A cool wind swept through with a soft, sad sigh; trailing fingers with a soft touch brushing lightly against all in their path. Grey and brown leaves, leached of life, tumbled and floated indifferently among the sorrow and suffering that lay just below their winding, incessant path. They danced past the crumbling tombstones; kissed the wing-clad statues with despondent faces; caressed the lonely trees with which they had long ago parted; twirled around the man who knelt silently with one mail-clad hand on a bunch of pale flowers and the other on a dark and deadly blade.
Neither tears nor anguish touched his lined face – only a quiet acceptance and sadness; for he had many long years ago come to terms with this cruel world in which lives were taken before their time. The mail that covered his body clinked and jangled as he rose to his feet with a sigh off the cold ground. He nodded solemnly at the statue before which he had been knelt in vigil. It was simple work, nothing more than a block of marble, and it read:
Jerod & Maxine Vynn
Wife and husband – loving parents – loyal friends,
Bane to the Scourge,
Long may they rest.
Evolyn Vynn
Brock Vynn
Daisy Vynn
Patrick Vynn
Brothers and sisters – taken before their time,
May they find the peace in death they were denied in life.
Elanor Rocksmith Vynn
Mother and unborn son – faithful wife,
May she live on in her husband and daughter.
Samuel swallowed as he read the newest inscription at the bottom, for this loss was more recent, and the pain was still fresh. He ran a hand through his grey streaked dark blonde hair, and sighed again. Tearing his eyes away, he walked slowly out of the graveyard and towards the town that was humming in the distance, his sword belted at is waist and ready to be drawn at a moments notice. The whirling leaves bade him a fond farewell, until the next time, and continued their restless dance.
A man slipped silently through a cobble stone alleyway in the Old Town of Stormwind. Dark leather armor covered his body; tough enough that a dagger would not easily reach his ribs, but flexible and silent enough that he could move unhindered when he wished to be unseen. He wore a dark cloak with a hood that shadowed his bright blue eyes, and a dark bandana that covered his face.
Now was such a time that he had needs of moving silently, as he made his way towards the barracks in the dead of night when the rest of the world was safe and asleep in bed. He had no wish to be seen, or to be recognized as he made his way home from a particularly difficult quest. He had learned long ago that one such as himself could not afford to take every precaution; the biggest mistake he could make would be to not assume that every single shadow on the street was an enemy he had made somewhere along the line, or one that would recognize him and give him away to said enemies.
As he reached the barracks, he slowed his speed and crept to the heart of the SI:7, invisible to those who might glance his way. He reached the doorway of a room in which a cheerful fire crackled and popped; eerie shadows were cast on the walls from the light of the fire in the dark room. A man sat at a desk, absorbed in some paperwork or another. As if he sensed another presence, the man at the desk looked up to the doorway, and the leather-clad man stepped out of the shadows into the soft glow of the room.
"Ah, Coen," said the man, looking pleased. "It is a relief to see you. I hope you have good news for me?"
Coen pushed back the hood of his cloak and removed the bandana, revealing shaggy dark brown hair, his face grim. Out of the pocket of his cloak he pulled three insignias, each one bearing the emblem of SI:7. These he passed to the man.
"I'm sorry, Mathias," he said quietly.
Mathias grimaced and took the insignias, but then sighed. "I had assumed so much, though I cannot pretend that I had hoped otherwise," he said heavily. "Those were some of my best agents. I expect this matter was brought to justice?"
"One way or another," Coen replied cautiously.
"One way or another?" Mathias echoed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Look, Mathias, you asked me on this quest of yours – " Coen paused, rethinking what he had to say. "An army was raised, and the perpetrator was slain. Any news you wish to hear beyond that must come from elsewhere. The King will debrief you on the morrow, no doubt."
"King Wrynn!" Mathias exclaimed. "An army? Coen, you cannot give this sort of report and not elaborate! This sounds like the makings of a story that people would talk about for years to come!"
