake leaving his hand.

When he came too, West was staring up at the face of one of the fae, the creature looked worried. The mage tried to sit up but the pain in his chest nearly blinded him. “No, no, stay down, let yourself heal.” They said.

Huck looked down to see the fae’s hand hovering over the open wound in his chest. “I’m.. alive..”

“We’ll see!” It said, the damned things sing-song voice grating his ears. “You had a lot of little shards all inside there. They felt bad. BUT! I took them out!”

“You took them.. out?” West shook his head, trying to remember what happened after trying to kill himself with the stake.

“Yep! They tried to get away but I smashed ‘em! Never seen anything like it.” The fae went back to focusing on his wound while the mage struggled with the realization of everything that came with the knowledge of his.. perhaps.. survival.

“I.. I need to get back to my people. They will be worried.” And he was worried as well. What did he tell them..

...should you lie to me again I will consider you an oathbreaker.. He owed them the truth. Let them decide his fate. After everything he’s done.. his fate shouldn’t be in his own hands.

“Welp! Did all I can, good luck!” West blinked rapidly as the fae just flew off, giggling to itself. The mage forced himself to his feet, his chest still hurt, but he didn’t have time for pain. Collect the stake, return to Tremaine, find the others. That was all that mattered right now. The rest will come.

@theborderlandcoalition

Memory vs Reality

Being here was different this time, bound as he was to the Brokers, everything was more real, more intense, but what he hadn’t expected, what he never could have understood, was just how much things had changed.

It started in Oribos right after the others had gone home to speak with the Lady.. flashes at first.. new memories that conflicted with the memories of his youth. In his mind, West had been at a camp as a boy, he’d tied everything he was to his time there. He blamed that time on him being so broken, saddled with an eternal void that only death could fill. But the moment in his mind.. there was no camp, there were no people that trained him, only a clearing and a pitiful fire. West was alone in this flash of a memory, gripping his head, teeth gritting. The memory sliced through him like a hot knife, piercing him to his very core..

Next it was Maldraxxus, the new memory that haunted him there was another one of solitude. He was watching a house from the trees, he knew the house, knew it well, the memory of Renfield Manor would forever be seared into his thoughts. But he wasn’t there on some mission, he was starving, bleeding, fading fast. Then everything was fire and smoke and pain..

Ravendreth was harder, the memories sharper, more clear.. these memories were bloody, he could almost taste it on his tongue. West tried to stay focused during their time there, the ragtag group sent by Lady Sunshield needed him. He didn’t know if the others caught his lack of focus, but he knew he wasn’t the man they needed during their time there. Much like Maldraxxus the memories ended in fire, smoke, and pain..

Now here in Ardenweald he was again haunted by memories that didn’t fit.. he was older in these, before he’d met the Captain, it was chaos. Blood, fire, smoke, more pain, death.. he could still taste it, smell it, feel it. But he needed to be strong, they needed him, though they might not believe it.. it was a nearly impossible task. Lock it away.. deal with it later.. that was all he could keep telling himself.. One shard would remain after the fox brought them to their prize.. there was only one place left.. and West worried what horrors of his mind that he’d have to face. What conflicting thoughts might invade him.. or what the next list might hold.

( @theborderlandcoalition )

#current SL

#Huck Things #Current SL

Mastering the Fool

Hiding in plain sight, even with how much he’d physically changed over the years would be difficult. Being who he was, Zethir faced more challenges than he originally expected.

He was too obvious, his mannerisms, his speech patterns, everything from even so simple as how he walked had to change. He’d lived too strict of lifestyle up to that point, too used to trying to remain invisible. He’d never drank, so he took it up, what was at first a horrible idea soon became tolerable. He’d been celibate, so he slept around, an awkward thing to have rushed into. There were plenty of mistakes, and his urges always came at the most inopportune times. But.. to make a perfect omelet.. you need to break a few eggs. Or.. prostitutes.. in this case.

