Post by Phileas on Sept 25, 2008 11:53:55 GMT -5
((This is my contribution to the "creepy stuff with Aumery Fane" project. My thanks for the permissions to those who gave them so this tale could happen...and my abject apologies to a certain Boss rogue for mangling his accent. ;D ))
A day or so ago, late September
The sun had set over the walls of Stormwind, bastion of the Alliance. The shadows rose, the shopkeepers closed their shops, and music entreated the public to enter the taverns, have some supper and forget their worries, at least until tomorrow. On the whole, I suppose it’s really not too much different from Silvermoon or Orgrimmar…though the orcs seem to keep far fewer taverns than these humans do. Destril Redwing pulled the hood of his cloak closer around his face as he made his way through the dimly-lit streets of the Trade District. He knew very well that he was someplace he was not supposed to be…but the information he was looking for was important enough to take the risk. At least, I hope it is. Then’liath is going to kill me when she finds out. Hell, Rashona will probably sit on me when she finds out I snuck off to Stormwind.
The blood elf priest took a quick glance around to help orient himself. Davien had drilled the general layout of the city into his head, so far as she knew it, and had given him a few tips on how to avoid notice there. Two more blocks, then right through the archway into Old Town. Destril glanced through the windows of the tailor’s shop he passed. So this is where The Finest Weave is. Pity they’re already closed - I would have loved to see the proprietor’s wares. Sadly, I rather suspect said proprietor would try and kill me as soon as look at me, just like the rest of the city. Ah well.
As the priest crossed through the archway into Old Town, the streetlamps became much fewer and farther between, and the shadows grew deeper. He flagged down a young apprentice to get directions to the home he sought; the boy didn’t give his questioner a second glance as he ran off towards his own home, where dinner was waiting. Of course, the silver I gave him probably didn’t hurt either, the priest chuckled to himself. Three more streets and a right-hand turn, two more down to the armorer on the corner, then a left turn. This city is like a bloody maze…I’d best keep tight to my directions, or I’ll be hopelessly lost before I know it.
So…the Pig and Whistle is just down there, and over there is Cutthroat Alley. Not exactly the neighborhood in which I would have expected to find Miss al’Cair living, but I suppose you take a room where the rent suits you. A quick glance around revealed a small lane, with the usual assortment of down-on-their-luck or too-drunk-to-go-home sorts drowsing in doorways and on stoops. Truly, poverty and hard times are universal. We have unfortunates in Silvermoon just the same as they have them here. Which is kind of depressing, really. Destril counted doors until he found the one he wanted, then looked around for a loose cobble or two to bounce off the shuttered, darkened window.
A whisper of fabric was all the warning the priest had. Before he could react, he found himself precariously pinned to the wall by the forearm of a tall man. The blood elf saw dim light flicker off the edge of the blade the man held in his other hand. Oh, for Light’s sake…don’t tell me I’ve come all the way to Stormwind, only to get mugged by a drunk in an alley…
“Well now…what have we here? Someone looking for a songbird, perhaps? Did you forget your fine plate armor this time, or did you think you wouldn’t need it?”
…but he doesn’t sound drunk. And I don’t wear plate. And I’m not entirely certain he’s really a mugger anymore. Could be something much worse. Destril’s eyes ticked back and forth, taking in details now that his eyes had adjusted to the dim light. He realized that the man held him pinned with a forearm because his hand was a twisted, useless wreck. He also realized that this particular case of mistaken identity was likely not going to last very long, and that things could get extremely unpleasant when his attacker figured out what Destril actually was. I didn’t want to start anything...but at this rate, I think I may have to. Blast. So much for a quiet, low-key in and out.
As the tall, dark man leaned in towards him, increasing the pressure on his windpipe, Destril glanced around, looking for something to defend himself with. His attacker had chosen a particularly advantageous position, for there wasn’t even a scrap of broomstick within his victim’s reach. “I’m going to enjoy this, paladin. Give Uther Lightbringer my warmest personal regards when you see him.”
Destril saw the blade in the man’s left hand swing back, then forward. The blood elf sucked in what little bit of air he could, grabbed the man by his ruined right hand, and croaked out a single Thalassian word. “Ra’nor.”
