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| Table of Contents |
Fusion |
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Click the title to go straight to that chapter in the story.
1-Fusion 2-Hostage 4-Ito 5-Zelis |
Tinged red fingers of the dawning sun crept into Stormrages’ chambers like a thief. Instinct high and on full alert, he focused his thoughts on the source of his unrest as he continued his pacing the long path from one end of the room to the other.
Something was different.
Experience had long taught him to trust his gut feelings. One did not become this powerful by mistake or simple chance. But there was a threat, a threat so large he could no longer deny that his position was indeed in jepordy.
“But from where…who..”
… questioned his own thoughts, a slow breath hissed between his teeth and he felt the blood in his veins begin to surge as no answer presented itself. Frustrated, he began his pacing the path which had become so familiar to him over the last seven hours. All the while his brain ticking and searching for the clue to his unrest. His thoughts trailed…to near madness.
Miles away, at that same moment, Swill whispered his three closest friends, and said “The time has come. Meet in Ironforge.” The cyrptic message signaled the friends that indeed this was the moment they had been awaiting. Loyalty, and the promise of triumphant battles to come, baited them. One borded the tram, one a griffin and the last the boat. Each lost in thought of the meeting to come.
The three friends, met on the bridge, and with a slight nod in one anothers direction, said not a word but stood, side by side, each looking to the crowd for the face they traveled so far to see. Looking for he who had summoned them.
Swill, who had recently been imprisoned for four months, for reasons unknown to the friends, had returned.
He silently moved in from the crowd behind them and they jumped as he startled them as he snapped, “You three took too long,”a little too loudly for their somber mood.
Swill walked across the bridge and the friends followed. Once they were seated inside the inn with fresh mugs of Dwarvian Stout in their hands he leaned in across the table and in a voice hushed, laden with urgency and strength, he said one word and one word only,
‘Fusion.”
With that word, miles away in the treacherous area known as Shadowmoon Valley, Illidan Stormrage roared. |
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Hostage (Fusion comes Alive) |
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“Hostage”….. “How in the heck could this have happened?”
thought Swill as leaned back in the solid wooden chair and let his head roll from shoulder to shoulder tasting the last sip of lager roll across his tongue.
Ito, his good friend and trusted ally was captive somewhere in the cold, dark caverns below the Black Temple, home to Illidan Stormrage. Swill’s tortured memory knew only too well what Ito’s fate would soon be if swift action was not soon employed. The question posed was not whether or not Ito could be rescued, but how and most importantly when, he could make it happen. Time was all important, and hope beyond hope, Ito still lived. He must assemble the team…THE team.
It was late evening, and shadows were creeping in to the corners of the Red Rose Inn. An exhausted Swill looked at the patrons in the pub, each so unaware of the threat to their very existence, “Pathetic ignorance.” He thought callously, and with that thought , he stopped dead.
Something… was in that corner.
He slowly reached down to grasp his mighty sword, a sword which had conquered so many beasts and wayward men, but… his hand came up empty. Panicked, the warrior sprang from the wooden chair and frantically searched the ground beneath the table. Cold sweat ran a slight trickle down the nape of his neck.
“Looking for something?” said a husky female voice from the very shadow of the corner.
Swill spun to see his treasured sword dangleling from the finger tips of the nightelf, who had not been there a moment before…
“Frikkin rogues!” he snapped as he snatched his weapon from her lithe fingers. Clearly annoyed he turned to pick his money belt from the table, which was now, also mysteriously gone, and heard the slight giggle.
He glared hard at Tazeria, “ Where is it?” he demanded.
With a shrug Taz turned and said “ Didn’t take the belt” …then again another giggle from the shadowed corner tinkled forth.
Swill was about to bust with frustration when Dantebree slide forth from the shadow, the belt wrapped neatly around her head.
She pointed at the headdress with a long index finger, “About all it’s good for…head accessory….. not a copper in there. By the way Taz paid the beer tab.” Bree said flatly to Swill as she untied the leather belt and tossed it in his direction.
Tazeria swung her leg over the back of the chair Swill had recently vacated, and sat hard in the seat, blocking his way to the exit.
“Swill,” she said his name in a harsh breath and locked her gaze to his, “’Bree and I are going…Xanuth and Arturok are at the camp waiting for you.” Taz lowered her gaze and her voice became soft, she looked skyward and with a sigh she spoke:
“I can feel him” she barely whispered, Terror ran a cold finger up Tazeria's spine as she voiced this to her commander.
Swill, nodded at her,” As can I. We must make our move, go then Taz, we will meet you there." |
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The Rogues |
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The two were mounted on their drakes high above the Black Temple. The gentle rolling motion of the winged creatures beating time with their very breath, Bree turned to Taz and with a gulp let out a long, drawn out, loud belch in her direction.
“Gawd woman! I can smell that alcohol from here!” said Tazeria waving her small hand in front of her nose. Taz knew that her trusted friend was more than ready for the mission which lay before them but was compelled to ask anyway.
“ You good to go ‘Bree?’
“Aye.. I am indeed.”…hic.. and another burp bubbled forth.
Tazeria shook her head slightly and began to lower her drake in the direction of the east patio. They would have to repel down the side wall while stealthed and slip between half a dozen guards before they came to the faulty rock that loosely covered an old unused servant entrance. Once there, they would be at the mercy of the labyrinth of corridors and would have to rely on more instinct than knowledge to navigate their way to discover Ito’s exact location under the structure.
Dislodging the loose bricks was far easier and less noisy than Taz had expected, the corridor was damp and stunk of rot and mold. The walls slick with a dark slime that is only present in areas which have never seen the light of day. The pair silently made their way down hall after hall, descending lower with every step. A loud thud and simultaneous clanking of lock told them they had found their mark. The rogues had found their target. The Orc Sentinal’s back was to them as he jingled the chain with the keys to the cell into his pocket.
The guard gaffawed as he loudly bellowed” That’ll teach you scrub!” through the now duel locked and solid cell door. “ There was blood running down his meaty hand, and his left eye was swollen shut and bruised. “Yes! Taz thought excitedly… Ito lives! Rage filled her being at this foul smelling jailor and anger burned her chest that this pig would dare touch the man in the cell.
She could….not…help… herself.
Enraged at the abuse she knew had taken place, the rogue’s blood began to boil searing-hot rage. Before Tazeria could contain herself, she howled, leaped at the captor and in one swift motion of her deadly, slender hand, laid her lethal dagger across his meaty throat.
“You DARE touch him you warthog!” She hissed in his face, his putrid breath mingling with her own. Bree slide in behind her and in a flash picked first one lock and then the second with her master thief skills.
‘ITO!’ ‘Bree yelled, loudly, thru the door- and with that warning yell, a large orcly fist connected with the back of her head and all went dark.
Tazeria quickly thrust her weight and might against the huge mongrel she held at daggerpoint, using his body to force the now unlocked door to slam open and they slide through the room on the other side of the entrance, and fell as a heap on the muddy floor. The jailor’s weight falling on top of her body, nearly suffocating her with it’s stench.
Taz’s dagger flew across the small space.
The Orc grunted a chuckle and in what seemed to be a distorted smile, pulled her arms above her head.
“NO!” she struggled against his pressing form.
