Chapter 3: A Day of Firsts

The Duel Plaza was a typical crowded field of shouts, clangs and laughter under a rare unclouded Dun Morogh sun and a frigid unblemished blue sky. Bone hollow winds hustled travellers, tourists, citizens, beast and machines on errands uncounted through powdered drifts and earthy white swirls. Thief Catchers patrolled gruffly efficient circuits between their brazier oases. Those trafficked of commerce or duty ramped to and from the lithic South Gate grudged minute-if any at all-heed to the simulation of blood feuds on the tundric shelf beyond their gait. In the beaten course of more vital affair and priority citizens bestowed lowly-if, again, any at all-judgement on the blowhard froth of duelists and their chaotic fans. Lo, those very duelists were oft to concede their sport at best a guilty addiction and at worst an endemic breakdown of contemporary moral standards. Still, a festival appreciation of combined violence and guile in a world so steeped of warcraft was mostly routine and few could claim honest despair on a practice in which most had partaken at one time or another.

Such activities drew a reliable and significant mass made to thirst and hunger in a fever of audience or participance. No matter the subject sordid or shameful a bankable need drew profiteers as certain as a scent of blood drew healers and predators. Wary officials tolerated the same soothed by the consistant glint of coin. Years of popular idiom redesignated the South Gate Courtyard as The Duel Plaza and even official nomenclature resigned to accommodate the moniker eventually. Similarly eager audiences and coinables made Dueling a staple attraction in all Azeroth and beyond.

Duelists wished to relive the epic bloodsports made lore long before neutral Duel Masters plied their contestant-preservative skills. Folk storied primitive times when one risked evisceration as well as honor-or so favored the rumors much to historian chagrin. Alas modern duelist traded their blows protected by Duel Masters' enchantments and so with most consequence suppressed by artful illusion and magick mitigation. Duelists observed faceted rules of formalized challenges with a deadly earnest-despite losers who rarely took more than bruises and embarrassment to the sidelines and victories that gained oft naught but the affection of witnesses and perhaps a sly of wager. So had the modern Art of Dueling removed mortality from the traditional martial clash of ego and skill. There was still a filter of pain and occasionally some blood but fatality had become flukish, not compulsory. Folk battered the zealous snot out of one and another with rarely more vital fluids-or limbs-shed in the course.

T'was not just unchecked bloodlust: Skills-otherwise difficult to master-could be practiced without cannilly and prosecution. Feud-unchecked perhaps to bloodshed-could meet a satisfactory proof. Partners of agonistic courtship could exchange energies without undo fuss or fratricide. Lovelorn upstart and underdog rivals met with far less extinction or successive tragedy in turn.

With little stake beyond self image some matches could prove a tad lopsided.

One such battle had just ended. Aloof and professional amidst the carnival ruckus about the field, a Duel Master planted the banner with a crisp delivery of "Match, Hemhu Lockwinder!" The winner ruffled his plumage to his admirers. In his wake the raggedy loser picked himself off the cold ground and cursed as the fanfare drifted away.

A paladin, rogue and now a warrior had been challenged and all three duels badly lost by the lanky stranger... in but the score of minutes Zilla the dwarf had shadowed the young human hunter. Zilla had first noticed him about the guild recruitment displays that morning. He'd been intrigued when he recognized his class a hunter and had started his scrutiny with high hopes but those had begun to fade.

Wee lad cannae fight, Zilla sighed. He t'ain't even any grace lost in falling down.

The paladin had simply healed and shielded until the hunter had exhausted his kudos. The paladin nudged the slim human once with her broadsword. The hunter crumpled and the duel master stayed professional... with visible effort.

The challenged rogue had cut in, slashed and faded, left the hunter stunned defenseless against lightning strikes and relentless feints. No speed could match the clever stealth of a practiced rogue. The match was short. The Duel Master cleansed the effect of multiple poisons from the sagged hunter in the aftermath.

A warrior opponent had simply charged and battered the hapless hunter until the Master closed the match with a tsk of concern. The warrior had quite the entourage and they were not kind to the loser. Disheartened the hunter faded away into the crowd and saw to other matches with a coyote distance.

Dinnae fash the lad, Zilla shrugged. Mayhaps he fancy a wee skelping. Human and hunter: no doubt the skinny lad been the butt of a few hilarities in his time.

A human hunter was a standout in the Eastern Kingdoms. Since the second war most agencies distrusted humans of the class and the Defias schism alone left human hunters at best suspect. Zilla boggled to think where and by who the human boy might have been trained. Within the due process of prejudice a stranger such as he would be barred from entrance to Ironforge and, in fact, risked prosecution. But one thing humans did-besides reproduce like kobolds and NOT hold their liquor-was splinter into factions. The guards at Ironforge or at least Karanos had interrogated the human about his origins, found his loyalties marginally acceptable and granted him a pass. Zilla squinted. The boy's gear was neutral and mixed and had lacked any visible pointy or boomy stuff while out about in town. No weapons meant he had a Red Pass-so his entry had been granted but tenuously.

Zilla was not an expert on human physiology but the he guessed the human to be in his early-twenties. So, a babe and nothing spectacular but a tad rare. Still... there was something about how the kid moved with a cadence and awareness that didn't quite ken. The patterns were familiar to Zilla but he couldn't… place... them. Perhaps a new hunter aspect spell?

The human was coy, fast witted and and never still. He looked out of place, a mite overwhelmed and sunken-eyed hungry but didn't advertise weakness. Zilla had elbowed up to a Thief Catcher who seemed to share his interest-if not his neutral judgement-of the stranger.

"Gilnean," the city guard had muttered darkly.

Zilla patted a thanks and pushed away through the crowd. He'd guessed the same. Three strikes for the lad: a stranger, a outcast and a traitor. Lass got all the perks, Zilla mused. Just my sort of sad case, he'd decided… before the kid mucked up three duels.