"Which is precisely why I will not suffer my name to be mentioned in the telling," Coen snapped. "I would not have even reported to the King had he not specifically instructed me to, and had I not wished to remain in his goodwill. And I came here to you only for my payment, for services rendered."
"Ah." Mathias walked back to his desk and pulled out a small sack of coins, which he tossed to Coen, who in turn put it within his pack.
"If you don't mind me asking, Coen, why all this secrecy? Why not let yourself be proclaimed a hero of Stormwind, as so many young adventurers are apt to do?"
"I like to keep my avenues open," Coen replied with a half-smile beneath the mask.
Mathias narrowed his eyes. "Be certain you do not walk the path of too many avenues, Coen, or spread your allegiances too thin. One morning you will awake and find not a single road open to you."
"And that, Mathias – " Coen pulled up the hood once more, " – is why I make sure I'm the best at what I do." Coen nodded his farewell at the scowling SI:7 leader, and slipped once more into the silent night.
Samuel whirled his one-handed blade through the air and landed a strike of heroic proportions on the shield of his opponent. The boy he was dueling looked alarmed – and rightfully so, for Samuel was a fearsome opponent – but the boy's shield held, and he even managed to block an attempted hamstring and a second heroic strike. Out of nowhere, however, a shield slammed into him, knocking the boy on his back, unconscious.
Samuel looked a little sheepish then as the young woman who was watching burst laughing, nearly falling off the fence on which she was perched.
"Oh, Da," she said between giggles, "and he was doing so well too…" She began laughing again as the boy gingerly sat up, earning herself a half-hearted glare.
"Peace, Joseph," Samuel said with a small smile. "'Tis not you Roslyn finds so amusing."
"Aye, you did very well for yourself," she said with a grin. "It is my father, who will knock a student unconscious simply to prove a point, which amuses me so."
"What point are you trying to make, Master Samuel?" Joseph inquired.
"That you have such a strong defense, I was forced to incapacitate you in order to teach you some offense," Samuel said, his somber demeanor belying his amusement.
As Joseph stood, Samuel took his blade and shield and gave the boy a heavy two-hand sword instead.
"Now, it is time for you to duel with Roslyn. She will remain strictly on the defense – " he gave her a pointed look as she jumped off the fence, her short honey blonde hair bouncing, " – and I want you to focus on breaking past her defense."
Joseph nodded, and without warning turned and swung the heavy sword at Roslyn with surprising speed. She yelped, barely raising her shield in time to avoid a painful blow. The blade was dull, and her mail armor strong, but that did make being whacked by a sword any less painful. Roslyn knew she would be going home with more than a few bruises this day.
For the rest of the afternoon, the training yard rang from the sound of metal striking metal.
Later that evening, Samuel and Roslyn ate supper in comfortable silence. The crackle of the fire and the sound of the wandering wind soothed the atmosphere. The bread was warm, the beer was cold, and the stew hot, and the physical exertion of the day left the father and daughter content to eat in peace.
Roslyn broke the silence when they were finished of their meal. "Father," she began, "I have tarried at home over long."
Samuel said nothing. His daughter was a paladin, after all, and he could no more deny her his blessing wherever she may go than he could tell the Scourge to leave his world alone.
"I received word that my services are needed in the Eastern Kingdoms, in the Plaguelands."
Samuel smiled wryly. "It would be lying to say I am surprised, dearest," he said. "Times are dangerous, and I cannot expect to keep an able paladin from helping the less fortunate."
She relaxed, relieved that he was taking this news rather well, and grinned at him. "With what you've taught me, and the Light I can wield, those undead stand no chance, eh?" Samuel nodded.
"When do you leave, dearest?"
"Two days hence," she replied. "I plan to catch the earliest ship to Menethil, and from there I head to the Plaguelands. And after I do my work there, I head to Stormwind to see how our family fares over the sea."