A low- meancing growl began to rumble from the darkest corner of this cell where Ito was chained. The mighty warrior’s muscles strained beyond known limits and the chains that held the powerful nightelf were torn from and unbolted from their ancient brick fastenings.
Ito, was unbound.
Bree groaned as she awakened, face down on the slick floor of the entryway to the chamber where Ito was held captive. Her head throbbed and she squinched her eyes at the pain. Her daggers beneath her, handles digging deep into her hip bone making her position that much more uncomfortable. Oblivious to anything but the pain, she sucked in a breath of foul air.
She smelled him before she ever saw him. Her eye’s snapped wide open.
Before she could react, The Orc, muscled and stocky pounced upon her small frame, nearly crushing her with his weight. ‘Bree’s cheek pressed against the dampness of the floor beneath her. There was a pulse-like grunting coming from the back of his throat that only she, could hear. She panicked , shock and terror electrified her skin as she struggled to reach her daggers but to no avail.
“I never miss an opportunity……” He breathed in to her left ear in a voice that was low and gravely. ‘Bree squirmed and wiggled against his bulk, her actions seeming to excite the aggressor even more, his hands exploring her curves. Her mind went frantic as her free hand grasped for something …ANYTHING…to help her defend herself.
The guard slid a solid arm under her stomach and spun ‘Bree’s body onto her back. Now, his face, inches from her own he chorkled at her failing attempts at freedom from his grasp.
The shift in position was just enough…. Tazeria’s dagger, which had been disloged from her minutes before, had found it’s way to “bree’s searching fingertips.
‘Bree snatched the weapon and with a cry powered by white fear mingled with rage inhuman, sunk the dagger through his back, his lung and then his heart, and his death was instant. Hot, dark red blood oozed from the Orc’s mouth and dripped onto ‘Bree’s neck.
Panting she shoved his body from her, struggling with the weight pushing him off inch by inch.
With a final shove and loud grunt, she was free. She stood and stared down, panting with adrenaline fused breath, at her kill by her feet. She spat on his chest and with her left hand grabbed his pointy left ear, and with one fluid sleek motion of the silver dagger, sliced the ear from the guards’ skull. She held the trophy between her thumb and forefinger high above her head and a slight giggle followed by a belch came from her mouth.
The sound of metal grinding against stone snapped her back to reality.
“Ito!” she thought, and raced to the adjacent chamber. Dynamic stood on a rather large rocky formation about half a mile from the side entrance of the Temple. “They’re in”.. he thought as he lowered the long, brass spyglass from his searching eye. He had seen the small opening appear, as if by magic, as the silent, invisible rogues made their way into the depths of the ages old building known as The Black Temple. He knew the next few hours may be his last in this foul land, and he intended to leave his mark upon it…whether he survived or not, today- THIS day, the vermin who guarded this place would know his name evermore. The distraction of the guards had to happen fast, error free and in such a fashion as to allow the rogues time to inflitrate the dark, lower depths of this place, where he knew Ito was held hostage. “Xanuth!”..his commanding voice echoed off the back drop of a solid rock cliff, “ Gather the troops…time to ride. There’s no room for mistakes here...and… I… mean… NONE! See that they each understand that- or there will be HELL… TO…PAY!” His voice punctuating each word ..
Xanuth, saluted and spun swiftly, turning in the direction of the ten, armor clad figures gathered about a small water well, pointing and directing each to their mount.
Dyn raised the spyglass to his eye for one last look about the area , ensuring his original assessment of their position. In the distance he saw , what appeared at first to be a small flock of dark birds, slightly out of position …maybe half a dozen or so, but quite out of place for this remote location.
He hesitated and continued to peer, narrowing his eye just a bit, as to clear and decipher the slight vision before him. Then he saw the red and gold of their tabard colors, on every rider and recognized that it was not foe, but friend, who rode the wings of these drakes in the sky above.
“How the hell did they know we’d be here? And more, what the hell do you suppose they want?” Swill asked Dynamic in a confused voice.
“I dunno.” He said in a low response, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “But you can bet it ain’t for Tea and Mingo’s Fortune Giblets.”
With that said, the fliers descended, still mounted upon their mighty drakes, landing on the rock, encircling the pair of leaders. A flurry of red and gold colored, ornately decorated material, whipped at their legs.
Odage, the rogue, Azzarakk, the shadow priest, Pounders and Frigne their Paladins, all belonged to the family Vindication, the only people known to Alliance, ever to have made it out of this Black Temple of doom, alive.
Odage had a seriousness about him that was regal and unchallenged by the common man. He took two short strides and with a straight back stood before Swill with a rolled parchment in his outstretched hands.
“I bring you a map of the tunnels, and offer my blade to assist you in their safe return.” Odage stated to Swill, his eyes searching for a sign that his help would be needed.
Suddenly, a large commotion broke out near the east wall, where the two rogues had entered not long before. Dynamic screamed “MOVE OUT! GO GO GO!”
The orcs had come. |
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Ito’s muscles tore and strained against the heavy rusted, iron cuffs as he felt them dig into his wrists. Ignoring pain and injury, he gritted his teeth, face contorted into a mask of strain and concentration. His will unbroken, he mustered a huge surge of strength, and pulled the very bolts from the ancient fastenings of the slick, dark stone wall.
A slight trickle of blood ran a line from his arm, rolling down the thick chain that connected the two cuffs on either wrist. He curled his hands and snapped the chain straight and in one heroic lunge, wrapped it around the guards’ thick neck. Ito tightened the chain and crossed his hands behind the orc’s head and began to squeeze, his massive build shadowing and dwarfing the orc’s stocky frame.
“Get your hands off her… you damned dirty orc!” He growled, the pressure of the chain bulging the orc’s eyes, his tongue fat between pursed lips. Ito jerked the guard’s head back and with a loud SNAP! broke the jailor’s neck, using the very chains which the guard had imprisoned Ito with, as the tool for his death .
Tazeria lay on the floor with a stunned look upon her face, her hair wild, the smell of the guard still fresh in her nostrils. Ito slowly knelt beside her, flushed from the struggle, to gently help her sit up, his hands lingering for a second longer than necessary upon her shoulders.
“The key!” said Taz as she quickly reached to search the pockets of the guard’s smelly britches. She located the small, bronze colored key and in a flash unlocked the chains from Ito’s wrists. She threw them mightily against the far wall where they clanked and fell to the ground. Finally! Ito was free, she looked at his face and there was a slight smile upon his lips, she returned that look with a dazzling, wickedly impish grin.
“What the hell!” ‘Bree yelled, as she ran in to the room, observing the dead jailor and her two grinning friends,
“ You pair of asshats! Sure, I see how it is! “ she yelled.
“I’m out THERE (she pointed to the hallway)… about to be seeded by this bastards’ (she kicked at the dead orc) stinking boyfriend, ….and you two are in HERE (she shook Tazeria’s dagger at the pair on the floor) like it’s a frikkin’ prom date!” ‘Bree was pissed, she stomped her foot and let out a long drawn out belch directed at the two on the nasty floor.
“Oh, and here’s your dagger wench.” She giggled as she slapped the sticky, blood covered handle of the silver weapon into Tazeria’s palm. Taz looked down at the bloody mess in her hand and then back up at ‘Bree. Their eyes met and locked staring hard at one another.…Ito stood up, ready to intervene when….suddenly… both rogues broke out into uncontrollable chuckles.