Eventually the human had passed the South Gate, recollected his weapons at the armory booth and made his way outside and to the windswept Duel Plaza. Zilla followed roundabout and had wandered a bit before he came back upon the distinctive human and his less-than-stellar first matches.

The human hunter continued to orbit the expansive plateau along the assumed limits to the herculean ramp and the queues to Ironforge. He'd traced the fenced edge opposite and tipped a gander to the sheer drop down to frozen river below. The hunter dulled about in apparent obliviousness caught up in some inner drama, no doubt. Zilla considered and admitted that perhaps his instinct was wrong this time. He'd been wrong-sort of and but only occasionally-before.

Besides, he sighed, seventeen hunters in a guild of one-hundred fifty folk WAS a mite steep. With my guildies all uptight about challenging the 'Core, Zilla considered, t'was naught the best crowd to tout charity or long chance on some baby human who shouldn't be.

A small blur of motion brought Zilla out of his ponders. The human had snagged a young elf's long fingers in somewhat unjustified proximity to his inner tunic pocket. T'was a quick blind grab and the human had turned-just so-that his rifle butt batted away a partner villain close on his opposite flank. As his crimemate grimaced away bruised, the trapped youngster struggled and swore up at his captor. Jerked nose to dirty nose with his intended mark he glared a skittish defiance.

The human sneered a mortician grin on the saucer of hardened dread he held close. He took the time to educate the junior brigand on how he MIGHT have broken a hypothetical thief's wrist. His free hand came around and slipped a flash of copper into the boy's ragged vest. A flash of teeth and the hunter shoved the cutpurse away into the crowd. The event had transpired in a mere breath and gained exactly zilch untoward hassle-even from folk crushed elbow-immediate to the incident.

A grunt of approval and a smile split Zilla's round ruddy, chestnut-furred face. Bedecked ear to jeweled ear, stocky to the extreme and a tad pudgy around the midriff the dwarf hunter made a blunt wedge through the crowds. Pleased, because he'd managed a better look at the human's firearm at last: T'was INDEED a Blastershot Launcher on the human's back. Ho! Our wee lad got into braw Molten Core, Zilla surmised happily.

The human pressed on, paused to mull thoughtfully at a few more duels and meandered into the center arena. Zilla followed discreetly. The midfield plaza was dominated by professional duelists, serial duelers and the slightly-frowned-upon cliques made for wager. The dwarf tarried in an admittedly morbid curiosity but winced at what he'd seen next.

The human chose to confront an obviously accomplished human male paladin. A few shoves and sharp words and eventually the brightly gilded foe frowned at the challenger and waved acceptance. In lieu of some misplaced anger displayed by the plated adversary Zilla guessed the hunter had previously motivated matters with rough business unseen. Mark two for the young'un, he harrumphed.

Zilla's shoulders drooped and he frowned at the exchange of bets between the human, the pally and a neutral holder-of-lots. "Och led," he mumbled to himself. "Ye bay ah brow fawl." He tarried with but a stitch left of his famous patience and on a tad of unfathomable instinct. The human tourist smooshed at his elbow slipped him a confused glance and so Zilla realized he'd spoken aloud. He smiled back numbly until the man looked away. T'ain't I just the master spy, Zilla jested.

The match began. The Duel Master backed away, waved his banner. The paladin snapped to a sharply aggressive stance behind his impressive two-handed claymore. The hunter dropped to a knee, set his gun on the ground and tossed his odd curved knife to wiggle blade-impaled in the earth a foot away.

The paladin shouted in obvious disdain and confusion, splayed gauntlet to the hunter's inactive repose. The Duel Master shrugged. After some more noise the paladin cut around to flank the hunter. The human countered, pivoted to always face his opponent but made no offensive or further defensive moves. The paladin swore and boggled. He rushed about until some of his more treasured admirers supposed a vocal air of bored dissatisfaction.

An angry call to arms gained but a wink from the hunter. T'was enough... The paladin's hands rose in invocation, a damage spell flared from his armored fingers. He cast with a frustrated flourish.

The hunter took the magick smite with a gasp and jerked down on both knees. A breath and he'd picked himself up and returned to neutral genuflection. The paladin laughed and his hands rose for another cast…

Wonder if he trying to bore our wee pally to death, Zilla speculated. At least the lass nae much for-

The hunter's rifle blurred up, fired, the stock slammed his shoulder.

The bullet shattered on the paladin's upper breastplate. The spell was interrupted.

Bystanders ducked by reflex as the shot echoed off mountains and monoliths.

The paladin staggered and raged, tantrumed at the cowardly-and ate a faceful of gunstock.

The hunter had dashed in at full charge. A sweep, contact and rifle stowed, the knife prized from the earth as he passed. He met the paladin head on. The knife rose and fell in a half-dozen sparked clashes that staggered the plated adversary. Blade held upright the hunter ducked under the paladin's instinctive arm block. He stepped firm, lifted, jerked, locked his leg behind the armored opponent's leg and swung around.

The paladin faltered as his boots scraped for purchase. The hunter was faster, used his knee and the paladin's outrigger leg as fulcrum, swooped behind as his opponent off-balanced. He came upright and curled an arm around the paladin's helm. Another lift, arm over the visor held fast from behind. A one-hand flip reversed, the hunter's knife came horizontal, the edge skipped on the gorget, a click, two, before it scraped in. The hunter's fingers pulled back on the visor, his knife jerked. The human rolled out on inertia as the paladin collapsed.

A stunned loll of the paladin's head showed a blue sliver on the duel shield-and a theoretically slashed throat. The hunter crouched into a three-pointed repost, knife high, gun held low. The nearest in the audience stepped wary of the sweep of his curved weapon. The human flashed a frantic blue uncertainty between the paladin and the grim referee.

The flag rose and the Duel Master announced, "Match, Ghim Grundlunder."

Now Zilla had a name to the face. He idly clapped with the rest.

