TRUE END- Bittersweet ending. Some things go right, other things go wrong. Some sacrifices have to be made, but most people are happy in the end.
During the fight against the forces of the Old Gods, the leader of the Collective is lost to shadow. Eventually, the war is won, and Azeroth is as safe as it’s ever been. Mahat keeps working for the Collective, though without Masnira to lead them their vision and ambition shrink significantly. But they remain a tight-knit family of ne’er-do-wells, helping people who can’t help themselves, even when they need to get their hands dirty to do it.
Mahat’s half-human daughter, Saera, lives a long, healthy life, about twice as long as the average human, though unfortunately she can’t conceive children. By the time she dies (peacefully of old age, with her mother at her bedside singing to her), most of Mahat’s shorter-lived friends and colleagues have passed on as well. The Collective continues with a new generation of renegades and unlikely heroes.
Mahat passes the reins of leadership over and goes on one last world tour, revisiting old haunts and grave sites, saying goodbye to her elder sister Shanaris and the few others who remain. Then she and Jaoyn buy a ship that’s small enough for two to navigate, load it with supplies, and set out together to sail off the edge of the map. They never return.
(( CW: brief animal cruelty mention. Kitten meme! 😼 - Sneaky lil bastard, knocks everything off of shelves and tables. ))
“Here–hold this, would ya?” Rask deposited a kitten in ‘Hat’s lap, quickly but carefully.
“Uh–” She blinked down at the little calico creature, scruffy and dirty and shivering. “Where did–?”
“Stray. Some feckin’ rich teenage pricks from over tha bridge decided ta slum it today an’ torture an animal or two while they were at it.” Rask jerked his thumb over his shoulder and gave a her a crooked grin. “I need ta have a polite word with ‘em. ‘Splain how we do things here in Old Town.”
Mahat was halfway to rising and offering to help, but the nimble man had already disappeared down an alley, gone to put the fear of the Light–or more likely, the dark–into some sorry bastards. She huffed a slightly disappointed sigh, before looking down at her charge. “‘Lo there…” she murmured quietly. The animal was mostly uninjured, save for a few scratches and tender spots that seemed to be from having sharp stones or broken glass hurled at it. Rask must have come to its rescue pretty early on. Still, it was frightened, and Mahat held it as gently as she could, stroking her fingers through its fur and humming in soft comfort. It calmed somewhat, letting out a hesitant purr, but continued to shiver. She picked it up and carried it into the warmth of the Pig, out of the spring breezes.
Inside, she got water and goat’s milk from Reese, to clean its wounds and to feed it, respectively. The tavern was fairly empty at that hour, so Mahat claimed an entire table to tend to the kitten. He was a resilient little thing; no sooner than he was bathed and fed, he was wandering to the edges of the table, testing the limits of his territory. Mahat kept grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and dragging him back to the center to keep him safe. The first time it frightened him, by the fifth time he was purring happily as she did it, striking out for the further reaches of the table the instant she let go. Mahat was trying to clean up the mess of spilled milk and bloodstained rags and hair-filled water they’d made together, and her attention was off the cat for a moment too long. She looked up and the table was empty.
“Gods above an’ below,” she groaned in exasperation, ducking to peer under the table. He wasn’t there, but she caught a glimpse of a small furry rear prancing towards the kitchen. She darted after him, grateful the kitchen door was closed, but as she reached for him he leapt in the air, catching his claws on Reese’s trousers and scrambling from there to the shelves behind the bar.
“Ah shite,” Mahat breathed, slithering past Reese without bothering to get permission. The little calico was climbing still higher, pouncing from shelf to shelf, blithely heedless of the danger of falling. “Shite, shite…” Mahat reached for him, but he wiggled himself just out of range of even her six and a half foot frame. Purring like an asshole the entire time. Mahat grabbed the ladder that Reese used for the higher shelves, but this plan backfired miserably–when she reached his level, the kitten simply darted away along the shelf, knocking empty mugs and half-full liquor bottles out of his path to shatter on the ground. When he reached the end of the shelf he had cleared, he looked back at her with the smuggest expression possible for a kitten, and curled up to take a nap. By the time Mahat was done apologizing to Reese and helping clean up, he was snoring cheerfully, content in his mischief… for now.
