Cassandra was bored. Although the journey from Booty Bay to Redridge Mountains wasn't a long one, it began to tax her patience. The red haired assassin wasn't born for such monotony; she was born to be unbridled – unleashed. However, in this moment, she needed to be a diplomat; a position she loathed. Cassandra discovered long ago that cold, unrelenting steel is a reliable diplomatic solution.
Born to a whore of a mother who sold herself to every willing sailor anchoring at Menethil Harbor, Cassandra was left to her own devices at a very young age. Her father was rumored to be a drunken noble from Stormwind who staked no claim to a daughter he believed, or rather hoped, was not of his bloodline. Whether her parents still lived she did not care. A couple of seasons ago there were reports of a naked and mutilated woman found bound to a bed at the Menethil Harbor Inn; a presumable fitting end to such a wonderful mother. Her alleged father still spends his days in seedy taverns, spreading his seed all over Azeroth. Cassandra relishes the day when her journeys cross paths with dear old dad, but sadly today is not that day.
Stranglethorn jungle did little to alleviate the boredom. She contemplated abandoning the beaten path to pay Nesingwary a visit and the thought of plunging a dagger into that dwarven bastard's skull was tempting. What kind of man hunts animals when the real prey is the various races in Azeroth? Gut a man from gullet to stern and you will never stalk another four legged beast again, but Cassandra had mission to complete and didn't have the time for any fun.
Fleet Master Firallon dispatched her to personally oversee the interrogation of Lakeshire Magistrate Solomon. He had vital information crucial to the success of the Bloodsail plan and thanks to Gath'Ilzogg's ineptitude, the Alliance is now aware of the Magistrate's kidnapping. Firallon partially blamed himself. Orcs aren't celebrated for their subtlety and the Fleet Master should have tasked Cassandra with such a delicate mission.
All water under the bridge in Cassandra's mind. If travelling this distance accomplished anything, it provided an opportunity for the assassin to collect her thoughts. Maybe, just maybe, she will have enough time to extract the information from the Magistrate, if not; at least she will be able to kill someone besides that fool, Gath'Ilzogg.
Killing came natural to Cassandra; as natural as drawing breath into her lungs, although she didn't know it until she was twelve and a local boy in Menethil Harbor tried miserably to rape her. She can still feel the warm blood splashing on her face from the dagger she plunged into the hapless boy's eye. It awoke something inside Cassandra; a dark calling that invigorated every fiber of her being. She stopped being a pathetic little girl lost in the world that had forsaken her. That day, the blood was the anvil, the boy's bone chilling screams the hammer, and together they forged her true self; a cold blooded killer.
After the incident, Cassandra became distant. Citizens were dehumanized; meat bags, to be split open and left for the crows. Her indifference grew to the point where the people of Menethil Harbor avoided and shunned Cassandra; she was feared. The local bakers stopped giving her their scraps and she learned to steal to survive. The local guard continuously harassed her on a daily basis and Cassandra began planning her revenge.
One rainy day, she prowled outside Deepwater Tavern waiting for Captain Stoutfist to exit. Stoutfist never harassed her, but he was the military leader in Menethil Harbor and Cassandra figured murdering the dwarven commander was a good place to start on her path to vengeance. In retrospect, she now understands that was the day she was saved. Stoutfist is a great warrior and he would have dispatched her, most likely, with one swift sword stroke. Cassandra gripped her dagger so tight, her knuckles were pearly white, but her breathing remained surprisingly calm. Taking the first step towards one's doom, they say, is the hardest part, but Cassandra didn't hesitate.
"Looks like you're planning somethin' foolish, lass."
Cassandra felt a rough hand grab her shoulder. She spun around, dagger ready to strike. A man, a pirate to be exact, stood glaring at her. His penetrating stare held firm as if searching for something in Cassandra's emerald eyes. The pirate stroked his black beard and his beady brown eyes softened; he had found a unique treasure in the rarest of places. Focused rage inside a tiny red headed child; a bounty worth more than a chest full of gold.
"Lass, why waste your time on that bearded midget? Come with me and I promise you I will serve the world to you on a golden platter."
"Who are you?" Cassandra inquired, slowly lowering her blade. The man's red coat was trimmed in gold and slightly shuttered as he chuckled.
