It was beautiful, a glittering gold chain, adorned with some of the biggest emeralds she'd ever seen. It sparkled like a thousand stars in the light of the night sky. Any woman would be thrilled to be gifted such a thing. But Myrrha was not any woman by any means. Men and women fell behind her every step, grasping at her stilleto heels in desperate attempts to so much as earn themselves a glance from her.
So, when her ruby gaze fell upon the beautiful necklace, all that she had to offer was a long sigh as she slammed the box shut. "Isn't it stunning?" The man asked, obviously hopeful that Myrrha would fall head over heels for it. "No. It's not." She said as she leaned back in her chair, crossing one long leg over the other. The man's jaw hung open as he looked at her in bewilderment. "Wha.. what? It.. it cost me everything I had. Those are all genuine gemstones.. I-.."
Myrrha raised her hand to the man, "Let me stop you there, pet. I don't care how much you spent. It's not silver.. Have you seen me wear gold? Ever? No. I wear silver. For someone so obsessed with earning my attention, you clearly don't pay close enough attention to me." She shrugged, contemplating telling him the other ways he screwed up, like the necklace having emeralds instead of rubies but ultimately deciding it was a waste of energy.
She waved her hand dismissively. "Begone." Shaking his head, he reached for the box dejectedly, earning himself an amused laugh as Myrrha placed her hand on the box, stopping him. "Mmn.. I don't think so. It may have been a shit one, but it was still a gift. And it is mine now. I might not wear it. But maybe I'll sell it, who knows." She purred, smirking at him before waving in the estate guard to escort him out. Listening to him curse her, beg her, and yell at her the whole way out. If only he had decided on silver and not gold..
Sam limped through the unfamiliar streets of Boralus, her pouch filled with gold to the brim clinking at her belt with every step. The trip was worth it, she won her fight and also made a hefty sum off the rich bastard who bet against her. That said, she knew she was no longer welcome in the city's brawling rings.
"Stop lurking in the shadows and step out already. You've been following me long enough, don't you agree?" The worgen called out into the night between two streetlamps as she dropped her backpack and jacket on the ground and pulled off her boots, only the wrappings were missing for a full brawling outfit. No time for those, barefoot and bare-knuckled will have to do.
"Hmph, arrogant bitch." Came the reply as a bulky man with filed teeth stepéped out from behind a crate while four others emerged at various sidestreets and alleys, forming a loose circle around Samantha.
"Mr. Stonesail has a message for you. Give back the gold and you may keep your life to leave the city." Hissed one of the leaner figures, a man with a hook for a hand.
"Why would I? I won fair and square. Refused his offer before the fight, why would I accept this new one then?"
"One does not refuse Mr. Stonesail at his brawling ring and makes off with his money. It doesn't happen."
There it was, admitted as clean as day. The darkness of the brawling pits, wealthy bastards acting as sponsors, paying off the guards so that the rings could continue uninterrupted... and in return they fix the games, bribing or threatening the brawlers to act along their scripts or suffer their displeasure. Men like these were worse than parasites in Sam's view.
"Oh, it does, it's happening right now." The worgen snarled, letting the rage of the wolf infect her voice. "Now get lost beofre my temper gets the better of me!"
"Lassie must be deaf. Time to teach her a lesson!" Pointy-teeth called out, ordering his underlings to strike first.
Sam showed a vicious grin, her fangs glisting in the lamplight as she jumped up to avoid a kick while the heel of her boot crushed the nose of another. One down, three more to go - make it four with the big one.
Pointy-teeth seemed content to watch his men getting their ass handed to them, only interfering when just two guys remained against Sam.
"She's favoring one leg, focus on the right one!" He called and rushed with a speed the worgen found surprising for his size. Shit, this guy was the real deal.
By the time it was down to Sam and the big kul tiran, the worgen was in a bad shape, her right leg unable to hold her weight anymore.
"Heh, makes me wonder why weren't you my opponent tonight. The fight would have been a lot more interesting." Samantha grumbled while shifting her stance, right foot kept hovering a few inches above the ground.
"I do what Mr. Stonesail tells me to. Now say goodbye to your gold and your life, you're sleeping with the sharks tonight!" He panted, obviously exhausted from the struggle as well.
"Hahahaha!" Sam actually burst into laughter as she transformed, the white-furred worgen with a singular dark streak down her back now growling menacingly at the kul tiran.
"M-m-monster! Where is a damned piece of silver weapon when one'd need it?!" The man panicked, obviously not meeting a worgen or seen one shift before. he took a tentative step back, body trembling in fear.
