The Recrudescence of a Ruby

[Threnn]

re·cru·desce - verb: to break out afresh, as a sore, a disease, or anything else that has been quiescent.

---


One year ago, not long after Children's Week


"Sweet Light, where did you dig that up?" Threnn took the rough cut stone over to the window and held it up to the sun. The gem flashed a deep blood red, its refracted light spilling over her cold hands, warming them up just a touch in the unnatural chill that had settled into their room these last few weeks. "It'd look good in a dagger's pommel. 's too bad you didn't find it six months ago, though. Seems all anyone wants these days are sapphires."

"Bah," said Bricu, examining the tools of his new trade as he laid them out along his workbench. "It doesn't want ta be a decoration on some noble's stand-in for his todger, anyway."

"Oh?"

"It wants ta be a ring."

"A ring for a queen?" Threnn turned away from the window and set the ruby down in front of him.

Bricu grinned up at her. "A ring for a fop, this one."

"Did it tell you that, too?" She put on a look of mock concern. "How long have the shiny rocks been talking to you, love?"

"Och," he said, hefting the stone in one hand. "It gets lonely out there, ridin' around an' hittin' veins with a pick for hours on end. No company, the buzzbox quiet..." A frown crossed his face, and he lifted the ruby to his ear. "What's that, mate? Me Threnny's the prettiest woman yeh ever saw?" He placed it back on the table and hunkered down close. "Oi. Back off, squire. I'm marryin' her in two months an' I'm not sharin'."

Threnn laughed. "'S likely I'm the only woman it's ever seen, being buried in the ground for so lon-- oh, hell, now I'm starting. That's it. I'm off to the forge." She slung her pack over her shoulder, the ore and tools inside clanking as she moved. "You two have a good talk. And no fisticuffs, yeah?"

Bricu walked her to the door and kissed her goodbye. They both paused, feeling the warm air seep around them from the Rose's hallway. "Dinner tonight, Threnny?"

"'Course. But your new rock-friend's not invited."

"Aye. I'll break it ta him gently."

The landing grew colder as they stood there, until Threnn broke away with a reluctant sigh. "Suppose this ore's not going to smelt itself."

"Maybe if yeh ask it nicely..." Bricu dodged her swat and headed back inside their room, chuckling.

The chill followed Threnn down the stairs.

---

Bricu was giving the ring its final polish when Threnn got home that night. He gave it a satisfied nod and set it down on a length of black velvet before looking up at his bride-to-be. "How was the forge, love?"

"Busy. All of a sudden everyone wants swords made in the Draenei fashion, even if they've never stepped foot beyond the Portal." She set her tools down beside her armor stand and turned to inspect his handiwork. "You finished it?"

"Aye. It got warmer in here after yeh left. I didn't have ta worry about me fingers stiffenin' up with the cold."

"That's because it followed me to the forge. It'll likely come back again now that I'm home." They looked at each other for a moment, waiting. Sure enough, with the door closed and the fire unlit, the cold began returning to the room. Bricu sighed and reached for his matches.

As he went to light the fire, Threnn slid into his chair and picked up the ring. Even cut and faceted, the ruby was the size of her thumb. Bricu had set it in a wide golden band, laden with filigree. It was pretty, she had to admit, but far too ostentatious for her taste. He'd been right - not a ring for a queen, but a ring for a fop. Still, it was good work; Bricu had a fine eye for stone and cut and setting.

Across the room, the logs caught, pushing back the cold and the gathering dusk. The ruby glowed as she slipped the band onto her middle finger; it was several sizes too large for her hand.

The chill had been swirling around her all day like an excited child at the fair. She'd grown used to its presence, even a bit grateful that it kept her cool while she swung her hammer in the heat of the forge.

Now it vanished from her side.

"Strewth!" said Bricu. A freshly-rolled cigarette dangled from his lips. He glared at the match that had gone out in a gust of cold air. "I think me stones just climbed up inta me..." Despite being right beside the cheerily crackling fire, he shivered. "It's colder than bein' thrown naked into a snowbank in Winterspring, all of a sudden."

"Not over here," said Threnn. She glanced down. The ruby winked up at her as a log popped.

This time, the chill she felt didn't come from their ghost.

Slowly, she rose and walked towards Bricu, her hand held out in front of her, watching for... what? What was there to see? Maybe I can't see this thing, but we can both certainly feel it. As she got closer, the cold gusted again, shrieking by her and fleeing for the other side of the room. She thought she heard the faintest wail as it passed.

Heat from the fireplace bloomed around them. Threnn looked up and saw the same suspicion dawning in Bricu's green eyes that must have been in her own.

"Is it odd," he said slowly, "t'think that our visitin' spirit might be frightened o'that ring?"

