#nightsworn

[blood-hearth-blog]

The lanky, purple furred troll stopped in his tracks, nose wrinkling as he held an arm out to his patrol companion, calling him to a halt.  “Someting no’ righ’ ‘ere Sos.  Ain’ dere supposed ta be anotha set o’ guards standin’ ‘ere?”

“You’re right about that, Zelaji..”  Sostan rolled his massive shoulders, resettling the mail and leather harness that he wore and reaching back for the large, two handed axe strapped to his back, turning to the tunnel entrance his troll companion had pointed out.  Those tunnels made the hardened warrior pause, as they were supposed to be off limits to anyone save the highest ranking of the elite guard of Orgrimmar.  They were the same tunnels Hellscream had hidden his bulk of monstrous experiments in, and dragged those off to be tortured by the Kor’kron loyal to him.

“Where be da guards den, Sos?”  Zelaji was a seasoned Darkspear hunter, but even being this close to those tunnels made the troll anxious, as seen by the snarl curling back from his tusks, long bat-like ears pinned back.

“Not sure.  We better check it out.  Maybe they’re skirting.  Warchief’s orders are that no one’s to go down there.  Better make sure there’s no civilians that wandered in.”  Sostan led the way, the afternoon sunlight filtering into the dark opening only for a few feet before cutting off.  Though both orc and troll had decent night vision, having absolutely no light would be rough going.  He heard the hiss and spit of a short torch being lit behind him and nodded once to Zelaji.

The tunnels were silent, and stretched downwards for quite a distance before beginning to open up and branch off.  Zelaji made a small snorting noise, tapping the orc on the back of the shoulder with his spear shaft.  “Sos, it be smellin’ like deat’ an’ worse down ‘ere, an’ it gettin’ strongah da longah we be goin’.”

The brutish orc glanced over his shoulder at the Darkspear, even his own senses sending warning signals to his mind.  “Smells like...sulfur, too.  Could be some warlocks snuck down here for some fun...could just be residual....”  He severely hoped it was residual.  While Sostan wasn’t the type to run from a fight, he wasn’t a bloodthirsty idiot either.  Just the pair of them against a horde of demons lurking in the dark was not something he relished facing.

They turned another corner in the path of the tunnels, and Zelaji’s torch lit upon a particularly mangled door set into the wall.  At one point, the door must have been a great barrier, made of thick, sturdy wood.  Now, however, it was a desiccated, twisted frame lying in the doorway.  Sostan cautiously edged forward to peer into the room, and grimaced.

A body was sprawled upon the floor, a human male with his head twisted around at an awkward angle, the neck clearly broken.  The scent of decayed flesh was fresh within the room, though there were no signs of rot upon the corpse.  Zelaji kept an eye out on the corridor but called impatiently over his shoulder.  “Wat ya see Sos?”

The orc grunted at his patrol companion for silence, and slid further into the room.  A great battle had occurred here, though it seemed to not be so recent as the events that were laid out before him.  Scorches marked the stone walls and the ornate desk that was pushed crookedly towards one side of the room.  The plush carpet squelched under foot the closer the orc got to the cot that was set against one wall.  Each step brought the fresh stirring of the scent of blood.

Sostan peered down at the cot, using the head of his axe to nudge back the blood soaked blanket over the lump that was beneath it.  A mutilated body, roughly the size of an elf laid there, though the orc couldn’t be too sure of the race.  The head was missing.

“Sos, it reallah stinks back up dat otha passage...we shoul’ probablah be seein’ wat be dere.”  The orc glanced back at his companion, leaving the mangled bodies behind as he traipsed along behind the troll.  Zelaji led them down an earlier passage they had walked past, the sickening scent of pure terror unleashed growing with each step.

The tunnel opened into a large cavern, and within, there were bodies upon bodies.

Zelaji paused, as if not wanting to go further.  He nudged the corpse closest to the entrance.  “Sos...dis don’ look good at all.”  The body had it’s throat torn out as if from teeth from some great hound, laid open right to the bone.  The place stank of fear, sulfur, blood and viscera.  The small light of the torch illuminated more beyond the first, all in the same horrified stages of death.  Some had been ripped asunder, others hacked horribly in two, while more yet looked as if they had been feasted upon in some way or another.

Sostan clenched his heavy jaw, glancing up at Zelaji.  “We need to report this.”  He got no response from his patrol companion, who stood there as if in shock.  “Zelaji.  Come on.  We need to get this to the Warchief.  This is far beyond our abilities.  It stinks of demons.”

The orc ended up having to nudge his patrol companion out, and back up into the daylight.  Warriors though they might be, the amount of carnage in that one cavern had been more than what either had seen through any of the recent wars.  Neither had any idea that they had gazed upon the remains of the Nightsworn Company and it’s hired Blackcreek Mercenaries.