Ghim righted. His gun rolled around his shoulder in a reload habit and slid strapped onto his back. His knife shunked into the sheath on it's own accord.

As the paladin shook his head and stammered-mostly in outrage-the lanky stranger nudged close to the wager holder.

Reward collected, Ghim examined the crowd until he met a response. He immediately redeposited the entire purse of coin into the same holder's palm and pointed. Zilla, found himself shuffled shoulder-to-shoulder with the wage holder, ducked aside with the crowd and looked for the target. A few moments later Ghim faced off with a leather bound female dwarf. The hearty rogue seemed to betray amusement but matched up nonetheless.

The moves promised to be lightning quick. Zilla mumbled and renewed his Cheetah Aspect to better witness the game. He doubted half the folk in the unaugmented audience had seen most of the fight moves. Those who could not or chose not to improve their senses with magick were no doubt relegated to witness blur, whoosh and whoever won. Zilla's own wife was a priest and lacked such an ability as his Cheetah Aspect and he oft wondered how she ever got by. Alas, he digressed, Zilla had his own handicaps that she'd no doubt point out.

A flutter of Master flag and the combatants excised any joviality, glared and circled. Foot over foot, leg around leg, backs coiled, grips pale on their steel. The rogue faded into stealth and the crowd bristled. As expected, the first move was lightning.

From magick-made-nowhere Ghim took a skull crack and staggered through a bevy of abuse as the rogue appeared, her blades a windmill. His duel shield was bright with gouges and slashes when he finally twisted away. The match seemed nearly at a close and the Master poised to judge.

Zilla was roughly hipped aside and vexed down to the rude intrusion. Blink. A tamed blue boar, modestly collared and accoutred, tusks pierced by cheap rings and tipped by hand-me-down brass had shoved in from the forest of legs behind the dwarf. The beast gruffly took thigh high vantage between Zilla and the wage holder. A surge from the audience. Zilla cursed the distraction and looked back to the fight.

Best he could tell, Ghim had paused the rogue with an elbow uppercut as he tucked into her next attack. The same motion of arm converted to a curve and blind reach. A hairsbreadth of relent and an immediate duck when his sweep of arm came back empty. He spun low in on the vector of last contact and swept a roundhouse. He kicked a leg out as a snag and pivoted again to keep his balance.

He'd guessed right-a bit: the rogue retrograded on an oath and avoided the grapple, spun with wings of her daggers. One blade clipped a lock of the red hair but naught else of significance from her target. Unphased as the dwarf pirouetted and grinned under a high-handed bravo move that saw both daggers blur airborne a flash swap of hands.

Ghim reeled back heel to toe and stood sidelong-made a smallest target for the unknown to come. He gripped his knife in one hand and looped the tail of his cloak around the other, crabbed into a bristle of knees and elbows.

Bloodied bridge of teeth framed deadly confident, back coiled and she kneed out and lunged, twin blades speared the front of her attack. The rogue twirled her twin blades as she slashed in, dodged left, feinted right. "Ye clarty bairn!" the dwarf cried and wiggled her high blade to catch a glint of harsh winter sun. A murmur afront from the dwarvish near amongst the crowd at the verbal slight. But the lass' smile hadn't dimmed.

Ghim took the low hit in glance from his bracer, bashed steel and flesh aside. He twisted boneless, caught the drop-thrust wrist and locked his arm. He curled into a tangle of arms. As the low jab lifted out he snagged her elbow by his axilla, rotated with the trapped wrist upright, elbows locked. He dropped to a knee on the high side, levered the rogue with him. Wrenched free and high-armed. Her head snapped back and he released. She fell onto her heels, blades thrown wide. Ghim one-two-jabbed a half-dozen cracks to the bridge of her nose, the last a heel open-handed. She stumbled.

He split up on a knee and threw the other leg forward, levered upright, hand flashed from his scabbard. As she struggled a repose his curved blade weighted by his spring slashed the rogue up from hip to shoulder. A massive blue scar across the duel shield left little need for explanation. Taken a tad unawares the Duel Master scrambled and rushed his call. His name was announced, Ghim received the two gorged purses. The rogue shook out and laughed, ducked into a one or two word conference with Ghim, touched his palm and parted ways.

Zilla was again firmly intrigued.

The purses disappeared and Ghim left the center court. He beelined to the same warrior who'd squarely defeated him shortly before. They exchanged rigid pleasantries under low brows and cast no wagers.

The Master signaled and the warrior squared-

Before the banner had settled Ghim's rifle snapped up, a triplicate of blasts into the warrior's billboard stance. The warrior staggered under a rain of concussion and explosive bullets and the hunter charged the warrior, jerked his rifle held low. The bayonet flicked out from the stock and a sudden razor tip gleamed under the smoke-trailed muzzle. The warrior instantly slashed a yard-wide half-circle of brilliant steel at the attack.

The spear nee firearm held low and the hunter ducked the deadly arc. He checked against his adversary. There was a split frenzy and grapple. The warrior attempted a bear-hug, but Ghim slinked under. He recoiled and rammed his rifle upward into the warrior's crossed of arms. Crowbar jerked back, a hand high on the warrior's helm.

The warrior's choice: Fall with the pull or open his guard to loose the lever; The warrior chose his guard, tucked his sword and oriented his arm to attempt again to entrap his opponent in a backbreak hug. The hunter rolled free and around the warrior and flailed his rifle arm outward to gain speed from his spin. The rifle whipped about and tucked in and the orbit closed in a blur.

A pirouette took the hunter around the steel grasp and his bayonet sparked across the man's faceplate. Second rotation, fulcrum-snare of hand on gorget and the gun came back stock first and high. The impact rattled the warrior's teeth through his chin guard. Ghim released his pivot hand, clawed his fingers over face shield. Held tight. The metal helmet snapped back, face shield prized open. The hunter hipped with all his weight against the off-balance warrior. A twist of knee and flail, the armored duelist turtled. A blur of rifle came about in a final reload spin under the hunter's shoulder. An overarm and the bayonet slammed a hairsbreadth short of the warrior's saucer of eyes as the duel shield shivered and spat-but held. The Duel Master nodded, his brow and Ghim's banner raised.