What he needed more an anything was an identity to go along with this life he was creating, and that is when he met Weston Bailey. Weston was a bard, a charmer, and a thief. He was the perfect man to emulate, mostly because no one knew him as Weston Bailey, but rather as simply West. But better still, Zeth found that he and Weston were very similar in appearance. Tiny things he could laugh off as mistakes, Weston was an inch taller, boots could fix that, his body was a bit more lean than Zeth’s, manageable, but not impossible. And, unlike the bard now slowly killing himself with a near endless stream of liquor, Zeth had nothing but time. Soon enough, anyone who truly remembered him would be dead and stepping into the man’s life in full would be as easy as pulling on a new pair of trousers.

Narrowing his closest friends was the simple part, creating an enviroment where the target felt alone was his specialty. It was the waiting that was difficult, but luck, for want of a better word, caused his plan to fall into place much sooner than expected. Weston was traveling, Zethir was tailing, and a storm caught them both while on route to Kalimdor, the bard trying to have a fresh start somewhere else had boarded a ship. The ship crashed into a small island where oddly enough.. only Weston and Zethir survived, with the bastard’s helping hand, that is.

They lived on that island for three months, Zeth picking Weston’s brain until he knew the man almost as much as he knew himself. Now.. came the part he’d been nearly chomping at the bit to get to: To step into Weston’s shoes, there couldn’t be a Weston. The bard was weak, having not eaten much of anything since the fish stopped biting a few days before, while Zeth was in much better condition, his arcane gifts allowing him to conjure what he needed to keep him at the happy medium of not quite starving but still sustained. Still.. Zeth waited until Weston was asleep before he crushed his skull with a rock. It took another few days to build up enough strength to open a portal, but he’d have weeks of recovery ahead of him. The final piece of the puzzle: Beat himself nearly unrecognizable.

It was six weeks before he could walk without a limp, another month before he could speak without slurring his words, and longer still before his face healed from the meticulous beating he’d given himself, shaping and at times rebreaking his bones to match the face he’d committed to memory as closely as possible to ensure everything set in place. The bard had been a jokester, and a charmer, Zeth could fake the charm, what he couldn’t get with words, he could manipulate with magic, humor was easy. He’d always been a goofball before his work turned him into a monster, falling back on his inner child might take some work, but the bastard was certain he could do it.

There were questions, naturally, those that still remembered the bard had many about how he survived for so long at sea, but those questions in time were easily pushed aside with his wild claims and tall tales. He was a natural liar, it came with the job, and people believed him.

Years in the making, pain and suffering endured, Zethir Greyfeather was no more. Even now, after all this time, West still sees members of his order walking the streets of Stormwind or out in the world, and they walk right by him, not even sparing him a glance, not knowing that the very monster they created, the very demon they sought to destroy.. was right under their noses.

Making a monster..

West felt the blood rush over his hand as the anima stake pierced through their flesh. Their hands slapped against his arms, neck and face, frantically at first.. but weaker with every passing second.

The next one was harder.. if that was even possible. The pleading.. the screaming.. the nails digging into his face..

He watched the life leave their eyes..

Something he used to enjoy..

But this was different..

They were different..

He was different..

Broken..

I guess you never know your limit.. until it’s too late.

Thirteen years old

Zethir stared into the mirror, pulling faces as his mentor scowled behind him.

“This isn’t a game.. AGAIN! From the top!”

He flinched. First he concentrated on his mentor’s face, focusing on every detail, committing it to his, as his mentor described, abnormal mind. It was the little things that showed up first, the twist of his lips as they plumped, the frown lines, the lines between his bushy brows, the brows as well. The hardest part was the hair..

“Passable.. but do you get to eat if it’s just passable? GET IT RIGHT!” The sharp crack of the switch in his mentor’s hands slashed across the back of his knees. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to scream in pain as that would earn another lashing. The hair grayed, pulling in towards his scalp, then the ears, thinner, pointed, longer than his, but the lobes drooped.

“Very good.. again.”

After a few weeks he could manage the changes and hold them most of the day, it was tiring.. and while one single illusion over his face would be easier, several illusions over his body allowed him to believably mirror another individual to near perfection.