Ra’nor…pain. Doesn’t feel like the spell hit home properly…I just hope it hit home enough to get the bloody tosser off me.
The man howled in agony and pulled away from the priest as though he had been burned, swinging his weapon wildly. Destril ducked to the right and felt a sharp sting of pain on his cheek as the blade and the man’s knuckles grazed him. He began to back slowly away from his attacker, looking desperately for a way to get out of the situation without causing too much attention.
The man swung at his head again, this time catching the edge of his hood and pulling it off his ears. When he realized what exactly he was facing, the man stopped for a heartbeat in surprise. “A Blood Elf? The whore is bedding a …oh, this will be rich indeed. I think I’ll take those ears of yours as proof.”
The dark man lunged at Destril again, narrowly grazing his right ear and leaving a nick that began to bleed wildly. The priest kept backing away, trying not to be cut and to disentangle himself from the situation. His days of lost sleep finally caught up to him as the man feinted high, then slashed across his belly. A bright bloom of pain and blood caused him to gasp and immediately slap a hand across the wound to staunch it.
Suddenly, Destril realized he was getting very tired of this farce. He was not going to be able to outrun this man…he could move openly here while the blood elf could not. He reached one more time for the shadows, sensing more than seeing the knife winging towards his throat.
Aumery Fane was beginning to tire of the farce as well. All the combat ability this bastard showed when he was armed and armored, and now he simply tries to run? With a snarl, he slashed out, intending to cut the frail-looking elf’s throat and be done with it, when without warning, he found himself running like a scalded dog. A noise echoed in his ears and in his mind; a noise like a scream, but not. It brought back to his mind the moment when his hand began to melt, when the pain hit him, and all he could do was run.
He dimly thought he recognized the houses of Cutthroat Alley, and a cold knot of anger bloomed in his gut as he heard several chuckles and realized who might be watching him.
Destril let the shadow loose in a howling roar that released all his fear, anger and sleepless frustration loose on his attacker. As the man ran in terror, Destril heard the clop of plate-clad feet on the cobbles, not too far away. Now I’ve attracted attention. I’ve got to get away from here, and fast. But if I move my right hand, I may start bleeding badly. I’d best just move and find a spot to mend myself up. Blindly, the blood elf chose an alley and ran down it, with no idea where exactly he was going.
Annalea al’Cair froze when she heard the scream. She wasn’t sure what had caused that noise…but she didn’t like it. Quietly, she reached into her pocket, pulled out the vial of dust she had created, and loosened the cap. It’s just walking home to feed the cat. I can handle this. She squared her shoulders and proceeded down the alley that followed the side of the Pig and Whistle. As she prepared to step out of the alley and turn left towards the apartment she shared with Cylinn, a shadowy shape filled her vision. She collided with the shape with a solid thump that sent her reeling, the shadowy person crashing to the cobbles…and her vial somersaulting through the air, to land unopened on his – yes, his, though so slender as to be barely more than a boy – chest.
Anna drew the shadows around herself and got ready to fight if need be. Her counterpart, apparently, wasn’t interested in combat. She heard him moan and cough, followed by a brief string of what she would have guessed was profanity in a foreign language – a very flowing, musical, not-quite-night-elfish foreign language. It was when the shape got to balamor shanal that Anna realized that the language was Thalassian, then saw the red hair and recognized the voice.
“Father Destril Redwing…what in the world are you doing in Stormwind?”
He’d run into something or someone, Destril knew that. He’d seen a flash of golden hair, and then was crashing to the pavement. He landed roughly, knocking his head and causing a fresh stab of pain just above his belt. He groaned roughly and coughed, trying to get his wind back from where he’d been choked. When he could almost breathe again, Destril heard someone swearing in Thalassian…and realized that the someone was him, using a string of words he’d learned when he was young, and which he’d earned the licking of a lifetime for using at that age. When he heard the voice, he also realized that he had quite literally run into the very person he was looking for. “I was looking for you, actually,” he managed between coughs. “I need some information.”
What sort of information do I have that a blood elf needs? Information important enough for him to risk being killed to get, it would seem. Anna saw Destril draw his knees up as he began to sit up, and saw her vial begin to slide down his shirt. Realizing that the priest was about to tip it over, she snapped, “Don’t move!”