Zilla smirked and clapped, impressed. He teetered a second as the boar shoved around him and trotted away. Paused… some arse dun spilled a wee drink? On me leg? He looked incredulous to his elbow neighbor elf. She blinked back honest innocence, hands proved free of any suspect beverage. He darted, caught a fleet glimpse of the boarish rump just as the beast disappeared into the crowd. He attempted to track the boar to no avail, realized the pet had likely been dismissed by his master moments before.

"Did your animal just pee on you?" the elf asked, a touch repelled.

"Nae," Zilla managed. "T'wain't may baestee lass," he explained.

"Huh?" she acknowledged astutely.

"Ah see," he pointed. "Thay foggin booer t'wisn't meh pat."

"He peed on you," she putted redundently, frowned and walked away.

"Aye. Hey pade an meh," Zilla frowned. He remembered and squinted for his human hunter. Picked him out, he shook his leg and dashed after.

Ghim sought no more duels. He'd avoided banal congratulations, walked through the merchants and up to the citizen entrance at the Ironforge gate. He fumbled at his satchel until the guards waved him through. He efficiently deposited his armaments in the sequester lockers and sighed neutral spread and high-armed for the pat-down. Once cleared of the entrance the human summoned his pet. The boar clad in cheap brass winked into existence at his heel and glared up at his human. The hunter canted his head, shrugged and smirked. The boar raced off toward the Military Ward. The hunter turned opposite and away.

Zilla caught himself and swore, caressed a weary brow, brushed at his pant leg. His credentials had taken him through the gate with barely a fret so he'd lounged in wait lost in the bustle of the nearby auction house.

The human slipped into the first open tavern he met, ordered an ale and a platter of some sort of human food. He flirted with the stocky waitress and failed miserably. He shoveled the food into his mouth, paused to gulp his ale. Repeat. Breathed as a spare necessity. Sat somber an empty table on the perimeter of the inn's boulevard-based gated beer garden, back to the wall. After half an ale at the bar Zilla approached. The robotic feeding slowed, an eye flickered over a laden utensil at the dwarf intruder.

"Lad," Zilla smiled his warmest. "Ye team oh wee bare?"

The eye narrowed in silence.

"Ye pat," the dwarf tried again "Ye pat pade ahn meh."

Ghim was unmoved save to ask, "where?"

"Th dude plooza," Zilla explained.

"Oh," Ghim replied and took in his mouthful.

"Lad mand iv meh zit?" The dwarf motioned to the bench opposite.

The hunter eyed him a breath and shrugged.

Hearty smiled his warmest Zilla stepped over onto the bench. Frowned as the boy's dominant hand slid warily under the table. Brows beetled. A tad paranoid, Zilla judged. The dwarf lifted a finger. The barmaid bounced over and topped his tankard with a grin and a wink. "Hoya Zilla," she smiled warmly. Acknowledged the human with only a sidelong impatience.

"Thinks Marg," Zilla replied, all business and took a glug. Wiped his mouth, nodded to the human. "Soo, Ah say-"

"Ye were at the play fights," Ghim said quietly. "An'the guild poster place."

The barmaid cleared her throat. Swiped the table with her rag.

"Aye laddie," Zilla barely skipped a beat, "Ah t'was moch impressitted wit ye performins."

"Thanks," Ghim held his mug up with a sly smirk. "T'ain't real fightin'. Took some gettin' used to." He blinked, grinned to the server, "thanks... Marg."

The barmaid's countenance was tolerantly adequate and neutral as she filled his mug. Task complete she dashed away, animated brightly for the clientele at another table. Ghim considered the behavior with a slight wince .

"Haf ye dude mooch afore?" Zilla asked.

"Six times," the human said in a flat tone, "ye a big fan of play fights?"

"Nae partikhley." Zilla beamed proudly. Said "Ah th Hoonter Cap'in o'Vitae Aeternum," and held out his hand with a flourish.

The human looked at him blandly. Unmoved.

"T'is me gid. Ye lookt fo'wee gids," Zilla explained offset as he withdrew his offer.

"Eh. I want a guild thae speak Common," Ghim noted idly, "me dwarvish t'is o'lect'och un fuggad."

"Och lad. Bood ye kin swah," Zilla tsked. "Ye moomas nae prout Ah bat."

"T'was me mom teached me swearin'," Ghim looked away into the crowd. He glanced back thoughtfully, "already dun talked to folk in Viddy Whahoosit. T'was nae impressed."

The dwarf lifted a brow. "Oo t'was id?"

A pause. "Some uppity warlock," the outcast finally replied with a squint. He leant close. "Thae somethin' wrong with ye tongue?"

Zilla ignored the question. "Ah say. Nae uh hoonter," sat back and tipped his mug. "Soo haah meeny gids ye tray oot wit, boyo?" Zilla asked. "Sides me fave."

Blue flickered under low brows. The human ducked and traced a ring of ale on the table. Sighed and he shrugg-

"Greetings Captain Zilla!" A cheery-faced night elf clad in the immaculate foppery of a high rank Ironforge councilman approached the table. The dandy glibly broke the tableau, marched up like a parade and prompted the human's hand to again dive under the table.

"Aye Senor Bolla, ah ye weell?" The two exchanged hands. Zilla stood and moved around the table. Plopped down next to Ghim. Hands out offered the empty seat, "zit wit uz?"

Suddenly made wary, the elf considered with hand on chin. Murmured, "oh I don't know... I have a thing with Vella later…" Held up helpless for a breath before he grinned and eyed Ghim mischievously. Another pause for effect before his face lit and he moved to sit. Surrendered with a flair of his hands, "Oh I suppose my reputation is safe enough to corrupt some youth."

