ATTENTION:
I don't own World of Warcraft, as Blizzard does, but as often as this is said, I do own my lovely (not really) character, Lystra, and not much else at this point (Chapter 1). The plot has no game-related lore or history, and was simply created from my memory of playing this game that I so enjoyed for two years. I've ceased playing it, so take that into account as a lot of the things may or may not be right in comparison to the game. I've backed up a few things by researching WoWWikki and some other things, so most geography and things are on target.
[NOTE: For people that just can't stand something being off.]
I'll tell you now so you won't flame me. Or you still might, but it won't be about the obvious, silly things. Alright: These are just random thoughts that I've been suppressing for awhile. Secondly, I don't really care about levels and I don't think they really matter, as that would be dorky to use that in a story. FYI: All the names are actually names of NPCs in game, so if you want to get background, use the search bar to satisfy curiosity.
Alright! Enough of my ranting. Tell me if you hate it, love it. I don't care. Anything is nice. Anyways, perhaps give me a suggestion for a better name, because it is simply the consequence to thoughtless teenage thinking.
The cobblestone roads of Stormwind glimmered in the sheen that came in the early morning dew. Lystra's steps were mimicking a cat's, light and silent, though also making sure she would not slip on the thin layer of moisture. She would cause a ruckus and awaken the townspeople if she weren't careful. If anyone, anyone, were to discover her escape, she would be watched day and night, never to be allowed to search for her Anduin Wrynn.
In reality, he wasn't necessarily hers, but he would be. He would see her bravery, long eyelashes, and perfection. Or so she thought. Lystra Longdrink, why, she was none more than a meddlesome creature after vain hopes.
If I were to find him, why, certainly King Varian would at the very least allow him to court me. Why, I have the Longdrink family name, one of the most noble names in all of Stormwind. With a few minor adjustments at Jelinek's Sharpshear's hair-place, why, I'd have the most regal countenance, Lystra said to herself.
Lystra wasn't much of a thing – only sixteen years old, but her body was one that was the epitome of gauche with her lanky, tall body, and nonexistent curves. It wouldn't be surprising if someone mistook her for a boy. Her pale skin appeared wan in the contrast of her dirty, flax-colored hair. If any adjective were to describe her, beautiful would be one word not used on the lass, to her dissatisfaction.
Her father, Dungar, Stormwind's one and only flight master would never allow such imprudent, futile financial decisions to be made in his own household – why, he'd barely spend it on the good wine at the vendor's in the Canals. Why would he spend it on his worthless daughter's dresses and face? As he knew it, there wasn't any room for improvement – how could you improve irreversibly awful spawn?
"What's wrong with your clothes? It looks perfectly suitable to me," he'd ask her haggardly when Lystra would complain for hours among hours. When he saw his daughter, she was wearing purple. Having that color was hard enough to get by without having to barter for the material with the clothier at the canals. The dress didn't even have a sign that it was worn much at all.
"The garb is boring, papa. I've had to wear it twice this week. I'm sure Anduin would notice if I had to go to the library at the city keep," she would say in her high-pitched, whiny squeal, a year before Anduin disappeared. It was the voice that most irritated her father.
Like anyone would notice such a wretched creature, her father thought to himself.
"What happened to your allowance I gave you the other day?" he asked instead.
"Can't you give me just, like, ten silver or so? I need some shoes and I have an appointment with the barber."
"What?!"
"Things are just so expensive for the pretty things. Can't you raise the allowance to fifty silver or a gold piece? Maybe then I wouldn't need to pester you! How can you be an honorable man without letting your daughter look decent!?" Lystra spat, emphasizing 'decent' and stomping away to her room upstairs, the largest room in the Longdrink's townhouse. It was conversations like those that strained their relationship. He would dream for an obedient, witty son at night, and her thoughts of her stubborn, passé father removed regret from running away.
Lystra stopped thinking about her father, as more pressing issues were going to be necessary to face. Two guards, a female and a male, were standing watch besides the few exits. They'd certainly be suspicious to see a young girl stealthing two in the morning.
She stepped back, went inside the cheese store, and screamed, "Help! Get your hands off of me! Help! Someone!"
Because the people in there were only Elain Trias and Corbett Schneider, the town wanderer, Lystra thought it best to use that place as the perfect distraction. As she was hiding behind a few crates of what smelled unmistakably like Dalaran, the two unsuspecting guards came in and near tackled Corbett, who was leaning flirtatiously on the counter towards the mistress of cheese.
As they were getting matters settled, the young rogue silently left and sprinted across the Valley of Heroes, so quickly, in fact, that the dazed guards in the front of the gates didn't suspect a thing.
She crept up the dirt road until she found the stable at Goldshire where her horse, Gaellam, was kept until it was necessary to use his services.