As Destril froze and flinched away from her, Anna reached down and retrieved her vial, tightening the stopper back down. “Sorry about snapping…but if you had spilled this, you would not have liked it.” The blood elf hauled himself awkwardly to his feet as the human woman tried to figure out what to do next.
He wants to talk. Where does one have a civilized chat with a person who is ‘kill on sight’ in your town? “Come on,” Anna said as she headed back down the alley. “We’ll go to my apartment to talk…and hope that Cy’s not home.”
At the prospect of returning to the street, Destril frowned. “I don’t think that would be safe,” he said. “I believe I attracted some attention getting here, and I’d really prefer not to tangle with Stormwind’s finest. And I’m willing to wager they’re out there by now.” Not to mention that Master Bad Hand may still be out there, spoiling for a rematch.
Anna sighed as she saw a pair of the city guards pass the entrance to the alley they stood in. They both took a quick glance and continued on their patrol. “Point taken.” Well, I suppose I really have no choice, then. I should have known when we met this blood elf that he wasn’t going to make things easy. Tarq is going to kill me. “Follow me…and put on your best manners for The Boss.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the Pig and Whistle. Now play nice, Father.”
As Anna shut the door after ushering Destril into the taproom of the Pig and Whistle, she turned around to find her employer staring at her from behind the bar, one eyebrow racing for his hairline as he stared at her guest. “What’s this, Anna?”
“He’s an acquaintance of mine…looking for information, not looking for trouble, by his word.”
Tarquin’s eyes flicked from the priestess to the blood elf, and a smirk flickered across his face for a moment or two. “Yon slick ear maun not ha’ been lookin’ fer trouble…sure looks like ‘e found trouble when ‘e got here.”
Anna frowned at her boss’ pronouncement, then turned to look at Destril and realized that what she had thought was dirt on the elf’s shirt and face was actually blood. “It does indeed. Can I borrow the back room for a few?”
Curtly, the rogue nodded. “Aye. Leave th’ door cracked. Have yer palaver – and then, put that long-eared alleycat back out in th’ street where he belongs.” He watched the girl and elf disappear into the back room and muttered something to himself as he retrieved another tankard of ale.
Anna took a seat and waited for Destril to gingerly lower himself into the other chair. “Tarq’s right…you do look like you found trouble. Now I understand what you were saying about having attracted attention. Who’d you get in a fight with?”
Destril shrugged. “I have no idea. I had made my way to where I was told you lived and was about to pick up a few cobbles to try and attract your attention when I got grabbed by what I thought was a mugger.”
“Thought? From the looks of you, I’d say it was.” She gestured at her counterpart’s wounds. “Do you mind? You don’t look like you’ve got the energy to repair those…and you’re about to start bleeding on Tarq’s clean floor.”
“Be my guest. Light forbid I bleed on Tarq’s floor.”
As Anna gingerly parted the rent in Destril’s shirt, she noticed that the blood elf seemed thinner than when she’d met him, and frailer. “It looks like you need to get yourself around the outside of a few good meals, Father. You’re not sick, are you?”
“Not exactly. Don’t worry…it’s not catching, I don’t think.” The blood elf sucked in his breath as the felt the tickling sensation of the Light dancing across his ribs and up his chest to the wound in his cheek. Anna glanced up from her ministrations, one corner of her mouth quirking up.
“I have that same reaction to this,” she chuckled. “Not that there’s anything to be done about the tickling. Keep your mind off it…tell me why you don’t think you tangled with a mugger.”
“For one thing, this fellow thought I was a paladin, for some reason. Said he was going to enjoy “this” and told me to give my regards to Uther Lightbringer when I saw him. Given that, I would assume that the “this” would be killing me.”
“So why aren’t you dead?”
Destril wiped a bloody hand on his cloak and shrugged. “He couldn’t hang on to me. He had a knife in his left hand and was using his right arm to pin me to the wall, because he didn’t have much right hand to speak of. It was a withered, melted wreck. I grabbed that wreck and threw some pain at it. It got him off me, but he was not interested in leaving off. I didn’t have much choice...I called the Shadow and scared him off. Last I saw before I bolted, he was off down an alley.”
