Post by Sunshine on Jul 7, 2008 7:22:54 GMT -5
Several nights ago:
The orcs had left the bodies lying rotting in the streets. A warning which clearly stated: "Do not come here. We are watching." The festival pennants hung above them on lines, making cheerful orange ripples in the hot breezes wafting from the fires themselves.
Watching how well?
A shallow u-shaped bend appeared at the end of one line, right next from where it anchored on a rooftop, and flashed above the street to the other end as a shadow scurried across the line like a rat. Ilanna's cloak– black, of course– whipped behind her as she hit the far rooftop in a roll that left her lying on her stomach, then lay rumpled atop her as she paused to catch her breath. A gear whirred in her goggles as the left lens zoomed in on the bonfire she'd picked as her target. It flared blue as it reflected in the glass.
As is usual with the brilliant and the criminally insane– these two categories are not exclusive of one another– Ilanna was talking to herself.
It's too far, they'll see you. You're running out of rooftops.
It's night though, that helps. And it's hot, so everybody's bound to be sleepy. And those torches on the walls, they cast very pretty shadows.
Not pretty enough. It's too far on open ground. You'd have to make a dash, which is movement, which is being seen even in the dark. Those guards they have on it would eat you alive.
So I'll need a distraction.
The Roof Stalker crept forward on huge feet, spear poised for the kill. He was troll, so his huge feet were something he was used to, and they were quiet like the rest of him. The night elf had no idea he was coming for her.
It had been the hair that gave her away. He'd seen it in a flash as she moved across his roof, which had helped him see the rest of her. Her clothes were black, her cloak– of course– was black; even her goggles had black lenses. But the hair— bright blinding pink. What kind of person tried to sneak with pink hair?
Ilanna's cloak was still draped across her body. The troll didn't it see as her gloves closed around the leather handles of her daggers.
The spear flashed down and hit purple smoke, which dissipated. It quivered with its blade sunk a foot into the rooftop.
*~Bamf~*
The troll lurched forward, gurgled and spit blood, then dropped to the roof beside his spear. His shadow remained standing for a moment, then vanished as the pink-haired female night elf stepped out of it and bent down to retrieve her knives from the back of the troll's lungs.
Gok and Okk were not the brightest orcs in the bushel. They tried, certainly, and they did look imposing in their muscles and huge height and their fiercely spiked plate armor, but there was something about them...
Maybe it was the way Gok kept dropping his axe on his foot, handle first, then hitting himself with it as he bent down to pick it back up again.
Maybe it was the way Okk was still trying to fit a finger into his nostril, despite his plate gauntlets and the spikes on the knuckles of them. His left eye had already had several close calls.
Gok and Okk had been carefully not chosen for the front lines in Outland. They'd been passed over for the back lines as well, then shuffled out of the reserves, and evaluated for, then quickly reassigned from, the Orgrimmar city watch. Gok and Okk, because there are some people you just can't do anything with, had been tasked with guarding the Festival Fire.
There's a word. It's "buffoon."
A dead troll slid down from a rooftop. It made a thud as it hit the dusty ground.
In another universe, a universe in which Gok and Okk had been blessed with intelligence and even guile, it would have been at this point that Gok told Okk to stay and keep guarding the fire. Gok then would have reached for the horn at his belt, or better yet for the goblin-designed buzzbox he'd been given, and raised the alarm. Only afterward would he have ventured cautiously, axe raised and ready, toward the corpse.
Wrong universe.
Gok and Okk looked at the corpse, then each other, then ran to investigate, their plate armor clanking as they moved. Gok forgot to bring his axe. As they passed, a shadow slipped from another rooftop and moved toward the fire.
Ilanna brushed a drift of pink hair from her face and peered thoughtfully up at the bonfire. It glowed blue, like electricity. Why was it doing that?
Belated shouts of alarm sounded up from behind her. She sighed; would've been nice to have longer to look at it.
Oh well.
Her gloved hand darted forward into the flames with a jar, then withdrew, taking them with it. Sparks flickered through the glass as she screwed the jar's lid on, and briefly illuminated the inside of a pocket as she tucked it away under her cloak.
Gok looked at his empty hands, and turned back to retrieve his axe...