"I am Fleet Master Firallon of the Bloodsail," he replied removing his hat and offering a subtle bow.
"What's the catch?" Cassandra eyed Firallon suspiciously. She raised her dagger warningly. "I will not be some old man's bed wench!"
"Old man?" Firallon bellowed, half laughing. "Rest easy girl, I have a boat full of women who raise my sail and let me drop anchor. No, what I need is a weapon. And with the proper training, I can shape you into a powerful weapon. You can come and go as you please. All I ask in return is your complete loyalty to me and only me."
Cassandra's train of thought was in overdrive. She knew the answer immediately after hearing Firallon's offer, but she didn't want to appear too eager. She was fighting the urge to jump up and say, "Yes, get me the hell out of this shithole!" Instead, she nonchalantly sheathed the dagger in her boot.
"Alright," she answered calmly, sounding almost half-hearted. "But tell your crew, I am off limits. I will be nobody's whore. And when the time comes, I will lay with who I want when I want and that includes your boat full of women."
Firallon's grin stretched across his entire face.
"Oh lass, the places we will see and the people we will slaughter."
That was eight years ago and now she stood a stone's throw from a Stormwind soldier patrolling the Three Corners, cloaked to the naked eye. Cassandra carefully inspected the man. How he carried himself. How he moved in his armor and choice of weapon. The guard was clad in full plate mail armor and carried a long sword and shield, a favorite among the Stormwind Guard. She doubted the Alliance would give a lowly guard a suit of magical dwarven armor, but still it would definitely require a surgical strike; however she was confident her finely crafted blades would penetrate the cuirass, even if the guard wore a hauberk underneath. She nearly matched him in height and he wasn't a burly man, average by human standards and his gait was lackluster. Cassandra chuckled inside, she just found someone as bored as her.
After a few moments, the guard stopped and hunkered down next to the large, signature bole of the Three Corners. He pulled off his helm revealing a young man no more than a couple seasons older than her. The soldier appeared to drift away to a different place, trying desperately to escape the daily mundane routine. Though this boy was clearly bored, there was a light inside him, content with the life he was born into; he was happy. The long sword and shield were resting haphazardly outside of arm's reach. This boy might be the happiest person on Azeroth, but he also is a naïve fool. He nestled down and leaned a shoulder against the giant stump, his back proudly displayed before Cassandra. She grinned.
"Time to have some fun."
Private Jace Parker was bored. After graduating the Military Academy, he was stationed as the lone sentry of the Three Corners. A dismal posting doing nothing more than patrolling the area linking Redridge Mountains, Elwynn Forest, and Duskwood. Parker's assigned duty is not where he expected to find himself as a small boy playing with wooden swords in his home in Elwynn Forest.
Being the son of a rancher, Parker's father hoped he would follow in his footsteps, but Jace had more grandiose dreams. In between his chores, he would secretly sneak off to Goldshire and learn swordplay from anyone willing to teach their technique. It was at the blacksmith Jace met Brother Wilhelm, a paladin, and Parker's mentor.
For ten seasons Parker trained with Brother Wilhelm and with each passing year, Jace's potential grew. He soon became known simply as, "the kid". His parents learned of the training after a year, and though his father was not overjoyed with the notion, Brother Wilhelm informed Jace's parents he could turn out to be a fine soldier with a promising future.
After twenty two long years, he was finally summoned to Stormwind for an audience with Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker – High Crusader of the Paladin Corps. His dreams had been answered. Parker's parents were proud of their son, as were the neighboring residents who watched a young boy grow up into a man. However, Jace's exultation soon evaporated after learning he would be stationed as a sentry at the Three Corners. Parker knew his talents and skills would soon be recognized and he would be saved from such a dreary assignment.
"Everyone has to start somewhere," he told himself.
Jace nestled his sword and shield against the large stump dominating the center of the Three Corners' area. Parker's short cropped blond hair twirled into a mess as he removed the blue plumed gladiator helm. Jace leaned his left shoulder against the stump, relaxing his six foot frame in the process. Parker's dark brown eyes were tired and dry from the hot wind blowing in from Redridge. No matter how much Parker hated this patrol, one good thing, nay – great thing had happened to him - Darcy.