“Bitch,” said Tazeria grinning at her friend…”Hoedawg” ‘Bree shot back at her with a smile.
With that, the ceiling above them began to quake and roll, a deep grinding noise of iron gates being opened above them filled the room. The smell that sunk in to the chamber was overpowering.
The trio snapped to attention and headed towards the corridor. They stopped dead at the door where they had first discovered their friend. Ito looked searching both right and then left..
“What? What is it Ito?” asked Taz in a small voice. “The Orc’s are free…and they are headed for us.” |
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Zelis picked up the raw chunk of boar meat and slapped it down on the oval tin plate. Using his small knife, he began to carve the still warm flesh into bite size pieces. He was mindlessly thinking to himself that it had been quite some time since he had last used a tether of any sort to control his now trained, prized raptor, Triceptaplot. As the hunter tossed a bloody hunk towards the beast he noticed what at first appeared to be a large firefly, hovering ever so lightly next to his pet. Curious, Zelis moved in to get a closer look. Spore bats were common in Zangarmarsh, however, tiny spore bats were kept only by inhabitants of Sporeggar, and those who came to know those inhabitants as their own. Those select few who kept these small creatures outside of Zangarmarsh, were rare indeed. This animal was different, it bore a brand upon it’s back, an unmistakable letter “T” with curls and flourish, identifying it’s master as none other than Tazeria.
Zelis slowly stretched a stubby, right index finger out toward the creature as an invitation for the little bat to perch upon, all the while pondering that something didn’t feel quite right about this encounter. The animal accepted the offer quickly, as if tired of flitting about and in need of rest.
The smell came slowly at first to this hunter, and in surprise, the familiar putrid odor emitted from the little bat brought horror-shock to Zelis.
There was only one place in this land where that smell was present…gut tingling, he realized this tiny bat had been inside the depths of The Black Temple. He knew then, beyond doubt, that Tazeria must be within the Temple and separated from this pet only by force.
Realization dawning, Zelis stood quickly, grabbed his knapsack and the rolled up map from the small table inside the tent and quickly exited toward the four figures circling the campfire outside.
“Odage!” he addressed the rogue authoritatively, handing the map to him, “Take Azzarakk, Pounders and Frigne. Tazeria is in trouble. I know not who else may be with her. Fly to The Black Temple, I will meet you there. Stop for nothing along the way, we have no time to spare.”
With that, Zelis turned and emitted a low whistle from a curled tongue behind rounded lips. A large buffskin colored Ram, saddled and bridled with fine basilisk leather tack, appeared from behind a low hanging, willow type tree. To the left of the ram, a large black hound, Sheba, and to the right of the ram, a solid white, unusually large lynx, Cassana; and to the rear of this trio, the ground shook with thunder as Triceptaplpot joined the group.
The four Horde watched Zelis depart, hidden behind the low branches of the whispy tree. Virtuous grinned at Pheobus. |
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Swill Remembers (Fusion Comes Alive) |
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He was young, about 10 years of age, when he first met the four elves. Swill sat crossed legged upon the small, soft bed at the orphanage in Stormwind, looking at the still wrapped packages he had received from Great Father Winter. It was cold outside and New Year’s Eve preparations had the city in a flurry of excitement. “They are yours to keep or to give away as you see fit.”--Said the plump matron softly as she sat next to the lad on the bed. She reached a hand forward and gently brushed a lock of straight brown hair from his forehead. She smelled ever so slightly of roses.
The boy had never known another home. Abandoned in a basket and left at the top of the stairs of this orphanage 10 years before as a newborn, with no suspect parents, this was all Swill knew. He was a healthy, well fed infant, and a decade later was already larger and more intelligent than most his age. He was also stubborn, insolent and a bit of a schoolyard bully.
Swill had heard from the town crier about the great massacre by the Horde, at Teldrassil, The Great Tree, which was home to the unusual race of Night Elves. The matrons here at the orphanage had told the children that there would soon be newcomers as a result of the assault.
“There is nothing I want… in those packages.” He replied to the woman without looking at her face. The matron nodded his direction and knew he spoke the truth, knowing with satisfaction that the child would not regret his decision. She was so proud of this boy.
Swill stood, began quickly gathering each package up, stacking them neatly at the foot of the bed. As he turned to walk though the doorway and down to the Centeroom to be near the warm fire the boy stopped and took a glance back at her smiling face, which was filled with nothing but softness for him.
“They’re here?” he asked her quietly.
“Indeed they are.” Mrs. Beachnor replied with a light smile.
The boy then turned the corner at the doorway and began to walk rapidly down the large, graystone flat steps that curved to the Centeroom. He paused at the final step and slowly but curiously, peered around the edge of the wall to silently glimpse his new housemates.
There were four of them, sitting next to each other as close as could be on the sette before the fire. Three were covered in bandages, and the fourth, the only female, was speaking softly in a strange language to the others. She stood straight up off the seat when the elfling spotted Swill peeking at them, her arms spread to the sides as to shield her companions from the onlooker.
“Who are you?” she asked Swill is a strange, attractive, lilting accent which rolled the r and made “you” sound more like ”yea”.
“I am called Swill.” The boy stretched out his hand to offer her a hello, “What are your names?” he shyly asked.
She looked down upon his hand, and thought it to be such a strange gesture for a greeting, but slowly raised hers to his, hoping it was the correct response. Swill grasped her palm and shook it in a very human manner.
“I am Tazeria,” she answered, “these are my friends, Drun, Ito and Leftfordead.” She pointed at each of her companions respectively.
“Nice to meet you,” Swill reached to shake Ito’s hand but Tazeria stopped the gesture lightly but firmly, and in a low voice she said to Swill, “Ito cannot see your hand to respond, He was blinded by a light. They say he will regain his sight but no one really knows.”
“What’s with the others, their…injuries?” Swill curiously asked the elf, also in a low voice, while looking at the three on the setee.
“Drun cannot hear you, his ears were affected by blasting powder close to his head. And Lefty doesn’t speak…. he never really has.” She answered.
At that moment, a gray-white ball of smoke began to form behind Swill, curling and rolling and with a POP! Appeared another boy, about the same age as Swill, behind the pair before the fire. He was smaller than Swill and wore robes of blue and silver. He had no hair.
“Balyon!” cried a startled Swill, as he promptly pushed the new arrival into a large, overstuffed chair. Tazeria jumped toward her friends.
Chuckling, the budding warlock said “I got you guys good.”….grinning from ear to ear he popped up from the chair and pulled his wand from his sleeve. “ I think some nice hot cider for our new family is in order.” |
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The large, beautifully crafted shield lay heavily across Swill’s muscled forearm. His sword, gripped tightly in his right hand, reflecting the red glinting light from the unusual sun in Shadowmoon Valley. His body screamed and reared to charge the scene before him, conflicting with his soldiers’ instinct, which compelled him to wait for the opportune moment for the initial strike. His breath was heavy, his skin rippled with “warrior fire”, he looked to his right, where Wanda, his battlemate, had stood only a moment before.
She had shifted into Bear form, and no matter how many times he’d witnessed it, Swill marveled as if the first time, at this ability of the Druid. The beast, fierce and snarling, was massive and hulking-a silvery-gray thick fur covering a bulk of terrifying muscle and sinew. Her long jaws containing large, sharp teeth and huge canines that promised certain death.