Why do we steal fire? Since the very first notes of time, thieves and heroes have attempted to attain the impossible, reaching into flickering heat and grasping uselessly at that which can't be caught. There are dozens of stories, and why? Never mind that, as is easily demonstrated by mages, alchemists, engineers, and magic jars, fire can be caught. It's the metaphor that counts. Fire burns.
An arrow whirred past Ilanna's ears. She swore and burst into a sprint, stolen sparks trailing back behind her cloak...
So why do we reach for it?
"Dammit!"
A throwing spear caught on her thigh as she rounded a corner. She tripped, rolled, and threw the spear aside as she hit her feet again...
Why do try so hard for the untouchable— for what we know will burn our hands?
Blood splattered on the dirt...
They caught up with her as she stopped to pull an arrow from her shoulder, on the border between the Drag and the Cleft of Shadow. There were six of them now; the original armored guards from the fire, three other guards who had joined in the chase, and another grinning Roof Stalker, light glinting off the ends of his spears. She pressed her back against a wall as they moved in on her; drew her knives, closed her eyes, and waited.
Sounds: The creak of a bowstring, a rustle of metal on leather from the troll, and the clank of an armored finger hitting a nostril.
Ilanna opened her eyes again. One lens of her goggles dimmed in a wink. She giggled, blew a kiss, and, as another arrow ripped toward her face...
*~Bamf~*
...Vanished.
--
"Love? Are you going to be much longer?" Chryste's voice was plaintive, begging; hard to ignore.
"Just a tick more, darlin. Oof! Light but it laces awful tight about the middle. Hang on."
A door opened. Chryste ran her eyes over her lover and grinned. Bright, shimmering orange and gold clung skin-tight to the night elf's slender frame. "You look wonderful..."
"Yeah?" Ilanna adjusted her halo to sit more crookedly. "Worth it, then?"
Chryste nodded and moved closer to Ilanna. Her hands slid against the night elf's bare arms. "Yes. But if I have to put any more bandages on you, you're in trouble..."
"Oh, that doesn't sound good... Gonna punish me, are you?"
"I might have to."
A thump— Chryste pinning her taller lover against a wall.
"...Well damn..."
Chryste smiled as Ilanna put her arms around her. Their lips met...
Why do we steal fire? For the same reason the gods try to keep it for themselves—
Chryste moaned...
Because it's hot.
The orcs had left the bodies lying rotting in the streets. A warning which clearly stated: "Do not come here. We are watching." The festival pennants hung above them on lines, making cheerful orange ripples in the hot breezes wafting from the fires themselves.
Watching how well?
A shallow u-shaped bend appeared at the end of one line, right next from where it anchored on a rooftop, and flashed above the street to the other end as a shadow scurried across the line like a rat. Ilanna's cloak– black, of course– whipped behind her as she hit the far rooftop in a roll that left her lying on her stomach, then lay rumpled atop her as she paused to catch her breath. A gear whirred in her goggles as the left lens zoomed in on the bonfire she'd picked as her target. It flared blue as it reflected in the glass.
As is usual with the brilliant and the criminally insane– these two categories are not exclusive of one another– Ilanna was talking to herself.
It's too far, they'll see you. You're running out of rooftops.
It's night though, that helps. And it's hot, so everybody's bound to be sleepy. And those torches on the walls, they cast very pretty shadows.
Not pretty enough. It's too far on open ground. You'd have to make a dash, which is movement, which is being seen even in the dark. Those guards they have on it would eat you alive.
So I'll need a distraction.
The Roof Stalker crept forward on huge feet, spear poised for the kill. He was troll, so his huge feet were something he was used to, and they were quiet like the rest of him. The night elf had no idea he was coming for her.
It had been the hair that gave her away. He'd seen it in a flash as she moved across his roof, which had helped him see the rest of her. Her clothes were black, her cloak– of course– was black; even her goggles had black lenses. But the hair— bright blinding pink. What kind of person tried to sneak with pink hair?
Ilanna's cloak was still draped across her body. The troll didn't it see as her gloves closed around the leather handles of her daggers.
The spear flashed down and hit purple smoke, which dissipated. It quivered with its blade sunk a foot into the rooftop.
*~Bamf~*
The troll lurched forward, gurgled and spit blood, then dropped to the roof beside his spear. His shadow remained standing for a moment, then vanished as the pink-haired female night elf stepped out of it and bent down to retrieve her knives from the back of the troll's lungs.
