Title: Without Blood
Author: Dr FooFoo
Fandom: World of Warcraft
Pairing: none
Rating: PG
Feedback: Review or e-mail (in profile)
Notes: Yeah, we had to do this exercise in Creative Writing where we had to describe the same room twice but make it have a different atmosphere each time. My room was... the inn in Honour Hold! Mwahaha. So yeah. Other one was a paladin coming home; this one is an orc rogue (lol) stealthing in.
Imagine you're born into this family that has the royal army wrapped around its finger. Say you're the second born son to this family and you're made to join the army and train and train and never stop and you hate what you're doing but it's in your blood to go to war. You're sent on this ridiculous mission that will probably get you killed but your father doesn't really care because he's got his firstborn son to take his place and you mean nothing to anyone.
You're sent right into the heart of an enemy city. You've trained in the ways of stealth, so you make it past the guards undetected but that's not even the start of it. You're to get into their local inn and take out the staff. Supposedly it's supposed to be a safe haven for the townspeople and murdering the innkeeper will cause panic. You think this is moronic logic, but you have to obey or you'll be killed.
You get inside – there are no guards posted in front of the inn despite the calls of war – and it's terrifying. Any mistake; any tiny mistake – stepping on the wrong floorboard or twitching at the wrong time or even breathing… and you're caught.
You don't notice the big human by the fireplace until it's almost too late. You were planning on going that way to get around behind the bar, but it looks like that's not happening. He looks like he's sleeping but you know better than to trust a human, and especially one in gear like the stuff he's got on. Huge plate shoulder pads take up all of your vision, and you quickly turn away and stalk into an opposite corner. There's no one else in the lobby area of the bar besides the guy, so you head behind the bar, millimetres away from nicking a porcelain plate with your foot on the way over.
Under the bar counter, you pause to catch your breath silently. There is nothing more terrifying and exhilarating than almost being caught at something you're not supposed to be doing, and you hate that the adrenaline that pumps through your veins urges you to continue towards your ultimate goal.
Standing up slower than molasses, you take another brief glance around the room – that damn warrior is still sitting by the fire, now mumbling to himself amid hiccups, and you stop yourself from reaching up to swat away a stray cobweb that attached itself to your hair when you were under the counter.
Holding back a sigh, you shift and slowly begin creeping towards the stairs, fate at your heels. This day will not end without blood.