She quietly and calmly saddled him and walked him to a grassy knoll half a league from the fencing. It had been long since she'd been afraid of the spiders and wild boars – instead she mounted and rode across fearlessly, until she and Gaellam leapt over the cliff. Before, doing it was something that scared her – but that was when she had an old, stiff horse, nearly too old to ride. In those times, Gaellam was only a foal.
Now she had a strong, beautiful black mare. From far away, she would look like a large, imposing figure to anything – the Defias Brotherhood, bears, and even the Horde, but she'd only seen those of the Horde when a raid of the terrifying bull-like creatures, the Forsaken, and elegant elves came around every so often. They had killed the last flight masters. She was sure if they were to come again, those terrible Horde folk, why, they'd probably kill her papa.
As she thought about it, they were the actually the reason why her father was able to transfer from the barren, dry Westfall to the grandeur of Stormwind. The last flight master, well, mistress, had been slaughtered by one of the Forsaken.
But if her father would die, perhaps the king would be so kind and offer her Anduin's hand in marriage out of pity?
She was nearing the edges of Elwynn and Westfall. It was the place that she knew only too well – the dry dust storms, gnolls, and Defias Harvesters.
Lystra came galloping at full speed, until she took notice of a depressing site: an old, bent woman leaning against her husband with a sickly horse beside her.
"Lystra! Is that you?" the old woman called out hoarsely in the darkness. She was hoping she hadn't gathered the wrong kind of attention – particularly not the Defias.
"Who are you?" Lystra said in return.
"My darling! I could recognize your voice anywhere! Come closer, dear, it's not safe."
"Wait... Aunt Verna?"
"The Defias overrun Theodore's farm, as you can see. We're too weak now to consider getting it back, but what our main concern as for the moment is Old Blanchy's food. He doesn't have his oats, and if we go to Sentinel Hill, we'll surely be attacked by the plethora of dangers out in this fallow land. We ask the guards on watch, but they ignore our cause, ignore our pleas. They care only for union with Stormwind, not the peaceful farmers who just want to continue on with our lives," she confided with Lystra.
"Oh, well, that's terrible, but I don't think I have any oats to spare," she mumbled, slightly embarrassed. She couldn't get caught up with the affairs around in this area – she had to go to the Deadmines, oh, she just had to! There was no time, would be nearly another hour before her escape would be revealed.
"Darling, if you could retrieve some from Farmer Saldean over yonder, I'd forever be grateful. There is a large bag of oats, enough for a day for Blanchy. One day is enough for us to get help at Goldshire, for surely someone there would have compassion for our cause. Just that sack of oats, please?" Verna begged. It was torture, truly, for Lystra. She had an agenda! She had only had an hour to enter into the infamous Deadmines before she would be tracked down by half of Stormwind.
Lystra grumbled a bit in thought, but managed to decide quickly. "Fine," she said, though cantankerously. She assumed that after she got the bag, her aunty would be thankful enough to keep her secret and direct the people who would come after her elsewhere. Anyways, if she were to become queen, why, she'd just have to learn to say "yes," when she'd much rather say "no."
Walking quietly to the shack, which used to be the beautiful Furlbrow Farmstead, she dodged overgrown weeds, the attacks of Harvest Watchers, and snakes that slithered beneath her feet.
She was wearing her long, coarse, woolly black cloak over her dull-grey leggings that clung uncomfortably in the wrong areas thanks to the hours of riding Gaellan. Her thin leather boots were barely any protection against the November chill and the silk dress covered over a doeskin vest and a black-bear tabard covered most of her torso. Lystra didn't belong to a guild, however, as her father wouldn't allow her to spend her life going on adventures to places like the Scarlet Monastery. The tabard was simply a gift from the tabard vendor by the Trade District when there was a surplus that year. As for her father, he planned on her becoming a volunteer at an orphanage or a happy, ignorant wife.
Lystra didn't really mind her father's concept, at least the "happy, ignorant wife" part, except that she would personally prefer "queen" in replacement to "wife." That was the reason she was going on this adventure – to have Anduin. She'd come back a hero, someone known for her courageous acts of love for the rest of time. Perhaps she'd have a book written about her in the library at Stormwind Keep?
She continued riding down south to Saldean's Farm. It was dry, ugly, and barren, but he still managed to keep it by bribing random people to kill the Defias Harvest Watchers whenever someone walked by. Nag, bribe, nag. It seemed that was all there was to these whiny Westfall inhabitants, at least to Lystra.
On the right edge from the farm, there lay a shack of oats, wheat, and all things that Aunt Verna was asking for. Lystra finally knew what all these quests were for; the Westfall farmers survived by stealing other farmer's things, but through the help of the very men and women who helped the thief.
As she was about to pick up the bag and transport it to the gunnysacks around her waist, an indistinguishable pain sent a spasm throughout her body.
She was about to yell, but a gloved hand muffled her scream. It was a man's voice; low, rough, and cool. "If you remain silent, you won't be harmed."