"Hah, pitiful bastard! I'm no drust monster that silver would work against!" Sam snarled, launching herself forward. her claws didn't even reach their target when the man's eyes rolled back and he dropped like a sack.
"Fainted? Really?! Tch, what a disappointment." Samantha shifted back to her human form, quickly grabbing a street lamp for support as she put weight on her bad leg.
"Shit, I'll need to get it checked with a healer when I get back to Stormwind. Damn, what a waste of gold..." She grumbled as she dressed, tossing her right boot and stocking into the backpack as her foot and ankle were too swollen. The stash of gold joined them, to make less noise as she moved.
A quick check and she found a piece of sturdy rope, no doubt meant for her, and tied it around the bastards's ankles.
"Maybe a patrol will find them if I'm lucky. Pity there's nothing I can about their boss... oh well, time to find a ship home." Sam muttered to herself as she slowly hopped away towards the docks.
It was worth it. Even with a few bruises, a busted knee and broken ankle. The hefty sum made up for those. As for the rest, well, she always lived dangerously.
The paper was thick and matte black and her ink was liquid moonlight--silver and bright as such light.
Sir Starlight,
Perhaps it seems a bit strange to be writing a letter when I’m currently a guest at your cabin, but I find there’s something very personal about a letter and words with intention. You are welcome to smile indulgently at me when you read this, or perhaps you will think of me fondly if I have left before you find it.
Do you know my ‘days’ do flips when I am with you? I have never been one of those ‘morning people.’ I have friends who are, but when I have seen the sunrise it is because I have yet to find my bed, not because I have sprung out of it with zest. But you know this. In my own world I am considered a ‘night owl,’ staying up late and feeling energized by the wink of stars on the horizon. Compared to you I wonder what I seem… Crepuscular, like the porcupines of your forest? Early to bed like someone in her twilight years?
Your cabin means darkness for me. But that’s a lovely, comforting place to be. There are fireflies in the summer and the aurora to awe. Stars that tell me new stories and the clear sky holding the moons. Blue Child looks especially striking out here, don’t you think?
I think what I am trying to say is thank you for sharing it with me. I know this place means so much to you, but it always means quite a lot to me and I feel grateful that you allow me to come and go and experience it and you.
Your companionship is a balm to my sometimes raw soul.
They say there is only one chance for a first impression.
That the first time someone is introduced, it sets the precedence for what is to come... for what to expect.
This is that one chance.
Dreamland echoed softly and sweetly, the gentle silver-kissed clouds of dreamers lost in their mindless abyss were decorated with the imaginations of what dreams may come. A heavenly place full of soft pastels where fairytale creatures danced through the clouds, sprinkling the sands of the King of Dreams through the delightful slumber of the visitors. The Dreamscape.
This was true 'heaven', or so the mortals called it. The land of make-believe was just on the cusp of discovery, yet safely barricaded by the waking world. Those that dreamed learned to return here, some learned to control the dream space around them while others simply went along for the ride.
Mortals that were to visit when they slept were doted on and guarded, each one assigned at birth to a guardian spirit to watch over them through their journey. Nightly, the guardians were able to return to their mortal and spend time with them as Dreamers, like pets waiting for their master to return home.
It really was heaven.
Of course, through the soft clouds of dreams, The Dreamscape was not without Nightmares to balance the lingering forces of power. Tasked with aiding the waking mind in attempts to process trauma throughout the day while it rested, Nightmares were often misunderstood for their scary statures. Sure, many creatures of Nightmare enjoyed taunting the visiting Dreamers with their affinity for darkness, but it was just their nature. They were created and designed for such a function.
Dreams. Nightmares. Sections of the all-encompassing connected to various worlds. Some called it The Emerald Dream, others called it The Land of Dreams. All parts of the same area.
You've been there before. You go there when your eyes close. You now know the setting. You can see it in your mind as you read this, you're shaping it with your imagination. Floating in the air, arms outstretched. You're flying.
Rushing through the clouds, crackles of lightning lit up the sunlit sky, and a roar trembled through the vast unknown of The Dreamscape that echoed from somewhere in the center of the wonderous dreamland your mind just created and you can see it, can't you? Flickers of a heavenly being shrouded in golden light, their figure just barely able to be fully made out from the radiating energy. A holy aura that follows their movements, trailing the infamous sands that glitter and rain down like falling ash with every step.
In the corner of your eye, you can see what has angered such a handsome, frightening figure, a speck of darkness streaking through the pure lands of Dreams instead of the darkened, cloudy blues and blacks of Nightmares. A small streak of purple tarnishing whatever it touches. Your imagination wills it. Look closer and let yourself swoop in from your gliding over the beautiful, breathtaking view, peer down, and focus with all of your might.