Wanda had turned Feral Blood. The only way she could release the transformation was to kill an enemy in battle, or to be killed herself, there was no other option for those Druids who chose the Feral Blood Path.
The ways of the druid had always been a mystery to Swill, he expressed no desire to give any deeper understanding of them either. He wasn’t uncomfortable around shape shifters, he simply didn’t care to expand his knowledge of their practices. All he concerned himself with was that Wanda was in command and control of the Feral Blood Path because if she lost her discipline, things would be ugly, in a hurry, for all of them.
He was sure of this one fact- Wanda was deadly, disciplined and second to none in her battlefield, front- line skill.
And as for Wanda- well, for her there had been no other choice.
Wanda stood outside the orphanage with her small, finely shaped nose pressed lightly against the frost ringed glass, peeking in at the six small people inside. Her presence was unnoticed by those within the Centeroom where the cheery fire flamed and a hotpot of cider and warm mugs appeared upon the low table in front of the settee. It was cold where she stood, but she ignored the shivers that ran trails of gooseflesh up and down her arms.
She had just done the hardest thing she’d ever had to do, in her short 20 years of life. The beautiful, skilled healer brought and gave the four elflings to the matrons, of the Stormwind Orphanage. Wanda held her gaze upon them for a full three minutes, standing in the cold at that window, as to engrain the lasting picture of the six inside the building, to her memory.
She was done.
As Wanda turned, sadly and slowly from the window, for her unknown destination, she felt it happen. It was physical and began as a small hunger in her gut, the hunger became a twist, the twist a knot, the knot a rolling, cramping hard rock. The pain was immense and searing to the core of her being. She doubled over but didn’t fall, her hands gripping her midsection, kneading the pained flesh beneath her cloak. Her breath caught in her chest and she let out a cry, but to her surprise and confusion, the sound of a growling, low roar of a wild animal in pain, and not the squeak of an elf- maid, came from her throat.
Wanda took several stumbling steps forward to grab the railing of the huge spanse of steps that lead upward to the Stormwind Cathedral of the Lightbringer. The contractions of her midsection were making it difficult for her to draw breath, she was beginning to become dizzy. Hand over hand, using the railing for support, she pulled her pained body up one step at a time. Wanda felt her knees weaken and she dropped to the cold, hard stone of the stair. Her body heaving with agony-filled, growling gasps for air as she crawled on hands and knees to reach the platform at the top of the stair. It was all she could bear, she collapsed in a ball, eyes shut tight, pulled herself into a tight bundle all the while rolling from side to side in an effort to ease the deep burning in her gut.
“What’s happening to me!” she cried inwardly.
At that precise thought, a soothing calm response entered her thought patterns as a smooth, low female voice that was warm and healing in her mind.
“Do not fight the path of the soul young druid, you must embrace the change, and know that we are here for you”
With that, Wanda’s world went dark.
She began to awaken as warm hands pressed their palms to her grimaced face and stroked her cheeks until they smoothed, she was no longer on the steps, in the cold. She felt warm and safe, soft down comforters that smelled like spices now covered her from head to toe. She felt no more pain. Slowly Wanda began to open her eyes, still unsure of all the events that had just occurred to her.
As the druid peeked from under heavily lidded eyes, she saw a tall, beautiful woman with long, strawberry blond hair, dressed in shimmering, white, long robes trimmed in light yellow and deep purple. Standing next to this woman was a very, very short man.
Wanda blinked, she had never seen someone so short! He wore a long beard, and was regally dressed in white, loose fitting pants and knee length tunic which were both trimmed in pure gold, he was magnificent. He stood straight spined and inspected the young elf’s face intently.
His short legs took two small steps close to her bed, his eyes looking directly in to hers.
“I’m Thorden, head of Stormwind Cathedral of the Lightbringer, which is where you find yourself today lass. I trust Sariseva has brought you to health once again”, he bowed gracefully, his stubby fingers touching his gold waistband. “Now that you’re awake, I shall leave you two to your business.” The Paladin gave Wanda a smile, bowed deeply to Sariseva and turned on his boot heel and left the room.
Sari sat on the edge of the bed where Wanda lay, and noticed they were about the same age, “I’m Sariseva, healing priestess for Thorden,” she smiled lightly, “you were in transition when I found you on the stairs. Tell me what happened to you before this took place, if you’re not too tired.”
Wanda found her voice, it was horse and didn’t sound like herself. She recounted everything to Sari, from the moment the Horde had come to Teldrassil, until bringing the elflings to the orphanage. She was breathless and shaking by the time she was done her tale.
Sariseva was horrified.
“Never again,” said Wanda, her eyes becoming hard as two pale shards of ice as she stared at Sariseva. “Will I heal those who I do not protect first.”
Sari nodded in agreement. The two knew at that moment, that they had a bond that transcended their gifts for healing.
“Let’s get you dressed.” Sari spoke as she hopped up from the bed and headed to a beautiful armoire in the corner of the room. She pulled the door open and removed a lovely warm green gown with silver brocade. It glittered and had a light silvery glow about it.
“This gown has a healing enchantment on it that will help you with your unexpected transitions. Nythyx created the gown and then enchanted it just for you.” Sari carried the gown to Wanda.
“It’s fabulous!” Wanda’s face shown with delight. A puzzled look came upon her and she turned to Sai and asked:
“Who’s Nythyx?” |
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It was her birthday.
Tazeria lay awake in the warm, small bed inside the Stormwind Orphanage, having yet to open her eyes to the still dark, pre-dawn room. A slight ruffle of movement from the bed next to hers slowly roused her eye lids open. Her sister, Taneria, lay sleeping peacefully for the first time in the six weeks since they had come to the Home.
A tinge of guilt washed over Tazeria with sharp clarity, instantly clearing away any sleepiness that remained in her brain.
She sat up and reached to open the small drawer of the bedside stand where she had placed the seven sealed letters the night before. Each envelope bore a name penned in her hand; she thumbed through the short stack and found the one addressed to Tazeria, removed it, and quietly leaned over to the adjourning bed to slip it beneath the sleeping elfling’s pillow.
As Tazeria gazed at her sleeping sister, hot tears burned at the back of her eyes and she fought them with all she could muster. “There will be no tears,” she thought…. her mind was made up. She leaned over and brushed a light kiss on Tan’s forehead and tucked the white flannel blanket snugly around her sleeping sibling.
Quietly, Tazeria made her way across the room to the armoire where she kept her things. She carefully opened the door to the cabinet minding that the small, metal hinges didn’t squeak. The elfling had always been good at sneaking around and often had breakfast made and ready for the family without ever waking a single person.
Her hand found her knapsack, which she had already packed full the night before, after everyone had gone to bed. She slide her feet into knee high black leather boots then pulled the black leather wrap from the last peg inside the wardrobe and slide her arms inside the cozy fur lining; then pulled the leather straps tight around her waist.
Arturok had made the wrap and matching boots for Tazeria as her birthday present, but gave them to her a week ago. Art had never been one to wait to give a gift, always seeming more excited and eager to see the response from the recipient than to bother with keeping to a date.