Ghim's hand went to his mouth, hid the irked smile that threatened his stoic poise.

Zilla wagged three fingers at the barmaid and then squared himself on the table. Hands out announced, "Bolla Valewarder, lemmie 'troduce Grimt Gerberbooten." The dwarf winked, elbowed Ghim playfully and nodded to the well-dressed newcomer. "Bolla bay sloommin' wit'uz plebes."

"Not at all... my Honored Constituents!" Smiled impossibly broader Bolla held out his hand. "Very pleased by the acquaintance, proud human."

Rubbed at his side, Ghim took the offer tentatively. The grip was strong. "Thanks," he mumbled. Sat and hunched his eyes darted between the two boisterous companions warily. Helplessly buried his nose in his mug as the two rambled brightly.

"Gimp hare th noost oh me braw hoonters," Zilla declared at a pause. "Hey jist joint wee Vitae Aeternum," said loudly as again his arm nudged the human's kidney.

Ghim choked on ale. Dropped his tankard to the table and glared at Zilla with vexation.

Bolla sat upright and stared at the human. "A HUMAN hunter?" Shown elf bright curiosity under sleek lifted brows, "That makes you…"

Ghim again sought refuge behind his drink.

"Gilnean," Zilla asserted, "Aye."

"The one folk are talking about on the dueling plateau!" Bolla patted Ghim's arm with excitement. "How exciting!"

Again Ghim coughed into his mug, eyes shifted, failed outrage and was ignored. His shoulders drooped in defeat as he rubbed his forehead with his free hand.

"Moe dranks wee Marg," Zilla extolled. "Ah bay bay ceelbradin' hey wee naw bozz nigh!"

Ghim squinted, afeared that he'd possibly understood the dwarf's warble. He settled as more drink arrived. Certainly the boisterous bearded wonder would forget his suppositions as the night grew boozy, and Zilla had so far paid for all the revelry… so what was the worst could happen? Ghim had learned his hard lessons about the thrice-damned guilds and he'd not make THAT mistake twice.


Kext sat back, feet planked on her desk. Her steam-powered pen ticked against her teeth, the owner lost to her thoughts. She had dressed for muster. Donned her Kirin Tor sash across her chest, plumed collar robe of blue velvet buttoned to her throat. Vitae Aeternum's emblem emblazoned her tabard beset by her glitter pins of rank and reward. Her large azure eyes stared over her sandaled feet. Lacked focus on the wainscotting beyond practically manicured toes. Normally she would have been so relaxed before the muster, absorbed in her thoughts of Guild duty and vital ceremony. Tonight was slightly different. Her thoughts found further afield.

Despite the fizzle of another recent out, Binoff had asked Kext on that next 'official' date, made no excuses of business or such nonsense this time, proclaimed his interests as specifically romantic in nature. As for his intentions… Kext admitted that she couldn't quite recall the actual date plans, figured for the arbitrary coffee at the Bronze Kettle or anything likely far removed from any open bar. She'd nodded numbly and smiled, figured his famously pronounced fair intentions and strong morals a challenge that might be circumvented given the right… motivation and circumspect.

As always, she had a full schedule of guild duties to work around. Binoff, as a guild initiate and potential officer was likely just as busy. Kext grinned, considered her roommate's vacant bed. Vella might have to be evicted to Bolla's tonight, she schemed.

For the sake of expediency of course.

As if called by her own ghost Vella stomped into the room, an oath growled under her breath. Kext looked on unconcerned. Her night elf roommate was passionate-hell downright crazy-for an elf and spikes in behavior were not particularly unexpected. The whisper was Dawnchange which Vella denied with a typical impunity.

Vella seemed to notice her for the first time when obstructed by the gnome's reclined chair in her path. Tossed up her hands and walked around to sit on her bed. Kext didn't query, she waited with feigned indifference.

"Zilla did it again!" Vella complained.

"Did what?" Kext asked patiently.

Dubious brows beetled at the gnome. "Come back with some ragged refugee from Elune-knows-where… bypassed the guild's entry exam OF COURSE, " she explained tiredly.

"Another hunter?" Kext emphasized 'another.' "That makes seventeen."

"Axe murderers all we know!" Vella rubbed her forehead, "Zilla INSISTS he has some magic instinct about these things." She shook her head, "I'll have you know he's taking a real risk with this one. Gone too far this time!"

"Vitae could always use more axe murderers." Kext smirked suggestively, "dungeons are a bloody business." She rubbed her chin with a dagger-nailed thumb. She blinked at Vella's sudden scowl and added thoughtfully, "but a REAL troublemaker this time?"

"Sure," Vella putted vaguely. "Well at least you'll get to meet another rare one," she speculated.

"Huh?" Kext turned her chair, leant down so her feet met the floor.

"He's human." Vella said simply.

Kext quizzed for a second before it hit her. "A HUMAN hunter?"

"Yes, a Gilnean apparently." Vella showed her empty hands.

"I've never met-" Kext started. "Well not in years," she recalled. "Supposed to be only exiles and half-breeds left." The gnome leant in. "He dress like a plague-caller? Wonder if he knows any Defias rebels. Is he unusually hairy?"

"Kext Blinglehopper," the night elf pronounced, "trustee of sordid rumors and stereotypes. Tsk. And with your background I'd think-"

"Good rum," the gnome added thoughtfully. Drummed her pen on her small teeth.

"Gnome curiosity," Vella murmured. "And drunk ambition," she chided.

"Hey!" Kext shot upright with dramatic umbrage and injury. "I'll have you know that I-"

"Didn't get half in the bag on the last cartel run?" Vella's brows beetled, "Didn't frighten poor Hyrm half senseless?"

"Exaggeration," the gnome insisted. "I thought we were discussing the new guildie, not my… Wait." Kext grew concerned, "did Hyrm say something?"