Samuel took her hand anxiously. "Yes!" he said. "Long have I ached for news of Jenna, and Andrea and James and all their kin. Marcus will also beg correspondence. And Jonas, too, I suppose," he added as an afterthought.
"Yes, father!" Roslyn laughed heartily. "You did not think I would go without a chest full of letters and how-do-you-do's?" she teased, dark eyes sparkling.
"In this case, you must excuse me. I must write my letters as quickly as possible, so that tomorrow we may spend one last day together. For now, you must go to your Uncle's farm and bring him your news, so that he might do the same as I."
Roslyn went to the door of their house, and her father placed a warm cloak on her shoulders. She kissed his cheek.
"I'll be back before nightfall," she promised, and turned and left.
Roslyn walked quickly to the city gate, for her uncle's farm sat just outside the city, before the first watch tower. The wind was cool against her face and neck, and she listened to the choir of frogs and cicadas that sang their monotonous tune in the marsh. Though it was a fine evening, she kept up her guard – between the Defias, the Horde, and the beasts that roamed far too freely, it was never safe for long outside the city walls.
None too soon, the farm came into view. She walked quickly to the house and knocked. After a moment, the door opened and she was greeted by her cousin.
"Hello, Marc," she smiled warmly. Marc was younger than her by five years, and not adept at the art of battle, but he was formidable with a staff and they had shared many a stimulating conversation over the years.
"Hello, cousin," he said with a grin. "Come on in. Da is just getting out the dwarven brew." Roslyn grinned back at him – Uncle Marcus after a bit of dwarven brew always proved to be entertaining.
"So, cousin, to what do we owe this pleasure?" he asked as he took her cloak. Roslyn greeted her uncle and Aunt Jenny, and then sat down with them to explain her visit.
"In two days hence, I leave for the Eastern Kingdoms and to Stormwind," she explained. "There is business to which I must attend, but I plan to see our family and their kin."
"Oho!" boomed Marcus. "I believe I have a few letters to write, then! Dear old James and Andrea, and now Jenna too! Yes, this is indeed good news, my dear, except for this 'business' of yours. I'd wager a year's worth of crop that this business involves not settling down with a good man and a few young ones." Roslyn smiled at him, and Marc laughed.
"Nay, Uncle, my services are required in the Plaguelands."
Jenny shuddered. "Your uncle is right, dear, though I am excited to hear from dear Jenna. I do miss her," Jenny sighed.
"No worries, Aunt," Roslyn said cheerfully, "I will gladly bear any correspondence you wish to send, and I will return home with replies as soon as possible."
"It sounds exciting," Marc said, "though, as for me, I have enough to keep me busy here in Dustwallow. But I wish to you the best of luck." He clasped her hand.
"Many thanks," she replied. Glancing out the window, she stood from the table. "I'm afraid I must take my leave," she apologized, " but I will stop by tomorrow's eve to take any letters and good wishes you wish to send on my journey. Good night Aunt, Uncle. Good night, Marc."
Roslyn took her cloak off the peg and left for the brief walk back home. She took a deep breath, trying to acclimate herself to the idea that in three weeks, she would be on the other side of the world. She had not seen her father's family since the age of five, and she was eager to meet any new cousins. She tried not to think of the main reason for her trip. Though she was skilled in her work, she did not relish in fighting the evils of the world – demons and the walking dead, and other unnatural abominations that plagued the world. Plaguelands, she thought, a fitting name for that place. And it was up to her to help ensure that the entire world did not succumb to the disease of that horrific place.
A young woman strolled slowly through a quiet forest, humming a melody under her breath. Her light brown hair hung in a loose braid down her back, though rebellious curls sprang free here and there. She wore a dirt-stained apron over a green dress, and carried a large cloth bag. Most strangely, though, an oddly marked bear followed her sedately among the trees. The bear stopped now and then to snuffle at clumps of flowers and grass.