Taz closed the door soundlessly and crept from the room, silently stepping down the wide staircase, in to the Centeroom. Treading softly, she came to the thin wooden door that led to the kitchen. The kitchen was dark with the exception of a few smoldering, red embers peeking beneath some gray covered ash in the hearth.
There was a bowl of winter apples in the middle of the large butcher block counter, of which she took four and stuffed them in a small knotted sack. Half a dozen left over biscuits from dinner the previous night, followed the fruit in to the bag. She crossed a few steps to the icebox at the other side of the room and opened it. Peering inside she wrinkled her nose, “ Brie,” she thought, “what is it with these humans and cheese?”
Searching through the cheese Tazeria placed several hunks of Alterac Swiss into the bag, then turned to the pantry to remove some dried sagefish and placed that in the sack along with the other food items.
“ There- that should hold me for a day or two.” She thought with satisfaction, wiping her hands on a small kitchen rag that had been hung near the pantry. Taz stood and turned and as she did, a low POP! made her jump back a step.
“Balyon!” she startled in a shocked, harsh whisper as her young warlock friend materialized before her, his blue robe swishing the floor.
Grinning at her with wicked in his eyes, with a barely audible chuckle, he whispered,
“The eye misses nothing Tazzy...I’ve been watching you for the last 10 minutes.’ Bal chuckled again. “ Where.. exactly do you think you’re off to this early in the morning? Oh and Happy Birthday, this is for you.” He offered her a small blue ribboned box held in his hands, which she eyed carefully, then accepted.
“Thanks Bal.” she said as she shook the box next to her pointy ear.” and...(her eyes shifted to the floor) -I’m going for a walk- since it seems you must know… and,’ she continued, “ you will most likely have that stupid eye thing following me about.’ She said indignantly as she flashed a small smile in Balyon’s direction.
Then, accusingly, Taz raised a thin eyebrow at him, “You must be a very bored stalker..” she teased with a light laugh.
“Really? Humm, well…” he eyed her suspiciously, “ people who go for walks this early in the morning don’t take so much food or their belongings.” Bal said flatly, as he pointed at the knapsack near the door.
“OOOH” He suddenly mouthed excitedly, and with realization in his voice as his eyes found her stack of mail, “ they also don’t leave a stack of letters on the counter.” He quickly snatched the pack of letters Tazeria had mistakenly set down on the countertop while she had been hunting for her food.
Taz panicked a little and felt the nerves under her skin come alert, Balyon’s face became serious and he pinned her with a glance. In a low whisper he stated
“ If you don’t tell me where you’re going… I ..will… wake.. this.. house.”
He shoved the letters in his robe and quickly began to roll magic within his hands. There was a deep fire in his eyes that Taz knew meant that Balyon would unquestionably, carry out his threat.
At that precise moment another voice responded to that threat, “She’s running away Bal- can’t you see?” Startled, Taz spun to see Ito standing in the cellar doorway next to the hearth, his coat on his back, his fully stuffed knapsack slung low over his shoulder. His gaze, unreadable, raked her face
“ What the blazes? Ito! Hush! I am NOT running away!” She menacingly growled in a low voice between gritted teeth. Tazeria’s face was hot with anger and shocked to find Ito standing before her.
Then at the very instant
“NO!’ Commanded another voice, in deep low whisper, from the doorway of the thin door behind Taz, that lead to the center room, Tazeria spun around yet again, to be met by the steady gaze of none other than Swill.
He locked his eyes to the nightelf’s, and stated the plain, simple truth, sinking his eyes into hers. “No” Swill repeated, lowly and calmly- taking one slow step toward her, ” I agree with you. You’re not running away, Tazeria….. You….are running TO it.”
“Where, Tazeria”
–he spoke each word slowly-
“ Where, exactly, are you planning to go?’ Swill’s piercing gaze never left Tazeria’s face.
Balyon didn’t know why that memory of that morning in the kitchen so very long ago came to his mind, just then, as he lowered his drake on the rock near the two commanders. He felt the air about him unsettle and shift, and a small, unidentifiable shiver coursed across his back.
Change was in the air, and his soul knew it, for the first time, Balyon thought he may perhaps, have to pray. |
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|
“Orcs! Coming for us! Mother Pus Bucket!” swore a startled ‘Bree as she glanced both left and right down the curving , dank hallways that had led the rogues to Ito’s holding cell beneath the Black Temple. She saw nothing, however the smell was such that her thoat constricted, and there was a shudder of the ground as a hundred running feet headed toward their location. The corridor was lit by one simple, rusted oil sconce from which a small, tired flame weakly flickered above the orcish corpse that lay on the slick stone.
Ito bent down to grab the short sword from the hip of the still warm, dead jailor lying on the damp incline. Noticing the missing ear of the dead guard, he raised an eyebrow to Dantebree,
“Nice work there sicko. How many does that make now?”
‘Bree shrugged her response at Ito, “Not sure, but the number’s gonna get alot higher if we don’t get the hell out of here NOW. Which way did we come in Taz? ….Taz?” “Bree spun quickly, in every direction, instantly alert, eyes scanning the dimly lit area for her friend .
“Shhh..don’t say a word! Stealth.. NOW! Hurry! I am here.. in a nook near the lamp” whispered Tazeria in a rapid breath .
‘Bree vanished and sprinted to the nook, Ito met her there in four long strides, just barely shadowmelding before the troop of Black Temple orcs trotted past them. The three held their breaths, flattened their backs against the slimy wall, their hearts pounding in sync with the orcs feet as they trotted past them down the sloping corridor, merely inches from the trio’s faces.
The olive-skinned orc’s were stocky and shorter than the lithe elves. Their eyes, tiny and shrunken from generations of living beneath the Black Temple, coupled with little contact with the harshly muted sun of Shadowmoon Valley, bore a harsh contrast to the Nightelves superior ability to see well, in dark places. Ito counted two rows of fifteen, heading to the chamber nearby.
He grabbed Tazeria’s hand and in the sign language they had learned as elflings in the orphanage, conveyed the orcs number to the rogue, in the unspoken hand language of the palm.
“We cannot win against so great a number. There are only we three, you are weak from captivity and, though she doesn’t show it, ’Bree, is injured.” Taz signed into Ito’s palm.
Ito’s fingers flurried in Tazeria’s open hand,
“We, are getting out of here, find your mettle my friend, this is our only chance. Prepare to run left on the count of three once the last orc has passed us by.”
As they drew their strength together and prepared to leave the nook, the trotting feet of the orcs came to an abrupt halt. Gutteral, deeply amazed whispers faintly echoed off the ancient walls, filled with awe and shock…
The elves heard the many orcs dark, low voices clearly surprised ….
……..”THE GLAIVE……THE MASTER”S GLAIVE….THE MISSING ONE…..THE GLAIVE………
In the faint light, he showed himself, the red and gold tabbard proudly graced his chest and he stood to reveal himself briefly to the orcs as bait before the vanish……
Odage held the glaive above his head and challenged the troop in a loud commanding voice.
“I AM THE ONE YOU SEEK…. COME-TAKE IT FROM ME IF YOU DARE!
And with that, the masterful rogue vanished from sight, as the three bolted like bullets from the nook.
|
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The Banner of the Goblin Tide |
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The balcony of Snuff’s cottage in The Stormpeak was frigid that morning. The light, silent snow of perfectly fashioned flakes casually drifted down from the overcast sky creating a fine dusting of white across the lattice work. A sight which was very pleasing to the commander’s eyes, and the only comfortable event in his world at present. The druid lifted his hot cup of honey mint tea to his face and stole a deep breath of the fragrant mist that wafted from the brew.