Anna frowned and sat back. That description sounds disturbingly familiar. “Destril…your attacker. Can you describe him?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. Tall fellow…taller than me by a few inches. Dark-haired, lean and wiry. He had one of those voices that can make something pleasant sound like there’s something poisonous hidden beneath it, like a serpent beneath flowers. He said something about a songbird and asked where my plate armor was this time.”
Light…that’s Aumery Fane. I think Destril may have just saved my life. If he hadn’t blundered on to him first, Fane would have been waiting when I went to feed Harvey. It sounds like he mistook a Sin’dorei priest for Fin in the bad light. Grand…now he’s after both of us.
“Miss al’Cair? Are you all right?”
“Yes…I’m fine. I just think I know who attacked you. I’ll deal with it later. Now…what information did you need that brought you all the way to Stormwind?”
“Those of you that we met at the World’s End...who helped us with Pill…have any of you been suffering any…ill effects…from the encounter with that gem-thing?”
“Let’s see…Fin had shadowburns on his hands for about a week, but some salve cleared those up nicely.”
Destril smiled to himself as he saw the blush flicker across Anna’s cheeks at the mention of the paladin. I wonder if I make Then’liath light up like that when she thinks about me. The human frowned at the knowing grin on the blood elf’s face.
“What?”
“Nothing. Though I do suggest that you watch yourself mentioning your paladin friend…he makes you glow like a Winter Veil tree.” As Anna scowled and her blush deepened, Destril added, “Was there anything else in terms of side effects?”
“Bricu got into another round of his nightmares…they seemed worse this time. He couldn’t sleep…said he kept hearing echoes from the gem.” Anna glanced up to find Destril watching her closely, green eyes hawk-bright. “I take it members of your group have had problems?”
“Me. Nightmares…not sleeping well. In my dreams, I would hear voices. Davien says one of them was likely the Wordweaver. The other one…the other one matches the echoes in the throne room of Old Lordareon.”
Anna looked at the blood elf, remembered his thinness and saw the shadows under his eyes and gentled her voice. “You mean the voice of Arthas.” At Destril’s nod, she said, “That squares in quite a few ways with what Bricu said about his echoes. He wound up seeing visions…quite ill, actually.”
“And how is he now?”
“Now? He’s fine. After our trip that put him right, he’s been sleeping in a lot…but he’s fine.”
“What did you do? To get Arthas out of his head I mean.” Destril’s eyes glowed fever-bright as he leaned forward.
“We took him to the Temple of Elune in Darnassus…with the assistance of the druids of the Cenarion Circle, we were able to use the waters to cleanse him. One of the druids said he had been touched by Nightmare.”
The blood elf drooped in disappointment. “Ah. I don’t think that the going to Darnassus route will work for me…that whole Horde thing rather puts a crimp in that.”
“Not to mention, Destril, that the druid – Arabis – said that Nightmare is attracted to Shadow.”
“Oh, lovely. I guess we’ll have to find another way, then. Davien warding my bed keeps the voices out of my dreams…at least for now. But I can’t in fairness ask her to do that forever. Our Loremistress has better things to do than babysit one blood elf priest’s nightmares.”
“I hope you find an answer that works as well for you. Is that all you wanted to know about?”
Destril nodded. “It is. Thank you. I owe you one.”
Anna smiled thinly. “Call it even, blood elf. If anything else develops, I’ll send you a note via goblin mail and let you know. Though we really should start meeting in Shattrath…this whole sneaking into each other’s capital city thing is dangerous.”
“I agree with you on that one. Seeing how the other half lives is educational…but I don’t think I’m overly inclined to try it again. I’ll use my hearthstone to get out…no need to throw the long-eared alleycat back out in the street.”
The blonde priestess chuckled. “He really shouldn’t have called you that.”
The blood elf grinned wickedly at Anna as the green glow of a hearthstone surrounded his hands. “Oh, trust me…compared to what some of the trolls I know call me, ‘long-eared alleycat’ is a compliment. My best to you and yours, Annalea al’Cair.” With a wave, Destril disappeared, leaving the other priest to ponder the information she had gathered from the exchange. With a sigh, Anna went to the door of the back room and leaned out.
