Matthew looked away from the window after a long moment of silence. They had gathered at the inn of Orgrimmar, the Wyvern's Tail, resting between journeys. It was here that Matthew told his story, among the dusty tables and wine-soaked chairs of the Tail. He rolled his shoulders back and ran his hands over the silken robes he wore.
"Something wrong, Matt?" Katarai asked, cleaning under his fingernails with a small dirk.
"No, no," Matthew said, looking at the floor. Matthew reached for his cup of tea, blowing gently on it before taking a gentle sip. "Just a bit tired, is all."
Serg grumbled gently before standing slowly, his chains jingling as he rose to his feet. "You heard the director. No more stories for today. We'll return tomorrow if he is feeling like telling more of his tale."
Matthew waved a hand dismissively and shook his head. "I just need a moment to think. Some of this has happened so long ago."
Some children had gathered sit on a worg skin rug at Matthew's feet, a few tauren calfs, mostly orc children, and trolls, with one or two Sin'dorei children scattered among them.
"Someone else should take a turn." Reseius said, taking his wine glass and sipping from it.
"Jaqle?" Tengiu said, looking to the huge tauren in his armor standing just to the side of the magus.
"You'd have better luck getting a an unbroken hawkstrider to listen to commands than for Jaqle to speak." Andris said with a laugh.
The tauren snorted. "You go, then, Paladin."
"Maybe another time." Andris said. "My story isn't very exciting."
"Oh, no, don't look at me. There's kids present." Katarai said, as Andris looked at him.
"I'll go." Said the priestess, looking up from Matthew's lap, where her hand rested, entwined with the fingers of the Forsaken.
The group turned their eyes to the priestess and Andris looked a bit surprised his sister would opt to take up the next chapter of the story.
"This oughta be good." Katarai said.
Serg slowly sat down, putting his hand into Razor's thick, black fur.
"Well," Matthew said, sipping more of his tea. "I have to say I am quite curious."
Chapter 1: The Screeching Babe
Mom said I was born during an awful thunderstorm, and said that was a sign I'd be the hardest of her children to deal with. Isn't that right, pops? It was Autumn, and the storm had raged through Quel'thalas for days. I don't really remember any of this, obviously, but mom told it to me often when she'd sit in her chair and knit or read while dad was off…making money, I guess. No offense, pops. Love you.
Ilyra laid on the bed as the hand maiden wiped her forehead with the cloth, clearing away the thick layer of sweat that covered the woman's forehead. She wanted to give birth to her second child in the comfort of her own home, not in the clinical, stiff halls of the infirmary. She often said that if she were to die in childbirth, like some women did, she would die in the comfort of her own bed.
Reseius, the lord of the Dawnshatter estate and father of their first daughter, stood beside the bed, looking down upon his wife's quivering and aching form. She'd often look to him with glassy eyes, smile, and whisper that he could meet his new child soon, that she could feel it, that it was almost time.
And it was almost time four times past, and the babe was no closer to being birthed than the first time she had muttered to her husband. She had loved her husband with everything that she was, with his golden hair, and lithe, supple, and lean frame. She even loved when he had grown the little scuff on his cheeks, the golden stubble that grew there when he worked too long and did not shave.
Reseius, however, felt a more cool fondness towards his wife, having her more for companionship than for any true love. She was arranged to him from a lesser family, always feeling that he deserved better, but his mother and father always felt that this Ilyra would be the best fit for him.
Hand maidens came and went through the rooms, carrying basins of fresh water or fresh linens for the woman in the throes of childbirth. The priest that had come was an older man, some centuries behind his eyes, and left most of the birthing process to the woman, knowing she had been through this once before.
Rain hammered on the darkened window of the manse's largest bedroom, and thunder would occasionally crack loudly, sometimes so loudly that it shook the entire building.
Mom used to say that every time the thunder came, that was one more time I wouldn't listen, or defy her, or act out. I guess that explains a lot.
Reseius looked at his pocket watch, then looked back at his wife. "How much longer? It is nigh morning and I've business at the docks."
She smiled and squeezed his hard hand. "Soon, my love. Do you think I will bare you a son? Or another girl?"
Reseius said nothing, just glaring at his wife's swallow, undulating belly with contempt. He'd always been a hard man.