He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes.
The decision had not been easy, and weighed heavily on his mind. None the less, he knew it was the only choice open to him. Having both leaders present at The Black Temple for Ito’s rescue was not in the best interest of the Vindication Clan, and the family security must be considered in matters such as these.
The Druid offered a silent prayer of protection to the Goddess Elune for the safe delivery of his troops in Shadowmoon Valley.
The first word had come to him late yesterday afternoon from a most unlikely source. While tending to his lichbloom garden on the west side of the mountain property, a tiny goblin appeared seemingly out of nowhere, shocking Snuff to alertness from his semi-dazed state of auto gardening.
“Yo!” started the goblin in his irritating high pitched voice as he materialized from the bushes. “ I have led a peaceful visitor to you. He brings urgent news from Outland that you must know. He has paid me well in gold for the seal of my lips on the matter once this meeting’s end has taken place. His gold has also purchased my interpretation skill in your language. He asks that you recognize the Banner of Goblin Tide and raise no hand or sword during this encounter. He has vowed to recognize this truce to convey this urgent message. Will you cooperate?”
Snuff quickly checked his reaction to grab his staff in defense and became instantly suspicious, questioning the tiny green man,
“Who seeks me at my retreat?” He demanded, pulling himself straight to his full height and bearing his presence hard on the small creature. The trees behind the druid began to quiver and shudder, almost as though they were being called to arms, but not with a force that would bend their roots to the sun, but in a manner of impressed, higher degree of alertness.
The goblin shifted his weight nervously, one eye on the trees, one eye on the Great Commander. With a wave of his thin elongated fingers appeared Phoebus, from behind a large Oakwood Tree.
Phoebus! A Soldier of Horde Nobility and Grand Foe to the Alliance, Leader of the greatest of Horde Clans, skilled hunter and of Orcish heritage, stood straight backed at the edge of Snuff’s garden.
Snuff did his best to hide his shock and surprise at such a visitor, but try as he may, the tiny upturn of Phoebus’ upper lip told him his reaction did not go unnoted. The elf gained control and cautiously nodded in the direction of the infamous horde but spoke to the goblin.
“Whatever I say, I bind you to repeat word for word, Under the Banner of Goblin Tide, do you agree goblin?” demanded Snuff, never taking his eyes from the horde.
“I am bound by the honor of the Banner, Sir.” The goblin gave a crooked low bow in Snuff’s direction.”
“Speak!” Ordered the Druid. |
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They ran.
The Orc Hunter’s savage pet
ravager was on the fallen rogue in a split second, rendering and tearing,
ripping and slicing the masterful rogue’s skin and muscle.
She pulled her dagger from her waistband and dove onto the orc’s pet slicing it’s throat from right to left nearly decapitating the creature in one deadly lunge of her hand. From the side she saw the bloodied Odage swing the massive glaive in her direction to finish the job, and the beast’s head fell to the ground. The warm blood of the ravager splattered and ran down her chest in thick lines as Taz turned to face the hunter.
The Hunter was not alone.
Not that hunters were ever truly alone.
What stood with him was no pet.
The
Hunter laughed and turned his attention to Tazeria, one shot of the poisoned
serpent sting was all it took - Taz went down. The hunter pulled his axe
from it’s sheath and as he raised it over his head grunting, low chuckles
issued from his throat, filled the nightelf’s ears.
It was the last move the hunter would make in that life. The roar of the raptor was deafening as it rolled off the dank walls like a tidal wave of terror running headlong toward the hunter poised to kill Tazeria.
The stunned rogue watched it all in slow motion.
The Orc hunter’s eyes widened in disbelief, his chin slacked open, his body frozen with the sight of Triceptaplot bearing down. The raptor was single minded in his target, sinewy jaws snapping and strung with drool. It’s huge head leaving a trenched gouge- slightly lighter in color then the slippery walls- across the ceiling of the dark corridor; ancient, crumbling dust- spiraling clouds in the massive beasts wake.
As the crazed animal bore down on the hunter, the many rows of spiked, terrifying teeth glistening in the feint light of the dungeon hallway, it opened it’s horrific jaws wide. Then, in one tearing lunge, ripped the head whole from the Orc’s shoulders, his torso crumpling to the slick floor, legs jerking with nerve reflex.
Like a broken rubber band, a long strand of bloodied, torn orc muscle whipped out and snapped the short space where the hunter had stood. With a THWACK! it struck Tazeria’s stunned features, snap-shocking her out of the frozen state which held her prisoner, leaving a thick, deep red, wet line on her cheek, like native war paint.
That was all it took and she was on them.
The deathknight stood proudly over Odages limp form, which was unmoving and splayed unnaturally upon the red stained floor at his feet. The huge knight’s icy glare focused on the nightelf as he raised his hand to conjure yet more unknown, magical horror to suck Tazeria into the circle of death.
It wasn’t sinking in…Taz was vaguely aware of the mayhem taking place behind her…..
….Zelis’s whistled orders for Cassana and Sheba to attack the throng of advancing Orcs from the front….the pounding and shaking of the ground as the raptor plowed forward….Ito yelling (no ORDERING ) for Tazeria to fall back….“Bree cursing as she pulled at the arrow shaft in her hip….the sound of approaching troops from behind….a solid bear’s growl…the PLOP! of a totem being planted on wet ground…the whoosh of Dynamic’s ice sheet whizzing past in an attempt to slow this new being….
but above all this- a growl ..a growl of pain and anger so loud and all consuming.. so massively heart rendering… pulled up from the deep recesses of Tazeria’s gut toward the escape of her throat…toward a light of it’s own….
….“ODAGE!!! ODAGE!!! OH GOD!!! ….noooo…nooo…OGAGE!!
she didn’t recognize her voice as the words flew from her mouth…Tazeria scrambled on hand and knee toward his lifeless form on the dark-red bed of death that spread under Odage’s body at his assailant’s feet. She threw her body into the circle and grabbed for her friend- mindlessly tearing and grasping for his remains. The red burned her legs, burrowing like tiny mites into the pores of her skin through her beaten leather britches scalding her knees while she grappled to grab at her dead friend.
Suddenly, a bright flash of light covered the poisoned ground and stamped out the red. Frigne, encircled by The Light stood between the Deathknight and the rogues as the night elf secured the hold on the master rogue’s body, snatching at his stained tabard to find a grip to drag him to the side of safety. Taz looked at Frigne and he smiled at her then turned his attention to the abomination before him.
She dragged and pulled the heavy body toward the throng at the top of the incline, gasping for breath, slipping a foot backward on the bloody surface, then gaining two feet ahead, nearly collapsing under the weight of the once mighty rogue and his massive Glaive...the Glaive of Illidan Stormrage.
“RAW! SARI! RAW! SARI! STEEN!! SOMEONE!!” Tazeria screamed and yelled until she thought her throat would bleed with effort, “I need a HEALER! ODAGE NEEDS HEALING!”
Then she reached them.