Darcy is a waitress at the Lakeshore Inn in Redridge Mountains and the niece of Lakeshire's magistrate – Solomon Gray. Parker closed his eyes, visualizing Darcy's long, light brown hair she wore in a ponytail. Her soft, blue eyes were bisected by a small, narrow nose. Her skin was silky smooth, hair smelled of jasmine and petite body made Jace melt when he held her. Darcy was an artisan cook too. Her succulent baked chicken was celebrated in Lakeshire and everyday Darcy would dispatch a courier to bring Jace lunch, which made patrolling the Three Corners a little more bearable.
Parker elected not to wait for a transfer and promotion to begin his future with Darcy. Jace knew a draenei jewel crafter who created for him a fine wedding ring. Two perfectly cut aquamarines (to match Darcy's eyes) surrounded by small diamonds found deep in the caves of Hellfire Peninsula and set in a band of pure gold. That was six months ago and even now Parker basked in the afterglow of that day. Darcy was pregnant with their first child and life couldn't be more fulfilling. He smiled.
Parker opened his eyes wide if as just awakening from a long dream, but he knew he didn't fall asleep on duty, nope, not "the kid". Jace went to run a hand through his hair again, but his arm felt heavy, as did his shoulders like they used to after helping his father carry firewood back to the house. Parker's vision dimmed as he heard someone whisper in his ear.
"Silly boy, you should never let your guard down… ever."
Parker attempted in vain to call for the magic taught to him by the great paladins of Stormwind, but the poison had already thickened his veins and any incantations stood fast in his throat; darkness was closing in. This assassin was good, he didn't hear anything, see anything; Parker didn't even feel the blades puncture his kidneys. Jace turned to the assassin and beheld a young red-haired, human female grinning evilly and her laughter grew as blackness slowly befell him.
The assassin dropped Parker's body on the ground and wiped off her blood stained daggers on his Stormwind tabard.
"No, not now," was the last thought of Jace "The Kid" Parker as the vision of his shield with the Mark of the Lion faded to black. The Three Corners remained serene and the carrion birds and insects began to muster.
Cassandra sheathed the daggers and stepped over the Stormwind guard. Her red hair was a tongue of flame licking the mid-afternoon air as she summoned her mystical steed. The ebony gelding whinnied as Cassandra climbed into the saddle, her black cloak partially draping the hind quarter. The horse kicked up reddish brown dirt as she spurred the horse to her true destination: Stonewatch Keep.
Her emerald green eyes prowled the low lying hills creeping below the giant form of Stonewatch Keep. Billows of smoke from campfires were charcoal pillars sprouting from the Bloodsail camp. Her tiny nostrils detected the aroma of salted boar being slowly cooked over several spits. Cassandra gripped the reins as she kicked her heels. The black gelding darted to the leader's tent and several buccaneers rose to greet Fleet Master Firallon's favorite assassin.
As she dismounted, her dark red tunic shifted and Cassandra took a moment to shift it back. A young magician quickly turned away as Cassandra caught his watchful eye. She always has had an effect on men as far back as she could remember. Her beauty easily matched the elves and by human standards, Cassandra is incredibly stunning. In her youth it bothered her to be the object of men's desires, but as Cassandra matured, she discovered beauty can be a devastating weapon. She gave the young mage a playful smile as she walked passed.
Cassandra entered the central tent and quickly recognized the figure sitting behind a huge oak desk. His black beard was peppered with gray denoting a human male of middle age; his battle hardened eyes fixated on the fiery haired assassin, temptress, buccaneer, or whatever part she was playing today as Cassandra glided more into view. Her red tunic embraced perfectly round breasts and a silver silk sash coiled around a thin waist. Black leather pants fell from shapely hips tightly hugging long, muscular legs disappearing into knee high red leather boots. The black bearded man's plate armor chimed his uneasiness at Cassandra's appearance. The besagues on his armor fluttered when she approached within an arm's length. Cassandra was a Bloodsail assassin, but there was no doubt she was a woman too.
"Colonel Kurzen," spoke Cassandra, her words silky smooth as they fled thin, narrow lips.