Don't get me wrong, I love you, pops, I really do, but…those times were hard. You were never there and when you were, you were the warden, the tough, grizzled warden more likely to doll out a spanking than a candy.
"It matters not." Lord Dawnshatter muttered.
She bit her lip and rubbed her husband's hand and then let out a loud, pained shriek. The priest hobbled over, looking at the woman as she gave birth. He mumbled a few times and pulled the sheet aside to check. He reached down and his fingers came away wet and red.
"Past time, Mi'Lady Dawnshatter. Far past time." Murmured the priest. "The child is stubborn and will not come."
"She vexes me." Lady Dawnshatter said with a sniffle and a laugh.
"And me." Reseius muttered.
Hours ticked by, one by one, and it seemed the child was no closer to coming by the time the first light of dawn came over the shadowed roofs of Silvermoon City. As the sun crested over the houses and the city began to awake, it was only then that the child had decided it was ready to be born.
"Where is your lord husband?" asked the priest.
"Businss." Ilyra muttered as she clutched the handmaiden's hand.
She screamed again, and this one seemed to rip out of her like her soul was being torn from her body. Sweat had turned her pillow, sheet, and bed damp, and her golden curls had stuck to her scalp and forehead and had begun to mat and tangle in places. She clawed at the bed, cursed in Thalassian, swore, and strained with all of her might until the pressure was released and she felt empty, tired, and frayed behind all imagining.
Ti'tanya used to say I was a demon when I was born. Horns, hooves, a tail, red skin, and mother said I was often the demon that was thrust upon her as punishment for…something. I dunno. I think I was just a normal looking baby, but boy, I was born with the mouth of a sailor, the skin of a salt wife, and the alcohol tolerance of a ship captain.
"The light sees fit to reward you with another girl, mi'lady." The priest cleaned her, cut the cord, and swaddled the babe before handing the child to her mother while the hand maidens cleaned up.
The baby, though, seemed to hate the world the moment it was born into it. It screamed and cried and would not stop screaming or crying no matter what soothing gestures or words her mother offered her. Tried as she might, Ilyra Dawnshatter could not make her daughter be silent.
As she tried to soothe the squealing baby, the door of the bedroom gently swung open and another girl, maybe only barely just born some ten years prior, stood in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She padded forward, yawning as her silken sleeping gown drifted about her legs.
"Mama?" the girl said.
"Ti'tanya," her mother said with a sigh. "Come, child. Come here, sweet one, it is alright. Come and meet your sister."
Ti'tanya didn't want a sister. No one in fel. She didn't want anyone to contend with for mom and pop's love. Not even you, Andy, sorry.
The girl padded forward, curious now, climbing up onto the damp silken sheets to look upon her sister. She made no cry of delight, just stared with nothing in her eyes.
"What is it?" Ti'tanya asked.
"Silly, it is your sister. Say hello." Ilyra said.
"I don't want a sister. She is ugly. Make her stop crying, mama." Ti'tanya said, putting a swatch of the swaddling blanket over the baby's face to muffle the cries.
"Ti'tanya! Is that a way to speak of your sister? Ladies love their sisters. She is yours and you will love her. Is that understood, sweet one?" Ilyra said.
Ti'tanya always would be mom's favorite. The apple of her eye. Ti'tanya could absolutely do no wrong.
Despite the scolding, Ilyra smiled at her oldest child and stroked her hair lovingly and leaned forward to kiss her brow.
The baby only quieted finally when Ilyra put her breast to the baby and allowed her to eat. Ti'tanya only stared, wishing the child away. "What is her name?"
Ilyra stroked her daughter's hair. Already, though, even the hand maidens could see that Ilyra grew tired of this daughter, this screaming babe who went to wailing once again once she had eaten her fill. She frowned and did everything she could to make the child stop hollering. It wasn't until the child screamed herself to sleep did the house become at peace once more.
Ilyra sighed and lay back against her pillows. Ti'tanya snuggled against her side, but as far away from the baby as she could get while still being in contact with her beloved mother.
"I think…" Ilyra stroked the child's head. "Circi. Yes, that is a good name. Circi Dawnshatter."
"I think it is a stupid name." Ti'tanya said, and hopped from the bed and bounded from the room before her mother could scold her further.
It doesn't get any better than that, folks.
Trust me.