Ito’s hands were on her in an instant, helping her drag the lifeless Odage toward the rose- lightened end of the tunnel and in a voice only she could hear he spoke clearly,
“Taz get a hold of yourself, Odage is gone. Stay with me and get a grip. Focus, we will take him home when this is done”
Taz was furiously ripping at Odage’s tabard and stopped dead returning Ito’s order with a murderous glare in her eyes..shaking her head a bit too fast.
”NOT DEAD- NOT DEAD!! Can’t you hear me?! HE Needs a HEALER>>A HEALER- YOU FOOL!! HE’S NOT DEAD!!” ..her voice was unnaturally high…
Ito fought to control the urge to smack her face back to sanity, he shook his head ever so slightly and silently softened his eyes, then turned his back to Taz and threw himself into the fray before him in the tunnel, with the Glaive in his hands.
Her hand flew to her burning throat, and she felt it…….and she REMEMBERED.
The stone… THE SOUL STONE! the wondrous amber stone Balyon had gifted to her on her birthday those many years ago in the kitchen of the Stormwind Orphanage, the day she sought to start her life….
Quickly and with jerking movements Tazeria grabbed the Mithril chain and snatched it from her neck, pulling the small gift from it’s home around her neck; a home where it had lain safely for the past 15 years. She raised the smooth stone above her head and said “by the Gods..” she then thrust the object to Odage’s chest and pressed her palm flat against it searing and sealing it to his body. The spark shower flew everywhere, like a blinding firework during the celebration of elders.
At that very instant.. at the front of the tunnel, Balyon threw back his head in agonizing pain, his teeth snapping shut. His face a contortion of fused features melting down upon one another, eyes into cheekbones nose into lips, lips into chin, all running down his face. Balyons knees hit the rock, a solid thud racking his body with the impact.
Swill turned to look at the warlock, fear gripped his gut. Astonished, the commander watched, helpless as Blayon’s robes turned black as the blackest night, a shadow darker than any shadow Swill had ever encountered before. It spread from the center of Balyon’s chest and creeped, like a decay, from the center of his chest to the bottom of the hem of his flowing garments.
Balyon turned to Swill, his face unrecognizable as the man Swill had always known, Swill stared into the eyes of pure evil, yellowed and red-streaked melting eyes that bore into his soul.
Eyes that KNEW what frightened him most.
Balyon was gone-and this devil had his soul. |
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“Eat something.” Ito slid the large steaming bowl of Kodo Stew across the long, dark wooden dining table at Snuff’s Retreat until it stopped with a spin in front of Tazeria. “No. ” Came the response, barely audible in the large room. Taz never looked up at her friend. Tazeria had all her blades laid out on the huge table, a table built for a banquet grouping for a king. Snuff’s dining hall was high walled and woodsy. Thick, dark Oakwuld beams used for cross-timbers graced the high pointed A- frame ceiling. The west wall of the large room was beautifully designed with half a dozen floor to ceiling arched windows, the paned glass cut at the top to reflect tiny colored diamond prisms across the table during the daily sunset. Dark Ebon framed paintings of various ancestors and battle victories hung on the north and south walls, which were painted a deep, royal red. The east wall had a grand entryway where two traditionally armored Druid statues stood to guard and greet occupants entering this hall, and appearing as noble in stoic stance, as they would have been had they been alive. “Flame it all Taz! I said EAT SOMETHING….. it ’s been THREE days. ” Ito was becoming irritated- that was a simple fact and was more than evident in his tone of voice. He turned to look at ‘Bree for help in convincing their friend that she really needed some food only to find the slightly inebriated elf sitting by the firelight, stringing her newly acquired, dried Orc ears onto a carefully knotted mistyreed strand, and not looking one bit in his direction. A fast burst of air hissed between his fine white teeth and he slapped his hands on his thigh in exasperation. “I wouldn’t keep poking that dragon Ito, if I were you. You’re liable to lose a kidney or perhaps an eye….but we can only hope.” “You shut up! ” Ito snapped back at Bree. “No, you. ” Bree’s lip curled into a half smile. Bree kept one eye on her project, and the other sharply, however discreetly, directly on Tazeria. Truth be known, she had never seen the rogue more deadly than she was these last three days since the battle at the Black Temple, and harbored a bit of inner concern for her sister in arms. Perhaps for the first time since they had become friends, ‘Bree was wary Taz was losing her grip and poised herself to any action Taz may surprise them with….positive or negative, ‘Bree was on full-scale alert, of course no one knew that, but ‘Bree was quite conscious of the need for her hyper- awareness. “Eat it Taz” , Ito pressed. “I SAID… NO ! …. Please don’t ask me again. Besides that’s Horde food. Where the heck did Snuff get Kodo meat from? ” Taz finally looked Ito in the face with a question in her eye. |
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|
Ald stood behind Tazeria and Ito as they
sat beside the freshly dug gravesites. The little gnome placed his tiny,
warm hand upon her shoulder and gave a minute squeeze in a gesture of
concern and comfort. The smell of the raw, newly exposed dirt filled his pudgy nose and the damp air of the Darkshire gravesites chilled his short frame. Gnomes were no strangers to the cold, actually, they preferred it to the heat, however this was not cold in the air this day- this day, there was a chill, and for Ald, that made all the difference in the world. His slight frame shivered and try as he might, he was unable to shake off the dreadful feeling of something or someone, was watching him. Maybe it was this place full of death and sorrow? Maybe it was the multitude of unanswered questions that flooded his mind? Or, was it a premonition of things to come? So much information to consider these last few days, he didn’t know how to begin to sort it all out. He made a mental note to talk to Snuff privately once they returned to the retreat in the Stormpeak. The last week had been traumatic for all of them, filled with funeral arrangements and ceremonial events for those they had lost at the temple. There were many now gone, naught to return.. holes that would never be, COULD never be filled…. Brave and valiant souls, lost and forever absent from the ranks of the future, these survivors humbly laid their dead to rest…..again. ‘Bree sat across from the trio, staring off into the distance. She took a long pull on the bronze flask, which was covered in dwarvian rune markings (surely filled with some sort of alcoholic beverage) retrieved from a specially sewn pocket of her leather pant leg. To her left stood Roxell and Nightlock both clad in their new leathers for the solemn occasion. Ladowsond and Chango, freshly gemmed and enchanted in their raiding armor, stood like matching bookends, at the foot of this grave, both their heads bowed and looking no one in the eye. The rogues were all here. THE rogues. All of them… even Stillstay, who like Odage did not often leave the shadows to be seen amongst the public. Never in recent history had such a gathering occurred. Some called them murderers and thieves; some called them protectors of the Alliance; a gang of the deadliest most notorious, brilliant masters of the shadow and mist as had ever graced Azeroth. They came to bury their own. As Ald looked at each of his comrades
he took note of their weapons; skillfully crafted silver daggers, heavily
runed- marked maces, sparkling fist enhancements and swords too beautiful to
describe in mere laymen’s terms graced the hips and backs of these fine
soldiers. |
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|
Raw never looked up from the stopwatch he
held in his right hand when Steen entered the large kitchen of the rectory.