"Was thinking the same thing myself, love."

"An' if that's the case, is it odd that I want nothin' t'do with it, either?"

"Not odd at all." She held the ring up to the firelight again, feeling slightly sick in the sudden heat. It splashed blood-red light across her face.

Bricu shuddered. "Take it off, Threnny. It's goin' t'Thompson first thing in the mornin'. I'm not havin' it here any longer than need be. Some rich gobshite'll buy it, and good luck t'them."

Threnn let the ring fall into his upturned palm. He took it back to his workbench and wrapped it in the scrap of velvet, then tucked it into one of the jewelry boxes he'd brought to the al'Cair's shop when he'd asked Padraig for his daughter's hand in marriage. When the latch snapped shut, he set it on a chair by the door and draped his cloak over it for good measure.

"Right," he announced to the air, "it's put away. It's safe now."

Threnn joined him, needing the reassurance of another solid body in the room. Bricu wrapped his arms around her and both waited, listening carefully, straining to hear whatever their ghost might have to say.

It didn't speak - it never did - but it curled itself around the paladins slowly, hesitantly, perhaps making sure they wouldn't make a sudden move to reclaim the ring. The cold settled back in, banishing the fire's warmth.

"Oi," said Bricu. His breath tickled Threnn's ear. "Threnny, yeh think it's tryin' t'protect us? Or is it lookin' for comfort?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "Maybe both."

---

A letter addressed to Bricu Bittertongue, c/o The Gilded Rose, Stormwind City

Mister Bittertongue,

Please find enclosed a record of the deposit placed in your account at the Stormwind Bank this morning, reflecting profits from the past fortnight. As you can see from the receipts, I have taken the liberty to pay Master Grimbald twenty-five (25) gold to extend the rent on a display case in his shop for another month.

I would ask that you keep next Tuesday open, as I have booked several appointments for you in the morning. The Widow Callow wishes to see you about a wedding gift for her niece, and Sir Andrew Redwood will be by to speak to you about commissioning signet rings with the Redwood family crest for his eight sons. He did not mention pieces for his four daughters, but perhaps he might be swayed to order pendants or brooches for them, if you see the opportunity.

The large ruby ring you brought in at the beginning of the week has been sold. The buyer, who was purchasing it on behalf of his employer, was well-pleased by it and suggested your name would be passed on to friends and associates for future commissions. I did not recognize him - servants and assistants come and go so often these days - but he did bear the seal of the Merchants' Guild on other letters he carried.

You have had several requests for sapphires in various settings; your current stock is nearly depleted.

My best to yourself and Miss al'Cair. I shall see you Tuesday morning.

Regards,
Bryant Thompson

[Threnn]

Naxxramas, now

Threnn had several uncharitable thoughts running through her head about their employer. This Olaff had them running themselves ragged in Medivh's Tower, collecting old books for the Light only knew what. Now he'd sent them into a floating citadel, high above the Plaguelands, with even less information on what he wanted them to find and Kel'Thuzad himself rumored to be lurking in the wings.

A journal, he'd said, but offered no description, no hint as to which part of the massive fortress they should search.

Threnn thought of some of the books they'd found in Karazhan, most that they'd turned over to the dwarf for payment. Two that she'd kept back for a bit of personal study. Oh, she intended to hand them over with a shipment, but copying them for herself was taking longer than she'd expected - they were badly damaged, the ink so faded in places that it took hours to decipher a page. The headaches that ensued from straining her eyes had made Bricu threaten to turn them over early more than once.

Yet, she'd seen the book he'd withheld, too, a history of the North whose pages drew him in just as powerfully. Half of his writing desk had been taken over by books from the Stormwind Library, now, and he'd already filled a small leatherbound ledger with the notes he'd taken.

When he brought her dreaming glory and a cold cloth for her headaches, muttering about "takin' those bloody things away, an' good bloody riddance," she'd point wordlessly towards his desk and hear his sigh. "Aye," he'd say. "I know."

And here they were, in the bowels of Naxxramas, working their way through what had to be the structure's sewers. Things oozed and dripped from rusted grates, spawning living horrors that groped blindly for the warm bodies that had breached their defenses. Her boots slipped on the slick cobblestones, but she didn't quite dare reach to steady herself by touching the walls. The sickly green light made them all look washed out, corpselike. Threnn shook off the chill that crawled along her spine at the thought and pulled on the Light. It's glow diminished the effect, but she knew she couldn't hold onto it all night. She'd need all her reserves for whatever they might find in this place.

Then there were the voices. Wails reached their ears from deep within - terrified voices, some warning them away, others begging for help, or mercy, or an end to their torment. Cylinn had yelped the first time she'd heard one of the screams. The warrior had hidden behind Threnn, then pressed herself in closer and closer with each succeeding cry, nearly joining Threnn in her armor. The taller girl had to scrunch down to actually get any cover behind the paladin.