"Nothing lucid," Vella admitted dryly. "I wonder. What would your mother say, hmm?"

"Don't let a Streamrunner bully you," Kext replied defiantly and without hesitation.

Vella blinked. "Fair enough," smiled and swept out her arms.

The offer gave the gnome pause of fleeted suspicion, but she eventually recovered, submitted and accepted the hug.

After a moment the two separated, sat back and settled on a silent exchange until quick muffled strikes of the guild's cloister bell disrupted the tableau. Kext spun and snatched her journal from the desktop, threw herself forward pivoted her chair and her feet found the floor. "Games on," the gnome announced happily. She paused at the door, peered expectantly at her roommate.

Vella had also stood in a similar almost automatic reaction to the muffled ring of summons through the thick walls. Dismissively waved to Kext and turned to rifle through some garments on her own desk. "Be a moment," she mumbled.

The diminutive mage smirked, shoved a shoulder against the door and slipped out. Left the portal ajar. Vella stopped, righted herself and mused at the empty doorway. Her hand made a small move and the tiny bottle slid free from concealment in her sleeve. The nip was still warm from the deepest folds of Kext's tunic. The night elf sighed and cast a frown on the small portrait mounted most prominent on the wall as seen from Kext's desk. "I'm trying, Bet," she whispered. Pocketed the bottle and gathered her things, left in her roommate's path.


The night had so far gone much easier than Ghim expected. He'd been apprehensive about so many people in one small place. He'd worried about folks' questions and their attitudes. He'd been worried because he couldn't fade away from or put a bullet through the worry to end it. Zilla had well and truly sharked him in. The guilds were still alien to him. A myriad of folk, well dressed, well spoken. Folk who gathered to share adventure. He'd whistled silently at some of their equipment. The walls littered with tokens of accomplishment and mementos. A complex leadership pyramid. Free booze.

He'd never seen Mayday's apparently modest lodgings, t'was in Stormwind and he didn't go there.

First surprise: the Vitae Aeternum's digs were anything but small. A maze of great rooms connected by arches was carved deep into the solid strata from a secured entrance on the fourth-level Ironforge boulevard. Cozy and safe. There were kitchens. Baths. A warren of barracks for guild members. A battle practice room called 'the Stocks,' the casual mention of which by Zilla had perked his attention. The place rivaled a Cartel palace in many aspects.

Most Alliance species were represented in Vitae Aeternum: Night Elves, Dwarves, Gnomes and Humans. All shared the great hall, were a scatter of guildmates and friends, partners in a business of adventure, reward and danger.

The guild had all the classes distributed in fairly even numbers.

Warlocks were empowered by a dedication to the easily maligned dark magicks. Master demon summoners and delvers of fel corruption, sappers of will and strength. Enabled by the same insidious powers that spawned the Dark Portal and consequently three bloody wars, the more noble were hard-pressed to maintain trust among fellow mortals. T'was known too that sanity could be an endangered resource among Warlocks. They could transport folk from great distances with nether summons; a handy talent for support of a far-ranged raid guild. Unsurprisingly the human female, Cleo Farnum, who was the Class Captain and a Guild Lieutenant t'was dark of mood, judgemental and mousy.

The Priests were the ultimate healers and resurrectionists. Soothers of soul and body, a steadfast and vital few. Their training was intense, long and highly formalized. Most disappeared into the penitent priories who kept vigil against various magickal threats both real and imagined. But in their dedication worldly experience was not completely dissuaded, nor could a being's nature to wander be countered by rhetoric alone. So priests walked Azeroth and oft passed years among the less spiritual and sought adventure. The Guild Leader, Valen Brushdrover, was a priest. He seemed to also act as the Class Captain.

Rogues: shifty stealthers and scouts with a skill for ambush and a penchant for sharp, poisoned blades. Like the Warlocks, their oft-misused abilities found a grateful home in a society of gilded looters and plunderers. Ghim had not met their leader, would have been mildly surprised if they had one at all.

Alliance Druids were exclusively night elves in his experience. Friends of nature and the essences of live Azeroth. Shape shifters who could assume a variety of forms for different purposes. Typically support healers and damage-dealers could provide rezzes in a pinch. Could tank in bear form. Zilla had pointed out a tall very pretty elf as someone important among their class.

Mages. Arcane powered batteries of disaster and arguably the best crowd control a guild could employ. Spellchucker nobles among Druids, Priests, Paladins and Warlocks who tapped mana for their energies. Bent reckless by nature, tempered by harsh training. Mages also controlled two useful transportation spells; Portals to various set points on Azeroth and the short range jumps called Blink. Could transform folk into sheep, a handy, oft hilarious skill. Zilla had mentioned their Captain but Ghim had lost the name in his captain's cryptic manner of speech.

There were the Hunters, under Zilla. Mostly trained as snipers and scouts in the various aligned militaries. Keepers of tamed pets. In their ranks Ghim stood out. Human hunters had rebelled en mass during the second war, took to the Defias rebellion. Apparently no one trained them. Quietly he felt outclassed. He preferred not to linger on the hodgepodge that was his own training. Nor did he volunteer any insight. Zilla seemed fine with him so far, oddly excited for him even.

He'd bumped into a gorgeous paladin-he hadn't caught her name-and she'd enjoyed the bump almost as much as had he. Paladins were denizens of the Light. Healers and resurrectionists but mostly treasured for their powerful magickal buffs. A paladin could bolster an ally's health and stamina, fighting ability and other characteristics. Stood apart from the other spellchuckers as wearers of heavy plate armor. Could take a thrash and give right back. A human male with the unlikely moniker of Sincleanser was their leader.

And the Warriors, powerfully armed, heavily armored. The tip of the spear in attacks. The best tanks, designated to hold an enemy at point while the others applied their damage. Personalities differed, but warriors often socialized in bearing to their brash nature.