The priest was seated in front of the huge, red- bricked oven staring hard at the timer, willing it to chime. He had spent the entire wee hours of the morning baking what he considered to be his best recipe of hand kneaded, home- baked Westfall Oat bread and it was nearly browned on the edges and ready to be removed from the hot oven. The smell was heavenly! Raw drew a long breath through his nostrils and leaned his head back in satisfaction. He couldn’t help uttering a muffled… mmmmm…at the thought of his freshly cooked Stormwind apple butter and hot honey being poured over the soft, cushiony bread still hot from the oven. Without argument, the gourmet breakfast promised to start a beautiful spring day. The birds had begun their morning song outside the tiny circle shaped window above the short hardwood table that was still covered in flour from his earlier preparation efforts. There were linked sausages, grilled to perfection lined on a simple white platter. Large, brown eggs, hard –boiled with a runny yolk, chopped, crisp apples, warm with cinnamon and sugar, the bread would complete the feast! “Morning Raw, you been up all night again?” Steen asked his fellow priest as he poured a cup of strong, dark brewed coffee from the pot on the hot plate and sat at the messy table. One look around the room had already told him everything. “Got up at three am to knead this dough actually, and from the smell of it, worth every minute of lost sleep.” The long-bearded, older priest replied, still never taking his eyes away from the watch. Steen grinned, “ I seriously can’t complain about getting assigned here with you. I bet I’ve gained 25 pounds since the council gave me this transfer. You are by far the best chef in the priesthood my friend. Plus, you make a mean bit-o-wake-me-up coffee.” Steen swallowed the hot brew and nodded in appreciation. “There!” “That’ “It may be sinful but light above! It’s good stuff! Do you have clean hands?’ Raw was chuckling as he set the four loaves of bread on the cooling rack on the counter and covered them with a red checked cloth. Right at that moment, they both stopped and stared at each other. “ “Did you hear that?” Steen, he perked his head to the side and set his coffee down on the table. Puzzled, Raw turned toward the arch shaped door next to the oven. “I thought I heard… something. Is it that mongrel you found in the wood yesterday? Seriously Steen, you should have let that worg die on the path you found it. Worgs are nothing but trouble you know. Besides, I dislike animals.” Raw stared hard at his friend as he took the few steps toward the small wooden door to the yard out back. “Max is fine and he’s outside in the barn. I have been tending to his feet; someone or something nearly burned the pads off his paws.” answered the younger man. “MAX! You…you’ve NAMED him? I don’t care, you ARE NOT keeping him.” Raw was clearly annoyed that Steen would even remotely consider keeping a wild animal on monastery premises. Why, it was unheard of! The priest huffed in disgust. “SHHH…Ther They both held perfectly still. “There! Again! Did you hear it? Sounds
like laughter.” Said Raw to Steen. They both stepped forward.
|
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|
The child was sitting in the bucket Steen
had modified as a booster seat; which had then been attached with a rope to
the bench of the kitchen table. In one chubby fist, Marudas held a
half-eaten plump sausage and in the other a small wooden spoon dripping with
Raw’s applesauce. He was happily banging the end of the spoon on the table
while he punctuated every rhythmic spoon hit with a “LA- LA- LA- LA” in a
singsong, high pitch voice. He turned a sticky face at the two priests, stuck his tongue out and promptly gave them a wet raspberry, splattering the pair with the un-swallowed happiness of the breakfast Raw had so lovingly prepared. Giggling, he stuffed his mouth full again and resumed his morning song. Raw gave Steen a shell-shocked stare. The men were beside themselves and totally out of their circle of comfort. They both looked exhausted and were covered in bits and pieces of breakfast fare, from collar to hem of robe. Steen released a long held breath in the form of a defeated, tired sigh, taking in the vision of the boy in the seat before him and returned Raw’s glare with a helpless shrug. “Hellooooo Startled back to reality Steen and Raw looked at each other and said “The Ladies!” Both simultaneously remembering they were expecting company this fine spring morning. Jumping into action Raw smoothed his long beard, tangling his fingers in his sticky whiskers in the process. Steen wiped his hands down the front of his robes, doing his best to smooth the wrinkles and cleared his throat. “We’ Saks and Sariseva were tethering their beautiful white mares to the hitching post in front of the rectory. Saks lifted a small basket from the back of her mount, carefully sliding it up her arm. ‘We’ “Sari did you bring my roses? They will make a beautiful centerpiece for the receiving table for services this week.” Saks looked up from the basket as she questioned the tall, beautiful woman standing next to her mount. “Yes, I have them here. You have such a green thumb Saks! They are the most beautiful shade of yellow I have ever seen! I haven’t a clue how you get them to shade the way they do. I think you missed your true calling when you entered the priesthood. You should have been a gardener. They are truly fabulous!” Sariseva buried her nose in the large bundle of perfectly budded yellow roses and took a deep breath of the flowery scent, closing her eyes and losing herself in the fragrance. Saks blushed a little, “You’re so sweet Sari! Why thank you, I love roses, what woman doesn’t?” They walked to the front door and were met by the men who were stumbling over each other to let them in, their movements were jerky and they were a mess! “Oh! Thank you! THANK YOU! Light Above!! LOOK Steen and PRAISE as we are saved!! Yes! Yes! Do come in! Please come in, welcome! I have made a breakfast“, Raw was gushing the words and practically pulling Sariseva and Saks into the cottage. Steen was quick to open the door for them, his head nodding a quick agreement. Sari glanced a quizzical look in Saks’s direction and saw that Steen had an equally anxious grin upon his face that mirrored that of Raw. It was then she noticed the disheveled state of their clothing. Steen had a section of hair pointing straight out from behind his ear and Raw’s beard was a tangled mess of wire. “What in the world is going on in here? What have you two been up to?” Saks and Sari stopped cold in the doorway and stared at the men. Saks tapped her foot. Raw and Steen stared at theirs. Marudas was unbound. |
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|
The toddler shot into the room, jumping up
and down on the balls of his feet and pointing his spoon in the direction of
the women; “Nan! Nan! Mimee! Mimee!” he clearly addressed the two newcomers.
He excitedly hopped toward the back door all the while yelling “Puppies,
PUPPIES! PUPPIES!’ Clearly the child wanted them to follow him. Sari and Saks looked at each other with twin astonishment and then looked back to the men. “Whose child is that?” Saks questioned Raw directly; she was still in a state of confusion as to exactly what had been happening here this fine morning. Sari became aware that her jaw had been open and closed her mouth, and turning to Steen, tilted her head and raised an eyebrow in his direction. “He showed up.” Was all that Steen could manage to squeak out. “What do you mean ‘He showed up’? That makes no sense.” Sariseva was as confused as Saks looked. Raw picked up the explanation: “He just showed up… this morning… about forty five minutes ago. I was taking the bread from the oven and we heard him laughing and running in the backyard. There he was. We brought him inside, he was hungry so we fixed him a plate and sat him down to eat. Here, “ Raw handed Sari the letter that had been pinned to the front of the nightshirt of the boy,” This is all we know of him.” Sari opened the note and read the following impeccably penned message aloud: “ This is our child. We find ourselves in a position to be unable to properly care for him. We can think of no better or safer place for him to be. Please understand that it is with great grievance that we entrust him into your care. He is loved and he is very special. We cannot and will not return for him. Know ye this.. He is destined for things that we don’t understand and are better explained by the environment you can offer him. Please let him know that he is always loved. Please keep him safe.” Saks took the letter from Sari’s hands and scanned it with her own eyes. “My word!” was all she could say. |
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