The dark aesthetics of the toned figure easily kept up the running, the tattered wings of a demon flared behind the sprinting beast. What looked almost human with an elongated, whip-like tail swayed behind their running, male in physique and two... No... Four horns upon his head, slightly curved thin, and dull as the dusk sky that faded into glowing, snowy tips. Messy hues of purple hair flare in the wind from his speed, mostly covering the short, pointed ears on either side of his head. His clothes skin tight, black in leather with arms tattooed in five solid inked bands each. Two on the biceps, two on the forearms, and one on the wrist. Both arms. His fair complexion without a blemish, the muscular structure rippled with hard work. A thin set of earrings dangle from his ears, and a black choker remains tight around his throat. He's smiling with a sultry, fanged smirk.
Your imagination has already pieced him together and built him to your liking but look closer, dear reader, for the blue glow of demonic eyes snap up. They're painted with a hint of blue upon his eyelids, traced with dark liner. His right eyebrow is damaged, missing a small nick of hair.
He can see you.
He's looking right at you.
The Incubus famous for stealing away into Dreamland uninvited and invading a sleeper's dreams, drinking freely of the energies they produce in such a lovely gift. You've imagined him, your brain created him, and you've helped in bringing him to life in this world.
If the imagination creates it, becomes real.
They say there is only one chance for a first impression.
“I’ve outlived every single person I’ve ever loved.”
He was halfway through a long drag of his cigarette when it dawned on him. His father, his brother, his lover, his friends– all gone, all dead. Today was K’thalen’s 35th nameday as well… making him older than even his own father when he was killed. His eyes flickered and shimmered for just a moment, frozen in time and unable to do, say, or think of anything. Then the moment passed. He blinked, he exhaled, and then he watched the silver cloud of smoke flee from his nose to scatter into the crisp desert air. Namedays were never anything to celebrate, not for K’thalen at least; for him it was just another year further from his birth and closer to his death. Another day of working… another day of drinking… another day of dead memories.
The sudden tapping on his hat and shoulders was so gentle and welcoming, and it could only mean one thing. He glanced over to his left to witness travelers and merchants alike running for shelter against the rain, but they were too late; by the time they realized what was happening, the showers came pouring from the starless sky to turn the dust bowl known as Thanalan into a mud hole instead. Not three heartbeats later and the man was soaked, feeling the warm desert rain seeping through his jacket. He didn’t bother running for shelter however– a storm this sudden and violent wouldn’t last. Instead he pinched his cigarette between his lips and breathed deep, filling his lungs with just the poison he needed tonight. A quick reach into his coat pocket reminded him of his missing canteen… which meant no drinking until tomorrow morning. That was a pity.
“Fuckin’ Augusta…” He muttered under his breath to no one. The spunky girl must have swiped it from him right before his smoke break! She was determined to help him quit drinking it seemed… whether he was willing or not. “Promise s’a promise.” He closed his eyes and took another long drag, puffing out smoke as he crossed his arms and stared down at his own boots. He did ask for her help to get him to quit drinking, but now he risked being completely sober by the time he would crawl out of bed on the morrow. Sober K’thalen was angry… and bitter… and depressed. Alcohol helped keep his memories just hazy enough to ignore. But he couldn’t outrun his demons forever.
The Tia that dashed his father’s head upon that tree was likely long dead by now. No Nunh, large or small, has ever held that title for over twenty years; and that also applies to the Nunh that brutally butchered his brother right in front of him. The pirate bastard that shot his one true love was having his bones picked clean at the bottom of the briny deep, he was sure of that when piracy was outlawed in La Noscea. But that still left a dozen or so friends rotting in their graves without recompense. No, the murderers that took their lives still resides among the living– breathing the same air, drinking the same water…
It was the Black Adder Boys. Traitors one and all. Butcherers, thieves, and even worse. The absolute lowest scum of this star and all others in the great dark beyond! Just thinking about them made K’thalen’s blood boil; he didn’t even notice biting his cigarette in half until buckled under the pressure and fell apart on its way down to the rain-soaked mud. He blinked again and regained his composure, choosing to simply spit out the remains instead of trying to salvage it for later. “They’ll have their day in the sun…” He thought to himself, gazing up at the giant crystal in the center of town. All he needed to do was find where their hideout was… a clue, a hint– any slip up on their end would reveal their tracks. But these monsters were trained by the Twin Adders of Gridania– many of whom trained directly under K’thalen himself. The ones in charge knew what they were doing… so he couldn’t count on them making any mistakes. Still… he knew they had to be here in Thanalan. That was enough to keep hope that he would root them out of their hiding place sooner than later. “They can’t rest until all y’all are burning in the bleakest, darkest, foulest pit of the hells. So we can’t rest neither.”