A warm wind blew, ruffling the bear's fur and teasing loose even more curls from the girl's braid. The trees swayed, as if pleased with the day, and the bushes responded with rustling whispers of laughter.
Of a sudden, the bear stopped and grunted. The girl stopped and turned to face the bear.
"Oh, Talnor, you are so much more adept at finding herbs than I," she said with a smile as she investigated what the bear had found. "Silverleaf! Just what I needed! All I have been able to find all morning is peacebloom." She sighed. "Both are fine herbs, but I wish more herbs grew here than just those and earthroot." Nonetheless, she bent down to gather the delicate leaves of the silverleaf plant.
"You know, if I were anyone else, I would find a girl discussing herbalism with a bear to be quite odd."
The girl shrieked, startled, as the bear growled loudly. They both whipped around to find a leather-clad man with shaggy hair and bright eyes leaning against a tree, grinning. The girl shrieked again, this time out of joy, and flung herself at the man with a hug. Talnor sniffed, then plopped to the ground with eyes closed, clearly not interested in the happy reunion.
"Coen! I am so pleased to see you! Where have you been? What have you been doing? Why have you not returned sooner?" She took a step back to get a better look at him. "Are you alright?"
"So many questions!" he laughed, picking up her forgotten herb bag and handing it to her. "One at a time, and I might answer."
"Where have you been, and what have you been doing these past months?"
"Oh nowhere much, doing this and that," he replied nonchalantly. "And how are you, Evarín? I heard your sister was married last month."
"Oh," Evarín faltered, "oh yes, she was. To a merchant of Theramore. Very nice man, named Ivan. But do not change the subject!"
"Well, you cannot expect to have all the fun, can you? Now again, how are you? Have you found yourself a nice merchant yet?" He watched her closely as she fiddled with her hands.
"Oh, you know me," she said with a laugh, "I couldn't attract a toad, let alone a man."
Coen silently disagreed. "You really must catch me up, my friend. I've been gone awhile."
"Yes, you certainly have been gone awhile," Evarín reproached him. "I began to worry when I did not see you for several weeks – and that was five months ago!"
"I had to travel north," Coen replied cautiously, " to settle a minor financial problem." Evarín looked at him suspiciously, and even Talnor raised his head and eyed him. "At any rate," he went on, "it is solved now, and here I am! And Talnor, do I not even get a simple 'hello'?"
The bear glanced at him again, and then suddenly was a bear no longer. Now there stood a night elf with light purple skin and thick, wild dark blue hair that hung to his waist. He towered over Evarín, and stood many inches taller than Coen. In one hand he held a formidable wooden staff.
"Good morn, human," he said in a strangely accented voice. "Ishnu-alah."
"Ishnu-dal-dieb, shan'do," Coen replied with a solemn bow.
Talnor smiled a feral smile. "Evarín, unless you wish otherwise, I believe your father has need of my presence, to help with preparations. I'm sure the dwarf is little enough help to him."
"Of course, Talnor, Coen will be more than enough of an escort, if he doesn't mind," she said with a sweet smile.
"She'll be quite safe with me," Coen promised the night elf.
"Very well then. I trust I shall see you both later in the evening." With that, in what could almost have been a trick of light, druid became sleek spotted cat, and Talnor sped away silently through the trees.
Coen watched Evarín as she returned to her search for silverleaf.
"Of what preparations did Talnor speak?" he inquired.
"Oh, nothing much, this and that."
He grinned as his own vagueness was turned back on him. "Perhaps I can bribe a more definite answer out of you?" he teased.
Evarín looked at him questioningly as he began to dig in his pack. Finally, he pulled out what he had been looking for – a few sheets of freshly pressed flowers of the deepest shade of red. Evarín took a sharp breath as he handed them to her. She cradled them gently.
"Coen, they are beautiful," she breathed. "I can put these to great use in my herb collection. But – but this is – "
"Firebloom," he stated. "I would have collected more for you, but the circumstances were not ideal for herb gathering."