Ghim had always been amazed by folk who made careers of adventure. The guilds represented the cream, the sharpest edges. Big mana. Ghim had a short history with guilds. Mostly run-ins for cartel enforcement on individuals. The recent mess with Mayday. Cartels were not guilds. Not by a long shot.

And now he sat again among beings he'd quietly admired, grudgingly encountered. Held his tongue and kept low. Damn, he'd gotten buried deep this time, he mused. He tried relaxed and happy. Felt alien. Eased, perhaps by ale before the muster, or Bolla's fine humor, or Zilla's friendly slurred candor… and he was badly hungover. He hoped he wasn't grinned up like an idiot.

Zilla leant over, "Lad, nae ye execushun, ye kin tray smeelin'!"

Ghim produced the required smile and Zilla seemed placated.

A mage Blink spell- Ghim's hand dove for an absent hilt on his empty belt.

The short ranged transport magick cracked from an entry arch and snapped to instant coalescence before a table full of mages yards into the room. The magick gave away the presence but at first he only saw the attentions of the fellow mages. The new arrival stood hidden behind folk at their tables. Ghim was intrigued: A Blink spell into such a crowded room was reckless and that made him really smile.

The mage hopped into view, stood onto a chair. He saw the gnome's mop of silvery hair first and then the fine fit of her robes. Neat. A lot of little medals and a purple sash. Confidently she addressed the other mages. He realized that she was their Captain, the one Zilla had mentioned. He'd not met many gnomes before Ironforge. Never a leader. Goblins, sure, gnomes, nae.

She led her table of mages in a fancy chant. Met some personal points leant in close to her fellows. The group settled and the gnome mage sat in the chair, pulled a little book from her robes. Turned and scanned the room, chinned over her shoulder to view the hunter table.

Their eyes met. The gnome's were a remarkable blue like the open sky between heavy clouds and big as saucers to Ghim. Her face was rounded as her people tended to have, her nose pug and freckled. She stood perhaps a hair over three feet in height. Typical.

Her mouth open in the midst of a word she paused. Reckless and proper.

Ghim's dimple twitched in a hint of a smile not entirely of his own violation. The Mage Captain did a slight double-take and dropped the little book she carried. He looked away as she did with no wish to impose. Ghim admitted to no one but he had a soft spot for mages. He suspected his mother had been a mage. Again he kept this to himself.

And Ghim recognized the mage's sash as Kirin Tor. Big mana, as Grekthrope might have said. Serious talent, scary power. He hoped he'd get to see her work, and not from her bad side. In a day of surprises he allowed himself yet another pleasant fancy: Gnome or not, this first-rate spellchucker was actually quite pretty.

Kext gathered her ledger, had to scramble a bit and ask Dom to hand her the pen. When settled she looked back at the Gilnean but the newcomer had looked away, intrigued with the guild charter on the wall. She risked a moment stare with no wish to impose.

He was smaller than most humans, wiry and full of angles. He was tanned, unlike the city folk she knew. The darker skin made an odd contrast with his red hair, cut short on his head and trim about on his face. Not neat. Functional. Forced a casual air.

She didn't think she'd ever seen a human so lean, like an animal bred for a race. She chided herself; had compared the man to an animal! Wrote quickly in her little book, the glyph for Gilnea. She was pretty sure his eyes were blue, but dark beneath heavy brows, hard to be sure from across the room. He was not very handsome, but he was indeed interesting.

Kext looked away to the raised stage where the seats were still empty, waited for the leadership to finish their conference. Vella described the Gilnean's personality as standoffish, uncouth and bucolic. Kext figured she wasn't in any danger of falling in love.


Ghim napped pleasantly, eyes wide open and hands crossed in his lap, back straight.

The guild bosses had gone on for a while now about things he wasn't immediately concerned about. He'd heard that he was to come to the guild hall every morning and find out if he was included in whatever big mission they had planned. If not, he'd work into a smaller guild team and go look for trouble. Free food provoked his immediate interest.

How odd to look to find trouble as a habit. In his experience the trouble always found you. Cities, guilds, gnomes. He sighed. If the pretty officers went on too much longer, he'd like to fall-

"Ghim Grundlunder, front and center."

He was startled awake as Zilla patted his back. He looked around and just about every face returned his stare with friendly expectation. Numbly, he stood and slipped among the tables. Twice he jerked away from hands offered, but thankfully he recovered and accepted the greetings numbly. He passed the bumpy paladin and she squared her shoulders and looked up at him with a mischievous smile. A hazel glint of intrigue.

Kext looked on, interested as the rest.

She heard quiet voices near about. "He moves like a whipped dog," observed one. "Or a snake," suggested another. Kext looked sidelong, saw that the speakers were humans, of course, one of her mages and a warlock. Spoke addled with mistrust for a human hunter or disdain of his Gilneas heritage.

She looked back and the man-Ghim-had stopped not a few feet from her, faced the stage. He did have a nicely fit posterior… she noted Vella's surprised smile and looked away with a blush. Damn, she was going to hear about it now. Vella loved gossip.

She noticed Binoff at the warrior table. Tried to catch his eye but he seemed oddly and unhappily intent on the Gilnean.

Chose a spot that seemed to be center before the stage of Officer folk, Ghim stopped, hands at his sides after again found no hilt to rest upon.

Valen, the guild bigwig stood, grinned proudly. Offered his hand at the end of a tremendous night elf reach. Ghim grasped with a little uncertainty.

A firm shake and the other hand offered him a small metal thing. Ghim took this and saw it was a pin with the design of the guild crest. He held this out awkwardly. Luckily Zilla appeared at his side, took the pin and attached it to Ghim's tunic.

Then Zilla pushed him about with his hands on his shoulders, left Ghim to face the room.

"Welcome to Vitae Aeternum, Ghim Grundlunder!" Valen announced in his cultured night elf tone. An eruption of claps and smiles but not exclusively so. By habit Ghim took note of the owners of stilled hands and frowned countenances. He figured there'd be a few snakes to watch for. Maybe a few snobs who needed a smack about.