Months later and Zeth was managing to fool nearly everyone at the castle, why his mentor felt it was so important that he practice this every day didn’t make sense at the time, but it was certainly entertaining. After a year he’d successfully fooled the best the clan had, posing as his mentor and sending them on foolish assignments across the world. After two years.. he no longer struggled to maintain the illusions, no longer needing to reapply them or rest for long periods, being able to keep them in place until he retired for the evening.

One day, nearing his fifteenth winter, his mentor entered his tent. “It’s time for your first assignment, Zeth. They want to send you after the Renfields. Their son was found dead on the road, but no one can identify him, luckily one of out own was on his heels. You’re the only one that can pull this off.”

Zeth was scared, he never thought this day would come.

“Get in with the family, learn everything you can about their land, get close to the father, make him love you.. then wait for our man to meet you, Graham, you remember him?”

Zeth nodded.

“Good. He will continue your training from there.. so that when the time is right.. you’re ready. You leave tonight. Don’t bother packing, they are bringing the boy’s clothes for you to change.”

Two years later

He turned his back on the cave, on Graham, on the Renfield’s, on everything. His mission was complete. All Zethir needed to do now was make contact with his mentor.

He got his praise, a nod from his mentor, a clap on his back from the others, and a new assignment. Then another. And another. And another. by the time Zeth reached his twenties he’d traveled the known world twice over. The jobs were simpler, take over the position of a trusted guard after eliminating him. Get close to the target, manipulate them to fit the agenda of the clan, or snuff them out. Over and over.

By his thirties he held highest number in missions and successes in the clan.. only they stopped calling themselves a clan, spymasters was the word they tossed around now. The world had changed so much in his time with them, illusions needed to be more difficult to detect, and new weapons were added to their toolkits. It was less about the kill now and more about manipulation, politics, seizing power. Often he’d be sent in to replace a powerful figure, take on their appearance, take over their lives, squander their riches or ruin their name.

By his forties, Zeth was second in command. He’d watched the spymasters grow into a force of nature, able to slip in and dismantle threats or shift power from one hand to the other with a snap of their fingers. It was dangerous.. these skills in the wrong hands could be frightening. And in his time among them.. he knew just how frightening.. and he knew his hands were very wrong to be holding them. He’d started to enjoy his work.. too much.. and the others were starting to notice.

They made him, molded him in to a monster, and then turned their backs on him. As soon as he saw it, Zeth ran, let his hair and beard grow out and changed his name. Again and again. He kept running and kept changing but one thing he couldn’t change was the need. The urge. It always came. It always won. And he didn’t want to fight it anymore. He stopped running, stopped taking the places of others, and created his own. He needed a name.. an identity of his own.. one so real no one would look twice at it. He’d have to live it.. make it believable.. it had to be something no one would ever tie to him.

Present day

“....thank you for your deposit. Goodbye.”

The voice from the stake snapped him back to reality. West sagged over the body of his victim, let out a shaky breath. It had been a long time since he thought about those days. A very long time.

If he’d never run into Master Greyfeather, there’s no telling what he’d have become, but it wouldn’t have been this.. this monster. He’d have never done this..

West looked at their bodies..

Get it together, you still have work to do. You aren’t alone. You can’t fall to pieces.

Pieces.. pieces.. peace.. he needed some peace to quiet his mind. He knew of a cave not far from here..

Move your legs.. come on.. move..

Just a few hours, that’s all he needed, he could get his head on straight and focus on the task. He could fall apart later when the old man was returned. Take a long vacation on the Wail. Lose himself to the sea.

One foot before the other.. left.. right.. left.. good.. keep going.. up the hill.. find Tremaine.. get to the cave.

A hint from the past

He was just a boy.. Zethir watched as they sat down before him, eyeing the contract. He’s scared.. Zeth knew he needed to say something to the boy.. so he grabbed him by the arm, pulling the boy to his feet and placing a hand on each shoulder.

“Whoever we were before this day doesn’t matter, from the day you sign those papers you are a number, you will be used like a weapon. No one will ever know of your deeds because you no longer exist. I want you to think about that before you sign. Think hard, boy, because there’s no way back. You sign these papers and they own you.”

But the boy still signed.. the signature was sloppy, the letters at different angles, but the name.. he’d always remember the name.. Nolan McBride.

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It was on her floor...?

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