Kurzen stood up, adjusting his wide belt in the process. The three emeralds in the belt's center winked at Cassandra as a quick, gust of wind blew open the tent flap and light stole a glance at the two figures. She was tall for a human female standing a dagger hilt under six feet, her creamy white skin now lightly bronzed by Azeroth's sun.
Kurzen's long sword and dagger anchored the two sides of a vellum map with distinctive marks clustered around one area. Cassandra offered the map a quick glance before narrowing her eyes back to Kurzen.
"How are the preparations coming along, Colonel?" she asked. Few people, let alone other humans, garnered Cassandra's respect and Kurzen was one who had earned it. Kurzen's brown eyes deepened as he ran a hand through long, thick black hair. The strands whipping back to frame his hawkish face.
"Firallon's plan will work, but we need a little more information," Kurzen replied.
Cassandra's nostrils subtlety flared from the use of Firallon's name without the label of respect- Fleet Master, but Kurzen and Firallon are old friends, so Cassandra's ire fled as quickly as it arrived.
The map slightly curled up as Cassandra relieved Kurzen's dagger from its nest. The blade hissed as it escaped the scabbard and Cassandra's emerald pools traced the finely crafted dagger. Too elegant to be forged by trolls or orcs and Cassandra could tell by the metal folding it had to be either dwarven or elven steel, perhaps human. The thought produced a frown.
"Rest assured, Colonel, we will have the information in time."
"And if the magistrate doesn't divulge the information?" Kurzen countered.
Cassandra's gaze abandoned the blade and returned to the Colonel.
"Everyone talks," she said, sliding the blade back into the scabbard and placing it back on the map. "Just make sure everyone is still on board. Especially the Dark Iron dwarves, we will need their tenacity in the upcoming battle."
"Aye," agreed Kurzen with a nod. "Can I offer you some food or drink before you head to Stonewatch?"
"Thank you, no," Cassandra answered. "Time is short, but I will gladly raise a pint after our victory, Colonel."
"Very well then, Cassandra, until we next meet," Kurzen said offering a slight bow.
Cassandra returned the gesture with a nod and slipped on her black leather gloves. Exiting the tent, she walked through a sea of Bloodsails. Some were sharpening weapons, some were lost in ale, and some were lazily doing chores, but all eyes followed the red-haired assassin. None of them were worth her time.
Heading to the rope bridge connecting to the southern end of Stonewatch Keep, Cassandra thoughts centered on the Fleet Master's brilliant plan and she could not help but crack a wry smile. Since the distance to the Keep was short, she decided to walk instead of ride. The uphill path had a couple of shoddy fence lines. The wood was old and warped with some sections falling apart, the beams being slowly absorbed by reddish brown dirt. A bow shot from Kurzen's camp, Cassandra came upon two Blackrock orcs guarding the bridge, the larger of the two moving to intercept.
"Ootak cavene, bitak?!" the orc bellowed.
Fluent in several languages, Cassandra found orcish to be the least impressive. It was not laden in authority as elvish, intimidating as undead, or noble as the tauren. Even troll and human contained a hint of strength, but orcish was just plain and simply weak. However deficient their language may be, orcs compensated in appearance.
Grayish green skin stretched over thick torsos and their legs were small tree trunks. An orc's size was easily the width of two lean night elves and, perhaps, twice as deadly. Most shaved their heads and some wore long ponytails; a traditional homage to ancient orc warriors and their celebrated battle rage was second only to the dwarves. But perhaps the most prolific characteristic is the two fangs jetting up from their lower mandible. They are useless for eating and somewhat capable of rending flesh, but the true purpose is creating fear. Cassandra stood amused.
She had an encounter with an orc a few months past in Shattrath City. The arrogant oaf presumed he could overpower Cassandra and squirt a hybrid abomination into her belly. Needless to say, most orcs are all brawn and no brains and before departing the city, she stuffed his family jewels in his mouth and used his dagger to shish kabob them to his tongue.
"I have business with Gath'Ilzogg," snapped Cassandra, answering in human, knowing full well the orc understood being so close to Lakeshire. "And if you refer to me as a 'bitak' again, I will strangle you with your own intestines."
The orc's deep chuckle dissipated in the wind as he moved aside, signaling the lithe rogue to continue on her journey. Cassandra muttered something under her breath as she passed, disappointed she could not satisfy the desire to gut this wretched, orc scum.