Still, he was oddly proud of himself.

And quite suddenly fond of Zilla, despite. He passed his gaze over the appreciative crowd. The brown-eyed girl whistled. Good to note. He paused on the gnome mage but she clapped lightly, looked at the aside distractedly. Numbly he followed her gaze. Startled as he met Binoff's angry glare.

Kext tried to read Binoff's unquiet repose. Had something gone wrong at the officer's meeting? Perhaps the bid for an officer position was voted down? The warrior suddenly glared anew, hand blurred to his scabbard. Kext noted that in front of the stage, Ghim glared, his hand had darted behind his back. Hate flashed on both faces before both recovered, forced sudden shared neutral repose and feigned indifference to each other. Duly noted.

Ghim was led off by Zilla. Binoff taken to council at the leadership table. After a fast exchange between the officers, Binoff ducked away. Stomped from the room. Kext watched him go, concerned.

Valen stood, "I'm afraid I have to end this gathering on a low note," the night elf said.

The room quieted, eyes front.

Ghim and Zilla stopped, looked on.

Valen bowed his head, "I've just been told that the Mayday Guild has been declared lost in Molten Core. As you know, Binoff and Grammy are former members, please consider them in your thoughts along with their former guildmates."

"Ghim doo," Zilla added, too loudly.

Ghim frowned. "T'aint known them well," he mumbled.

"The whole guild?" Sincleanser, the paladin guild officer blurted.

"Yes, all twenty-four," Vella said.

"Oo runst braw 'Core wit boot a score oh fook?" Zilla boggled. "Lads en lassies must'ah bane sotted! Taes footy fook, et doos."

"There must have been some pickups," someone called from the tables, "last I knew they were only one and twenty."

Valen held up his empty hands and sat back somberly.

Dimly Ghim saw the gnome mage hop up and hurry off in the path of the rodent warrior. The human was outward stilled but privately floundered in a crash of moments. He wavered a breath, looked about for an escape from a room of eyes and opinions. He'd bumped Zilla in his distraction and the prime hunter had affixed on him with concern. "Ye quit rit lad?" the Captain asked.

"Little," Ghim managed.

"Oh! Throw thar," Zilla pointed, "Three the ark, doon the haw."

Ghim blinked.

The dwarf sighed and rolled his eyes. "Thae un thae," Illustrated his instructions with twists of his hand. "Ye met the wee steeh doo t'is 'the Stocks' un ye goon a beat tah fah."

The human understood enough. Slipped out through the arch in the general direction. Indeed found the little, but the hall beyond was dark and deserted and he dove into the shadows and backed against a wall round a corner. He faced a trio of doors with little ornate script labels. Slid to a knee-high squat, head in hands. Stayed as so long moments obscured in the gloom. Eventually heard the light taps of hoof on the flagstones not unexpected. Looked sidelong into Grampose's close concern and confusion. His distress had, of course, drawn his companion.

"Rindy bought it. T'ain't saved," he whispered to the boar. "Nae she. Nae a fuggin' one of'em."

The beast rested his snout on Ghim's shoulder. Huffed a breath. The human's hand reached blind and found the familiar cowlick to scratch. Settled as such for a space, drew inside as he shut his eyes and cradled the sting. T'was unmoved until the girl called him out.

"Not quite true then?" she asked.

Ghim darted a silent scrutiny to her stance at the corner of light and shadow. Kept otherwise still. Grampose moved with deceptive calm to a station at her feet, snout worked over the bright steel greaves and blunt sabatons. She'd clamshelled her breastplate and mail shirt, exposed a fancy half-tunic buffer. Had her gauntlets, helm and other gear clipped about her belt.

The human had her raven hair tucked back in a ponytail. Regal in poise and posture, had the pale complexion of city folk. A traditional and severe beauty. Her presence was perhaps untimely, but not at all chore to consider. She'd relented after a breath or two of her own silent regard over his funk. "Ye say ye t'ain't known them well." She crossed her arms and leant against the wall. "Don't look like it to me."

Ghim ducked away and shrugged.

"Talk?" she asked. The word a question, a request, and an invitation.

A pause and Ghim gave her a hard look. The girl shuffled with a touch of uncertainty. Hesitated a moment more before she started to say, "Well, I just thought-"

"Sure we can talk," Ghim interjected. He looked quickly to the opposite wall and down the hall.

And the door at the end swung opened. The diminutive Mage Captain swept out, had dressed down to a more casual drape of silk blouse and cashmere pants. Had rearranged her metallic hair in a less formal poof tucked in a band high on her head. Blinked, took in the two humans. "Oh," she said. Found herself looked down on Ghim in his current pose.

"Cap'in Kext," the paladin nodded.

"Hello Mahrah," the mage smiled up, looked back down, "Ghim is it?"

"Usually," Ghim replied quietly.

Kext smiled at this. Again blinked as she noted Grampose. "Everything okay?"

"Rough news," Mahrah explained.

"Yes," Kext said, "I'm off to take Binoff and Grammy to the seventh for a few drinks." A moment of disconcert passed her features as she looked to Ghim. Sighed.

"Hmm, coincidence," Mahrah lifted her brow, "I was just plannin' to get our new hunter somewhere noisy and boosy." She showed empty palms, "Rendrell's Pub maybe?"

Ghim glanced surprised askance to his fellow human.

"Little rough for my brand of chemical psychology," the mage admitted. Shrugged. "Eh, perhaps I'll see ye about." Smiled warmly. Tipped her head at Ghim. "Sorry about your loss Mr uh…"

"Grundlunder," Mahrah noted helpfully.

"Mr Grudkunder then," Kext soothed, "please accept my welcome to Vitae Aeternum."

"Thanks… Cap'in," Ghim replied. Welcome to Vitae Aeternum indeed, he thought. He didn't belong.