Gok and Okk were not the brightest orcs in the bushel. They tried, certainly, and they did look imposing in their muscles and huge height and their fiercely spiked plate armor, but there was something about them...
Maybe it was the way Gok kept dropping his axe on his foot, handle first, then hitting himself with it as he bent down to pick it back up again.
Maybe it was the way Okk was still trying to fit a finger into his nostril, despite his plate gauntlets and the spikes on the knuckles of them. His left eye had already had several close calls.
Gok and Okk had been carefully not chosen for the front lines in Outland. They'd been passed over for the back lines as well, then shuffled out of the reserves, and evaluated for, then quickly reassigned from, the Orgrimmar city watch. Gok and Okk, because there are some people you just can't do anything with, had been tasked with guarding the Festival Fire.
There's a word. It's "buffoon."
A dead troll slid down from a rooftop. It made a thud as it hit the dusty ground.
In another universe, a universe in which Gok and Okk had been blessed with intelligence and even guile, it would have been at this point that Gok told Okk to stay and keep guarding the fire. Gok then would have reached for the horn at his belt, or better yet for the goblin-designed buzzbox he'd been given, and raised the alarm. Only afterward would he have ventured cautiously, axe raised and ready, toward the corpse.
Wrong universe.
Gok and Okk looked at the corpse, then each other, then ran to investigate, their plate armor clanking as they moved. Gok forgot to bring his axe. As they passed, a shadow slipped from another rooftop and moved toward the fire.
Ilanna brushed a drift of pink hair from her face and peered thoughtfully up at the bonfire. It glowed blue, like electricity. Why was it doing that?
Belated shouts of alarm sounded up from behind her. She sighed; would've been nice to have longer to look at it.
Oh well.
Her gloved hand darted forward into the flames with a jar, then withdrew, taking them with it. Sparks flickered through the glass as she screwed the jar's lid on, and briefly illuminated the inside of a pocket as she tucked it away under her cloak.
Gok looked at his empty hands, and turned back to retrieve his axe...
Why do we steal fire? Since the very first notes of time, thieves and heroes have attempted to attain the impossible, reaching into flickering heat and grasping uselessly at that which can't be caught. There are dozens of stories, and why? Never mind that, as is easily demonstrated by mages, alchemists, engineers, and magic jars, fire can be caught. It's the metaphor that counts. Fire burns.
An arrow whirred past Ilanna's ears. She swore and burst into a sprint, stolen sparks trailing back behind her cloak...
So why do we reach for it?
"Dammit!"
A throwing spear caught on her thigh as she rounded a corner. She tripped, rolled, and threw the spear aside as she hit her feet again...
Why do try so hard for the untouchable— for what we know will burn our hands?
Blood splattered on the dirt...
They caught up with her as she stopped to pull an arrow from her shoulder, on the border between the Drag and the Cleft of Shadow. There were six of them now; the original armored guards from the fire, three other guards who had joined in the chase, and another grinning Roof Stalker, light glinting off the ends of his spears. She pressed her back against a wall as they moved in on her; drew her knives, closed her eyes, and waited.
Sounds: The creak of a bowstring, a rustle of metal on leather from the troll, and the clank of an armored finger hitting a nostril.
Ilanna opened her eyes again. One lens of her goggles dimmed in a wink. She giggled, blew a kiss, and, as another arrow ripped toward her face...
*~Bamf~*
...Vanished.
--
"Love? Are you going to be much longer?" Chryste's voice was plaintive, begging; hard to ignore.
"Just a tick more, darlin. Oof! Light but it laces awful tight about the middle. Hang on."
A door opened. Chryste ran her eyes over her lover and grinned. Bright, shimmering orange and gold clung skin-tight to the night elf's slender frame. "You look wonderful..."
"Yeah?" Ilanna adjusted her halo to sit more crookedly. "Worth it, then?"
Chryste nodded and moved closer to Ilanna. Her hands slid against the night elf's bare arms. "Yes. But if I have to put any more bandages on you, you're in trouble..."
"Oh, that doesn't sound good... Gonna punish me, are you?"
"I might have to."
A thump— Chryste pinning her taller lover against a wall.
"...Well damn..."
Chryste smiled as Ilanna put her arms around her. Their lips met...
Why do we steal fire? For the same reason the gods try to keep it for themselves—
Chryste moaned...
Because it's hot.