[tasezak]

Another sleepless night, another day filled with frustration, coming to a close as the sun began to set in the early evenings of Frostfire Ridge.  Not that the druid saw the sun set, closed up in her little alcove set into the quietest corner of the Great Hall.  Not a single one of her usual contacts had been able to assist in gathering the needed items to create a cure for the concoction Nightsworn had inflicted upon Caeluith.  Ears wilted, the trolless slumped in the chair, resting an arm over her slowly swelling stomach.

Staring down at the gentle bulge, she drummed her finger tips lightly against the cloth of the heavy robe she wore to ward off the chill, right on top of it, hoping irrationally to see some sign of life beyond the extra weight, yet knowing it was far too soon.  At least, if she had felt something besides ill...there would have been some validation to the past few days.

“Nothing hmm?”  A heavy sigh followed the murmured question, head falling back against the high back of the chair.  “Didn’t think so.”

Not for the first time, she pondered on the wisdom of staying, of keeping the business going.  True, they were at least turning profits, but the attacks from both Iron Horde and the Nightsworn company were taking their toll, at least upon the upper echelons.  The elite guard moved uneasily, as if expecting to be ambushed within their own walls at any moment.  It wasn’t without justification, of course, as hearing rumors of their Operational Commander having just that happen to him filled their ears in muttered conversations passed in between patrolling men.

Ears pinning back, the trolless scolded herself.  Many now depended upon this place for their livelihoods.  Sulking about because of some...aggressive competition was going to do her, nor them any favors.  Shifting to the left, the hand that had rested on her stomach slid into the pouch at her hip, removing the ingredient list and instructions for brewing the cure, copied down from the tome where she and Siet’sul had found it.  With it, however, tumbled out an earring, a blood red stone set in tarnished silver.  She frowned, and dug the piece of jewelry out before it could get stuck in the cushion of the chair.

It had been such a casual thing to be handed a communication device from the pirate, enabling her to contact the nebulous entity known as the Lotus at will.  All she’d ever heard or seen pointed to a darker mentality, even from those members she considered friends.  Turning it over in her fingers and letting the earring fall to her palm, her tongue flicked anxiously against the back of her left tusk.  Promises to him, promises to their unborn child...to try to stay on the lighter shades of the moral spectrum had her hesitating.

An irritated growl from her own throat threw that all out the window.  First, she would make whatever deals needed to be made to cure her lok’dim before the short term remedy she had set in place ran out.  Then, she would bring down hell upon Nightsworn.

[tasezak]

Two days of searching.  Two days of digging through tome after scroll after scribbled notes in margins.  Even with the assistance of Siet’sul and his vast knowledge, she’d taken far too long to find the answer.  And it wasn’t an answer she found satisfactory in the least.

Leaning back in the chair in the library, the trolless ran a finger along the written text carefully as she read it aloud to Siet, digging through another stack.  “Venom of the Eastern Sand Viper has been known, when mixed with Sorrowmoss and Blackmouth Oil, to create a concoction to spear doubt into the heart of one’s enemies.  Symptoms include:  Doubt, Indecision, Constant Changing of Mind, and eventually Paralysis, due to an inability to decide anything.”

Siet’sul came out from the stacks, spectacles slipping down his nose a bit, the younger Darkspear male coming to a stop in front of her, staring down at the tome in her lap.  “Any word of a remedy?”

Wordlessly, the trolless held the tome up so he could see it better, turning it around and tapping down on the page.  Siet’sul plucked the tome from her hand and held it close, frowning heavily around his tusks.  “Freshly plucked Pheonix feathers?  Crushed faerie dragon wings?  Blood of a red dragon?  Heartsblossom?  Well, at least one of those is easy to get...  The rest...nearly illegal some of them..  Where are you even going to get some of these things?”

Tasezak stared up at the other troll, ears wilted.  “I don’t know, but I’ll find a way...somehow.  The confidence potions aren’t going to work much longer to counteract the affects...and I’m not letting this happen to my husband.”

[blood-hearth-blog]

Waves of agony rocked his body, despite everything the cadre of healers had attempted.  They, plus his training, had lessened it to a degree where it was no longer in danger of causing him to black out...though he wondered if that was truly a good thing.  Awake and alert, he had little peace since being cornered by the warlock.

But, the owner of Nightsworn Trading Company was still sure of himself that the pain he felt now was completely worth every second.  Terrorizing the Duskdraws was more than just amusing, it was a perfect distraction to enable more of his plans to come to fruition.  The fact that he’d not only interrupted the trolless and hunter mid-intercourse, and that he’d taken away the warlock’s toy...just icing on the cake.  Infecting the hunter with doubt?  The cherry on top.