Cassandra's footfalls on the wooden boards reverberated through the canyon, drawing little attention from the murloc village below. The calm river beneath the bridge was a bluish green serpent snaking its way from Stonewatch Falls to Lake Everstill. Dozens more Blackrocks patrolled the southern end and the entrance to the Keep, but none of them paid attention to Cassandra.
Stonewatch Keep's once white stone was slowly fading to multi hues of browns, reds, and yellows. The wooden steps leading to the entrance of Stonewatch Keep groaned their age as Cassandra climbed them. The half raised portcullis was unmoving in the gaping maw of the huge Stonewatch beast. The foyer was strewn with debris and bone and the left passage had completely collapsed. A lone torch dimly lit the right passage as Cassandra evaded broken barrels and furniture.
Blackrock scouts and warlocks wandered the main floor, some were patrolling, but most were carousing with one another. Inside the main floor's center room was a flight of stairs leading up to the Gath'Ilzogg's main hall. Single torches guided Cassandra and she did her best not stumble over the debris which seemed to be prevalent in Stonewatch Keep.
"Orcs," Cassandra whispered shaking her head.
Scaling the stairway to a corridor leading to an area with a ramp going left and stairs to the right leading up to the parapet, Cassandra chose the former. At the top, the main hall was illuminated with a large torch aligning all four walls. Red tattered banners hung at the back of the debris cluttered rectangular room where Gath'Ilzogg, his black dragon whelp Singe, a troll, and what appeared to be an undead skeleton clad in plate armor were standing around a balding human male chained to a wooden chair.
Gath'Ilzogg shifted his gaze from the old man as Cassandra entered the room. His orc lust began to rise, but he knew better than to pursue this female. His red eyes followed the bloodsail buccaneer as she approached. Singe flared his nostrils in warning, but Cassandra's attention focused on the orc leader.
"Dinot," spoke Gath'Ilzogg in orcish.
"Greetings, Gath'Ilzogg," responded Cassandra, hiding her disgust for the orc leader as she came into the view of Magistrate Solomon.
Magistrate Solomon squinted through his right eye, his monocle lost during the abduction.
"So it appears the Bloodsail are in league with orc filth these days. Not surprising," Solomon spoke, his tone sharp.
"Silence," hissed the armored undead form in a ghastly voice, as one skeletal finger tapped the hilt of its long sword, his vacant, dead eyes probing the magistrate.
"It seems you have offended my friend Mor'Ladim, Magistrate. Not a wise thing to do in your position," Cassandra said removing her gloves and tucking them in her sash. "Do you have anything to say to our troll ally while you're at it?" she added glancing at High Priestess Arlokk.
"Hmmph," Magistrate Solomon grunted. "Scum seems to gather in stagnant water," he added.
Throwing her head back Cassandra's red hair splashed off her shoulders as she laughed. She walked around Solomon letting her fingers trace his shoulders. What gray hair he possessed was unkempt from being whisked away in the dead of night and his white shirt was torn at the collar. Cassandra stopped when she stood in front of Solomon, her emerald eyes meeting his light blues.
"Enough of the idle chatter, I'm pressed for time" she said. "Tell me Magistrate, what is the contingency plan for an assault on Stormwind?"
The Magistrate returned the laughter.
"Even if I knew I wouldn't tell you. Besides, knowing the plan wouldn't affect the outcome. A full out assault on Stormwind is foolish, not to mention suicidal."
Cassandra sighed, resisting the urge to pluck one of his eyes out.
"We know you have that information, Magistrate. After all, General Marcus Jonathan – the High Commander of Stormwind Defenses – is your close friend. Surely you have spoken on the matter. The Alliance is a lot of things, being unprepared isn't one of them," Cassandra said placing a foot on the magistrate's chair and resting an elbow on a bent knee.
"I told you. I don't have that type of information; I'm just the hamlet magistrate. I have nothing more to say," he vehemently replied.
Cassandra grinned and tapped Solomon on the nose.
"Haven't you heard, Magistrate?" Cassandra leaned in, pressing the corner of her lips on the magistrate's ear. "Everyone talks."