"You were somewhere very dangerous," she quivered. "You are my most dear friend, Coen, and I wish I could – " she stopped. "At any rate, I'm glad you have returned in one piece."
"As am I," he said wryly. "You worry too much. I never get myself in trouble." She raised an eyebrow. "At least, not trouble that I can't handle," he amended with a grin. She laughed.
"It is not just your well-being alone that I feared, though." At this, she became extremely interested in examining her feet. "As I said, you are my dearest friend, and I feared I would not see you before – " She paused again, and twisted her hands. "Coen, my sister and her husband are going to Theramore, to find a home. I plan to go with them." Coen drew away from her in shock. "Theramore?" he exclaimed. "Surely not! It is not safe! In Kalimdor, where the Orcs and Trolls and Tauren call home? On the other side of the world, no less! What is your father thinking?"
He stopped at the troubled look on her face, and took her hands in his.
"Oh, Evarín, forgive me, I did not mean to speak so rashly. But it seems I have just arrived to see you depart to such a far away destination. When do you leave? Why do you leave?"
"I depart in a fortnight," she said quietly. "You understand why I was so anxious for your swift return?"
Coen swore under his breath, and began to think about things he had to do; plans that needed to be formed; people that he must speak to. A fortnight would not last long enough.
"As for why," she went on, "as you know, my family hails from Theramore. My mother's family," she corrected herself. "I go to stay with my sister and her husband, and to spend time with my mother's family. Aunt Jenna, Maggie, and Emilie join me."
"By what means do you plan to travel?" he asked.
"Uncle James' ship," she said with a smile. "So we will certainly not lack for company. Jerod and Kenneth will sail as well, of course."
"Maggie must be pleased," Coen said distractedly. "Who else travels?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. "Surely you will have guards accompany you?"
"Guards?" Evarín blinked. "Why should we have needs of guards?"
Coen smiled at her, and squeezed her hands. "You are wise, my friend, but your innocence becomes of you."
Evarín jerked back her hands. "I am not innocent! I know well the dangers of the road – do not patronize me!" she said hotly.
"No, you do not," he responded calmly. "Again I ask, who will protect you on the journey?"
"I assume my good cousins and uncle should do a fine job protecting their loved ones," she said stiffly, still feeling slighted by his remark. Coen frowned.
"Sailors are fine warriors, in their own right," he explained gently to her, "but they are adept at protecting their ship and goods, and their own lives – not those of unarmed women and children."
"Ah." She looked sheepish. "Coen, what do I know of guards and escorts? But do not think me innocent because I am a merchant's daughter and not a fearsome warrior."
"Oh, but you are a fearsome warrior," he grinned, "though you wield not sword, nor hammer, nor axe, but a reproachful tongue and a look you give so well under which even the most grizzled master-at-arms must quail!"
"Oh!" she laughed and gave him a hard shove. He allowed her to push him over, laughing as well as he took her down with him. They lay for a few minutes, giggling like a couple of small children.
"Ah, it is good to be back indeed, my friend," he said, still grinning as he helped her to her feet, and brushed the leaves off of her back. She returned the favor, and he once again retrieved her abandoned herb bag. "Are you done with herb gathering for today? Can we return to the city?"
"Oh, I suppose so," she said. "Your gift is worth more than any herb I'll find in the forest today. It makes peacebloom and earthroot seem rather boring." She grinned at him again.
"Well, then, shall we?" He offered her an arm, and she took it as they made their way through the swaying trees and rustling bushes, talking and laughing all the way.
Authors note:
This chapter is the introduction to my story Changing Winds, who mainly follows the path of the character Evarín - though the narrative may end up floating through more than one of the character's journeys along the way.
Though I've been a loyal fanfiction addict for many, many years, this is my own very first fanfiction, ever. So - review, review, review! :D I do have more chapters written already, but I'd like to know whether I should keep my day job, so to speak, before I risk filling the site with any potential garbage.
Many thanks!
-Bradair