Nightsworn laid back on the cot they’d set up in his warded offices, head turning to look at the vial sitting on the edge of the desk.  There sat a potion he’d managed to pilfer from the trolless’s supplies, one he planned great uses for.  He sighed, and grimaced as the heavy breath stretched the burns on his torso.  His date with tormenting the little blonde Matron, Lolette, would have to wait.  

[blood-hearth-blog]

There was nothing more the man enjoyed than being able to take care of multiple loose threads with one yank, and it seemed the new benefactor to Nightsworn’s less...legitimate dealings was handing him that ability on a silver platter.  The man stood back and listened as the men gave their report, eschewing staying behind his desk for a change and allowing them to lounge in the chairs in his office instead.

“Drunk idiot didn’t even know what hit him.”  The mercenary to his right belonging to Blackcreek’s crew snorted in contempt, folding his arms over his chest and sprawling his legs out forward as he slouched.  “The only hard part was getting him back here, and that was only because the wards you’ve had put up so we couldn’t teleport directly in.”

Jonathan, still licking his wounds from his encounter with the infernal questioned his man further while Nightsworn stayed silent, simply watching the interactions.  He barely paid attention to what was being said, until the human spoke a second time, looking directly at the business owner.  The human was scowling impatiently at having to repeat himself.

“You’re sure the contract says one at a time?  I could spread my men a little thinner and get a few at once...”  Nightsworn shook his head.

“Very clearly.  One at a time.  Our...employer wishes to enjoy his time with them.  I even gave him his own private room below to use as he saw fit.  The drain in the floor should help reduce any clean up that would need to be done.”  The man did not speak of the real reason he’d acquiesced to the deal with all it’s stipulations and loopholes.

He let his mind drift momentarily back to the list of names he’d been shown, mentally roving his eyes down to one of the last.  Lolette.  If the songbird of the Hearth would not sing for him, he’d cage her soon enough.  He snapped back to Jonathan once more, managing to catch the question before it needing to be repeated.

“Who is next?  The brother.  Camsyn.”

[blood-hearth-blog]

It had taken a few weeks to get another mirror enchanted after the horrible warlock had forced him to destroy his previous one, removing contact with his inside spy, Jai.  She was captured, or dead now, a shame at the waste, but the Hearth had outmanuvered the spy...and he spent little thought wasted on it, instead moving forward.  The new mirror was here, and he used it to glean insight on the little shithole that was causing him so much frustration in Draenor.

A bird’s eye view was first given, showing him the entirety of the complex.  Bustle and movement down the path from the cliffs drew his eye to the harbor, where docks were being built and prepared to accept ships.  It took a massive amount of willpower not to smash the mirror at the sight of industry and forward growth happening.  In his mind, Blood Hearth should have been shut down a month ago.

With a flick of his finger, he changed the view to something else that became maddening.  The sight of the brothel, Sin’s Corner.  Construction was happening, goblins serving as foremen to expand the building out at the sides in the cave complex behind the Hearth.  The normally calm Nightsworn was swiftly losing his temper.  Something had to be done, after the disastrous kidnapping attempt, to show them he was still to be a thorn in their sides.  

The owner of Nightsworn Company leaned forward across his desk and the mirror obliged by zooming in.  There was the trolless that’d slipped through his grasp, handing over a key to the little blonde who so tempted his men and caught his eye.  He felt a twitch in his gut upon seeing the bouncing dance the small woman was doing upon being handed the key.  Curiousity drove him, and he stuck with the blonde as she re-entered the brothel.  Ah...the little Matron had been given her own offices it seemed.  

Opportunity knocked.

Turning off the enchantment to the mirror, he realized this would be a job for himself, rather than another, if he wanted it done to perfection.  Drawing about a cloak to ward off the chill and conceal his presence, the dark haired elf summoned one of the magi under his employ.  Time to make a visit to the Hearth in person.

Hours later, when Lolette returned to her new offices after celebrating with the trolless Tasezak, Nightsworn was back in his offices, watching and waiting for her reaction to his “redesign”.  He’d worked hard to make it better for her, after all.  The large hardwood desk had been reduced to splinters littering the plush rug that he’d made sure to track blood and mud all over, leaving a trail to the small bedroom that was attached.  In the bed, it appeared as if an azure haired night elf slept peacefully, her hair covering her face.  Pulling back the covers he’d covered in roses would reveal that it was just her head.  

Further, he’d marked the walls with the night elf’s blood, one of the girl’s he’d managed to nap from the back rooms where they slept when they weren’t working.  His house symbol, a blood red full moon was painted in stylized imagery on the walls.  A note had been left shoved in the elf’s mouth, assuming the woman had the gall to look to pull it free.

Greetings little harlot,

It seems you did not appreciate my last gift, and I felt a need to decorate your newest offices.  I expect a thank you this time.  For each week I do not receive a response, a new body will be sleeping in your chambers.  How many bodies will it take before I get to feel your lush, petite form under my blade?