“Boss? We need to talk. Something’s come up.”
A day or so ago, late September
The sun had set over the walls of Stormwind, bastion of the Alliance. The shadows rose, the shopkeepers closed their shops, and music entreated the public to enter the taverns, have some supper and forget their worries, at least until tomorrow. On the whole, I suppose it’s really not too much different from Silvermoon or Orgrimmar…though the orcs seem to keep far fewer taverns than these humans do. Destril Redwing pulled the hood of his cloak closer around his face as he made his way through the dimly-lit streets of the Trade District. He knew very well that he was someplace he was not supposed to be…but the information he was looking for was important enough to take the risk. At least, I hope it is. Then’liath is going to kill me when she finds out. Hell, Rashona will probably sit on me when she finds out I snuck off to Stormwind.
The blood elf priest took a quick glance around to help orient himself. Davien had drilled the general layout of the city into his head, so far as she knew it, and had given him a few tips on how to avoid notice there. Two more blocks, then right through the archway into Old Town. Destril glanced through the windows of the tailor’s shop he passed. So this is where The Finest Weave is. Pity they’re already closed - I would have loved to see the proprietor’s wares. Sadly, I rather suspect said proprietor would try and kill me as soon as look at me, just like the rest of the city. Ah well.
As the priest crossed through the archway into Old Town, the streetlamps became much fewer and farther between, and the shadows grew deeper. He flagged down a young apprentice to get directions to the home he sought; the boy didn’t give his questioner a second glance as he ran off towards his own home, where dinner was waiting. Of course, the silver I gave him probably didn’t hurt either, the priest chuckled to himself. Three more streets and a right-hand turn, two more down to the armorer on the corner, then a left turn. This city is like a bloody maze…I’d best keep tight to my directions, or I’ll be hopelessly lost before I know it.
So…the Pig and Whistle is just down there, and over there is Cutthroat Alley. Not exactly the neighborhood in which I would have expected to find Miss al’Cair living, but I suppose you take a room where the rent suits you. A quick glance around revealed a small lane, with the usual assortment of down-on-their-luck or too-drunk-to-go-home sorts drowsing in doorways and on stoops. Truly, poverty and hard times are universal. We have unfortunates in Silvermoon just the same as they have them here. Which is kind of depressing, really. Destril counted doors until he found the one he wanted, then looked around for a loose cobble or two to bounce off the shuttered, darkened window.
A whisper of fabric was all the warning the priest had. Before he could react, he found himself precariously pinned to the wall by the forearm of a tall man. The blood elf saw dim light flicker off the edge of the blade the man held in his other hand. Oh, for Light’s sake…don’t tell me I’ve come all the way to Stormwind, only to get mugged by a drunk in an alley…
“Well now…what have we here? Someone looking for a songbird, perhaps? Did you forget your fine plate armor this time, or did you think you wouldn’t need it?”
…but he doesn’t sound drunk. And I don’t wear plate. And I’m not entirely certain he’s really a mugger anymore. Could be something much worse. Destril’s eyes ticked back and forth, taking in details now that his eyes had adjusted to the dim light. He realized that the man held him pinned with a forearm because his hand was a twisted, useless wreck. He also realized that this particular case of mistaken identity was likely not going to last very long, and that things could get extremely unpleasant when his attacker figured out what Destril actually was. I didn’t want to start anything...but at this rate, I think I may have to. Blast. So much for a quiet, low-key in and out.
As the tall, dark man leaned in towards him, increasing the pressure on his windpipe, Destril glanced around, looking for something to defend himself with. His attacker had chosen a particularly advantageous position, for there wasn’t even a scrap of broomstick within his victim’s reach. “I’m going to enjoy this, paladin. Give Uther Lightbringer my warmest personal regards when you see him.”
Destril saw the blade in the man’s left hand swing back, then forward. The blood elf sucked in what little bit of air he could, grabbed the man by his ruined right hand, and croaked out a single Thalassian word. “Ra’nor.”
Ra’nor…pain. Doesn’t feel like the spell hit home properly…I just hope it hit home enough to get the bloody tosser off me.