The full silver moon crested its peak of the night, illuminating the surrounding area with an eerie glow as Mitharios waited. "Sparrow One, report." His voice called through the comms, preparing for the upcoming meeting and the arrival of the Boss.
"Location covered, no sign of the operatives." A woman's voice replied, cutting off suddenly as the expected group appeared in her sights. "Scratch that, four armed so far but I doubt they are not moving as we are. Sparrows Two and Three, how is our horizon?" The woman queried the other hidden comrades.
"No contact." Replied the first young man.
"One marksman located at eleven o'clock, sights set and awaiting command." The second man replied.
As a group, the Sparrows functioned like a well-oiled machine, mission after mission proving themselves to their new Mistress. "At your word, Talon." The woman spoke up, her sights set upon the leader of the group below, awaiting the order to move or to stand down.
"The Rose is expected shortly, stay alert." Mitharious responded, he himself hidden in the shadows by the meeting place, awaiting the Boss's arrival with anticipation of this exchange going south.
{Will be continued with @ethereal-and-vaguely-threatening}
"Boss, we're ready for you." Mitharios sent word through the comm to Valathriell's private channel. "Of course they came with more bodies and armed, as expected."
"Shocking," Valanthriell responded, at this point, she had experience with this double-crossing way of life. "Make them wait, I am taking final steps to secure the package. Is payment visable?"
"Aye, five crates as agreed. Contents are questionable, no doubt they'll want to wait until you arrive to show them off. Should I move ahead to check payment?" Mitharios knew better than to move on something like this without her approval, the Boss was meticulous.
"No, I will be there in a moment. Move as planned." Short and to the point, rarely sweet.
"Heard." Mitharios relayed the information to the Sparrows, the Boss was incoming.
Within a minute the silence of the night was ripped open as a portal opened and Valanthriell Shadowfel stepped out in her splendor, street gear, and ready for a fight. "Mr. Evans." She greeted him, if not coldly.
"Ah the Lady deigns to appear on her own, I feel like I should bow or somethin'." The leader spoke with condescension on his lips.
"Save the chatter, you and I must have better things to be doing with our time. Is this my payment?" She gestured to the crates, ready to get this business dealt with.
"Of course, as we agreed, fifteen-thousand gold and the required goods." The man gestured for one of his men to open the crates, showing the contents before closing them up and moving them to the space on Valanthriell's right. "Now you've got the orb I assume, or do you plan on takin' all this for yourself against all of us?" Evans let out a smug chuckle, feeling confident he and his men could take a puffed-up noble.
"Ye of little faith," Valanthriell replied through a smirk producing the wrapped-up orb. "A wise man would make sure his ducks are in a row before using it, wouldn't want to catch yourself with your pants down."
"Aye, like the swanky woman who meets with shady sods like ourselves all on her lonesome?" With his words Evans' men took up arms against Valanthriell, ready to take the orb as well as their payment.
"Foolish, are we?" Valanthriell snickered as Mitharios appeared from the shadows, his blade on the throat of the most dangerous of Evans' lackeys as two shots were fired, the first disarming Evans and the second wounding the hidden marksman.
Evans let out a shaken chuckle. "Aye, seems we were. Stand down, not need in makin' this worse than it already is." The men followed the command, dropping their weapons in a huff. "How's about we finish this trade-off and call it good, yeah?"
Valanthriell paused, eyeing the man over with venom in her eyes, clicking her tongue in response. "Tisk tisk tisk, in all your years in this world Evans, you should really have a better grasp on your mark." At that moment five others came through the portal to gather the crates and take them to their intended locations. "Consider this a much-needed lesson on the size of your britches, yes?" Valanthriell returned the orb to her bag and turned her back on the group, leaving through the portal second before it closed and Mitharios returned to the shadows and the Sparrows exited their separate ways, leaving Evans and his men flummoxed.
"How many did they even have?" Evans questioned himself with a sigh. "Damn...we'll pay for that one."
Run, you can get away, you have to. Coming around a bend he turned to look over his shoulder at his pursuers and knocked himself off balance. Stumbling backwards into the snow, he twisted and fell on his face with a grunt. Scrambling forward, he had to get away, but it was too late. As he raised his head he saw him, vulpera standing there with daggers raised. Before the goblin could react they swung and the fresh snow was painted crimson. Kappi stood, another contract complete, leading him farther down into the darkness that had begun to consume him.