Once they got moving, though, some of Cylinn's courage had returned. Maybe "killing stuffs" helped her fight the fear, or at least moved it to the back of the girl's mind. We all have it built into us, she thought. You didn't get very far if you let the terror in; instead you shoved it away somewhere, and only examined it later, when you were safe... if you ever examined it at all.

Looking around, she could see the grim determination on her companions' faces, the ways they ignored the horror of this place: Cylinn's whoops as she rushed into the fray, getting louder and louder as they pressed on, Weta grinning at her as the Draenei swung his mace; the set of Fingold's jaw as he stood beside her, calling on the Light. Denne's blades blurred in the dank air, the sturdy dwarven woman working efficiently as Abominations fell. Macmoran whirling his axe, Homrend calmly leveling his gun, each thundering shot making him nod with satisfaction as it hit its mark. Imble and Verethele stood at the back, concentrating on the spells they sent flying towards putrid flesh - the gnome's and the human's voices blended into a strange kind of song as they chanted words to shape their magics.

In between fights, Jolstraer pushed greying black hair out of his his good eye and glanced around, watching for the next thing that might happen upon them, his mouth a thin line. Bricu leaned on his axe and rolled a new cigarette every time they had a spare moment to catch their breath. He kept up a steady patter as they advanced, encouraging words to keep his troops fighting.

Threnn wondered what she'd see if she could observe herself from a distance, if the creeping panic she was keeping at bay showed in her eyes.

It didn't matter; everyone else fought on. She could, too.

One Abomination was larger than all the others. They'd left a trail of ghouls and rotting things behind them as they pressed on through the tunnel. What lumbered toward them now made them all take a step back. Tirith watched it walk for a few seconds, judging its weaknesses, they way it moved. He began calling out positions, throwing Bricu a grin when he'd finished.

"Right, yeh all heard Teeth," he said, lighting another cigarette. He tossed the match away and blew out a stream of smoke. "Let's do as he says. When the tosser gets close enough, Cyl, go kick it in the shins." He swept his gaze over them all, noting their nods of readiness. Threnn snapped a salute at him - in here, as in Karazhan, she was a soldier, and he her superior officer. Still, he rolled his eyes and grinned at her around his cigarette before returning the salute.

It saw them, and charged. The thing - it called itself Patchwerk - moved quickly for something so huge and lopsided. Threnn tried not to look too closely at it; it was made up of different colors of flesh sewn together, scraps of people and animals, metal and bone and cloth, pieced together by some mad, terrible tailor. It reeked of rot and disease, and squelched when it shifted its weight. Threnn tore her eyes from the impossible thing and concentrated on the living people trying to tear it down.

She didn't want any of them to end up sewn into one of the grotesque creations.

Blades flashed and magic flew, overwhelming the creature that smashed at Cylinn, Melrin and Jolly with two hands and tried to knock Bricu, Weta, Tirith and Denne away with another. Bellesta darted in and swiped at it, an elf in bear skin, hamstringing the thing with massive paws. Threnn took stock of the others nearby - Gryphonheart and Fingold's hands filled with the Light, their eyes constantly roaming over the fighters, seeking out injuries. Shael caught her looking and offered her a tight-lipped grin. The Abomination fell soon enough under their onslaught, collapsing into a cooling pile of decay with a final groan.

Everyone looked around at one another, counting heads, panting with exertion both physical and mental. Threnn didn't want to get any closer to the thing than she had to, but Bricu had planted himself right next to it, looking to see what might be salvaged from the thing. She inched closer, needing, for just a minute, to be near her husband rather than her commanding officer.

He straightened as she drew close and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Yeh all right, Threnny?" His voice was soft with concern.

She felt the echo of the Light pass through her, and blinked up at him. He'd given her the same quick once-over she'd been about to give him, a sweep of healing to suss out any hidden injuries. A short laugh bubbled out of her throat as she placed her hand over his and let the Light flow between them. "Creeped out as all hell, but I'm fine."

Bricu gave her a wry grin and a squeeze on the shoulder, then let go, her sergeant once more. He stepped over to where Cylinn had already pulled useful-looking things off of the Abomination and set them into a pile. As he called out to see who could use them, Threnn sat and unscrewed the cap from her canteen.

As hard as she tried to look at anything but the creature, her eyes kept being drawn back to it. Little things called themselves to her attention - pieces of clothing and flesh mottled together to make up the whole. Here a brass button on a jacket that was still attached to its former owner's collarbone, there - Sweet Light - an eyelid, sewn forever shut into the monster's arm.

And, winking out from a fold of flesh, a ruby ring, still attached to a long-fingered hand.