The man howled in agony and pulled away from the priest as though he had been burned, swinging his weapon wildly. Destril ducked to the right and felt a sharp sting of pain on his cheek as the blade and the man’s knuckles grazed him. He began to back slowly away from his attacker, looking desperately for a way to get out of the situation without causing too much attention.
The man swung at his head again, this time catching the edge of his hood and pulling it off his ears. When he realized what exactly he was facing, the man stopped for a heartbeat in surprise. “A Blood Elf? The whore is bedding a …oh, this will be rich indeed. I think I’ll take those ears of yours as proof.”
The dark man lunged at Destril again, narrowly grazing his right ear and leaving a nick that began to bleed wildly. The priest kept backing away, trying not to be cut and to disentangle himself from the situation. His days of lost sleep finally caught up to him as the man feinted high, then slashed across his belly. A bright bloom of pain and blood caused him to gasp and immediately slap a hand across the wound to staunch it.
Suddenly, Destril realized he was getting very tired of this farce. He was not going to be able to outrun this man…he could move openly here while the blood elf could not. He reached one more time for the shadows, sensing more than seeing the knife winging towards his throat.
Aumery Fane was beginning to tire of the farce as well. All the combat ability this bastard showed when he was armed and armored, and now he simply tries to run? With a snarl, he slashed out, intending to cut the frail-looking elf’s throat and be done with it, when without warning, he found himself running like a scalded dog. A noise echoed in his ears and in his mind; a noise like a scream, but not. It brought back to his mind the moment when his hand began to melt, when the pain hit him, and all he could do was run.
He dimly thought he recognized the houses of Cutthroat Alley, and a cold knot of anger bloomed in his gut as he heard several chuckles and realized who might be watching him.
Destril let the shadow loose in a howling roar that released all his fear, anger and sleepless frustration loose on his attacker. As the man ran in terror, Destril heard the clop of plate-clad feet on the cobbles, not too far away. Now I’ve attracted attention. I’ve got to get away from here, and fast. But if I move my right hand, I may start bleeding badly. I’d best just move and find a spot to mend myself up. Blindly, the blood elf chose an alley and ran down it, with no idea where exactly he was going.
Annalea al’Cair froze when she heard the scream. She wasn’t sure what had caused that noise…but she didn’t like it. Quietly, she reached into her pocket, pulled out the vial of dust she had created, and loosened the cap. It’s just walking home to feed the cat. I can handle this. She squared her shoulders and proceeded down the alley that followed the side of the Pig and Whistle. As she prepared to step out of the alley and turn left towards the apartment she shared with Cylinn, a shadowy shape filled her vision. She collided with the shape with a solid thump that sent her reeling, the shadowy person crashing to the cobbles…and her vial somersaulting through the air, to land unopened on his – yes, his, though so slender as to be barely more than a boy – chest.
Anna drew the shadows around herself and got ready to fight if need be. Her counterpart, apparently, wasn’t interested in combat. She heard him moan and cough, followed by a brief string of what she would have guessed was profanity in a foreign language – a very flowing, musical, not-quite-night-elfish foreign language. It was when the shape got to balamor shanal that Anna realized that the language was Thalassian, then saw the red hair and recognized the voice.
“Father Destril Redwing…what in the world are you doing in Stormwind?”
He’d run into something or someone, Destril knew that. He’d seen a flash of golden hair, and then was crashing to the pavement. He landed roughly, knocking his head and causing a fresh stab of pain just above his belt. He groaned roughly and coughed, trying to get his wind back from where he’d been choked. When he could almost breathe again, Destril heard someone swearing in Thalassian…and realized that the someone was him, using a string of words he’d learned when he was young, and which he’d earned the licking of a lifetime for using at that age. When he heard the voice, he also realized that he had quite literally run into the very person he was looking for. “I was looking for you, actually,” he managed between coughs. “I need some information.”
What sort of information do I have that a blood elf needs? Information important enough for him to risk being killed to get, it would seem. Anna saw Destril draw his knees up as he began to sit up, and saw her vial begin to slide down his shirt. Realizing that the priest was about to tip it over, she snapped, “Don’t move!”
As Destril froze and flinched away from her, Anna reached down and retrieved her vial, tightening the stopper back down. “Sorry about snapping…but if you had spilled this, you would not have liked it.” The blood elf hauled himself awkwardly to his feet as the human woman tried to figure out what to do next.
He wants to talk. Where does one have a civilized chat with a person who is ‘kill on sight’ in your town? “Come on,” Anna said as she headed back down the alley. “We’ll go to my apartment to talk…and hope that Cy’s not home.”
At the prospect of returning to the street, Destril frowned. “I don’t think that would be safe,” he said. “I believe I attracted some attention getting here, and I’d really prefer not to tangle with Stormwind’s finest. And I’m willing to wager they’re out there by now.” Not to mention that Master Bad Hand may still be out there, spoiling for a rematch.
Anna sighed as she saw a pair of the city guards pass the entrance to the alley they stood in. They both took a quick glance and continued on their patrol. “Point taken.” Well, I suppose I really have no choice, then. I should have known when we met this blood elf that he wasn’t going to make things easy. Tarq is going to kill me. “Follow me…and put on your best manners for The Boss.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the Pig and Whistle. Now play nice, Father.”
As Anna shut the door after ushering Destril into the taproom of the Pig and Whistle, she turned around to find her employer staring at her from behind the bar, one eyebrow racing for his hairline as he stared at her guest. “What’s this, Anna?”
“He’s an acquaintance of mine…looking for information, not looking for trouble, by his word.”
Tarquin’s eyes flicked from the priestess to the blood elf, and a smirk flickered across his face for a moment or two. “Yon slick ear maun not ha’ been lookin’ fer trouble…sure looks like ‘e found trouble when ‘e got here.”
Anna frowned at her boss’ pronouncement, then turned to look at Destril and realized that what she had thought was dirt on the elf’s shirt and face was actually blood. “It does indeed. Can I borrow the back room for a few?”
Curtly, the rogue nodded. “Aye. Leave th’ door cracked. Have yer palaver – and then, put that long-eared alleycat back out in th’ street where he belongs.” He watched the girl and elf disappear into the back room and muttered something to himself as he retrieved another tankard of ale.
Anna took a seat and waited for Destril to gingerly lower himself into the other chair. “Tarq’s right…you do look like you found trouble. Now I understand what you were saying about having attracted attention. Who’d you get in a fight with?”
Destril shrugged. “I have no idea. I had made my way to where I was told you lived and was about to pick up a few cobbles to try and attract your attention when I got grabbed by what I thought was a mugger.”
“Thought? From the looks of you, I’d say it was.” She gestured at her counterpart’s wounds. “Do you mind? You don’t look like you’ve got the energy to repair those…and you’re about to start bleeding on Tarq’s clean floor.”
“Be my guest. Light forbid I bleed on Tarq’s floor.”
As Anna gingerly parted the rent in Destril’s shirt, she noticed that the blood elf seemed thinner than when she’d met him, and frailer. “It looks like you need to get yourself around the outside of a few good meals, Father. You’re not sick, are you?”
“Not exactly. Don’t worry…it’s not catching, I don’t think.” The blood elf sucked in his breath as the felt the tickling sensation of the Light dancing across his ribs and up his chest to the wound in his cheek. Anna glanced up from her ministrations, one corner of her mouth quirking up.
“I have that same reaction to this,” she chuckled. “Not that there’s anything to be done about the tickling. Keep your mind off it…tell me why you don’t think you tangled with a mugger.”
“For one thing, this fellow thought I was a paladin, for some reason. Said he was going to enjoy “this” and told me to give my regards to Uther Lightbringer when I saw him. Given that, I would assume that the “this” would be killing me.”
“So why aren’t you dead?”
Destril wiped a bloody hand on his cloak and shrugged. “He couldn’t hang on to me. He had a knife in his left hand and was using his right arm to pin me to the wall, because he didn’t have much right hand to speak of. It was a withered, melted wreck. I grabbed that wreck and threw some pain at it. It got him off me, but he was not interested in leaving off. I didn’t have much choice...I called the Shadow and scared him off. Last I saw before I bolted, he was off down an alley.”
Anna frowned and sat back. That description sounds disturbingly familiar. “Destril…your attacker. Can you describe him?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. Tall fellow…taller than me by a few inches. Dark-haired, lean and wiry. He had one of those voices that can make something pleasant sound like there’s something poisonous hidden beneath it, like a serpent beneath flowers. He said something about a songbird and asked where my plate armor was this time.”
Light…that’s Aumery Fane. I think Destril may have just saved my life. If he hadn’t blundered on to him first, Fane would have been waiting when I went to feed Harvey. It sounds like he mistook a Sin’dorei priest for Fin in the bad light. Grand…now he’s after both of us.
“Miss al’Cair? Are you all right?”
“Yes…I’m fine. I just think I know who attacked you. I’ll deal with it later. Now…what information did you need that brought you all the way to Stormwind?”
“Those of you that we met at the World’s End...who helped us with Pill…have any of you been suffering any…ill effects…from the encounter with that gem-thing?”
“Let’s see…Fin had shadowburns on his hands for about a week, but some salve cleared those up nicely.”
Destril smiled to himself as he saw the blush flicker across Anna’s cheeks at the mention of the paladin. I wonder if I make Then’liath light up like that when she thinks about me. The human frowned at the knowing grin on the blood elf’s face.
“What?”
“Nothing. Though I do suggest that you watch yourself mentioning your paladin friend…he makes you glow like a Winter Veil tree.” As Anna scowled and her blush deepened, Destril added, “Was there anything else in terms of side effects?”
“Bricu got into another round of his nightmares…they seemed worse this time. He couldn’t sleep…said he kept hearing echoes from the gem.” Anna glanced up to find Destril watching her closely, green eyes hawk-bright. “I take it members of your group have had problems?”
“Me. Nightmares…not sleeping well. In my dreams, I would hear voices. Davien says one of them was likely the Wordweaver. The other one…the other one matches the echoes in the throne room of Old Lordareon.”
Anna looked at the blood elf, remembered his thinness and saw the shadows under his eyes and gentled her voice. “You mean the voice of Arthas.” At Destril’s nod, she said, “That squares in quite a few ways with what Bricu said about his echoes. He wound up seeing visions…quite ill, actually.”
“And how is he now?”
“Now? He’s fine. After our trip that put him right, he’s been sleeping in a lot…but he’s fine.”
“What did you do? To get Arthas out of his head I mean.” Destril’s eyes glowed fever-bright as he leaned forward.
“We took him to the Temple of Elune in Darnassus…with the assistance of the druids of the Cenarion Circle, we were able to use the waters to cleanse him. One of the druids said he had been touched by Nightmare.”
The blood elf drooped in disappointment. “Ah. I don’t think that the going to Darnassus route will work for me…that whole Horde thing rather puts a crimp in that.”
“Not to mention, Destril, that the druid – Arabis – said that Nightmare is attracted to Shadow.”
“Oh, lovely. I guess we’ll have to find another way, then. Davien warding my bed keeps the voices out of my dreams…at least for now. But I can’t in fairness ask her to do that forever. Our Loremistress has better things to do than babysit one blood elf priest’s nightmares.”
“I hope you find an answer that works as well for you. Is that all you wanted to know about?”
Destril nodded. “It is. Thank you. I owe you one.”
Anna smiled thinly. “Call it even, blood elf. If anything else develops, I’ll send you a note via goblin mail and let you know. Though we really should start meeting in Shattrath…this whole sneaking into each other’s capital city thing is dangerous.”
“I agree with you on that one. Seeing how the other half lives is educational…but I don’t think I’m overly inclined to try it again. I’ll use my hearthstone to get out…no need to throw the long-eared alleycat back out in the street.”
The blonde priestess chuckled. “He really shouldn’t have called you that.”
The blood elf grinned wickedly at Anna as the green glow of a hearthstone surrounded his hands. “Oh, trust me…compared to what some of the trolls I know call me, ‘long-eared alleycat’ is a compliment. My best to you and yours, Annalea al’Cair.” With a wave, Destril disappeared, leaving the other priest to ponder the information she had gathered from the exchange. With a sigh, Anna went to the door of the back room and leaned out.
“Boss? We need to talk. Something’s come up.”