~BEGIN: AUTHOR'S NOTE~

You know what this story needs? More BOOZE.

~END: AUTHOR'S NOTE~

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 9*

//SET LOCATION: AGAMAND MILLS

When the man did not answer (and she expected that he would not) she simply continued. "Ah really fuckin' hate elves—hideous es-oh-bees with the gayest damn language I ever heard! And yet…" she paused, rotating her shoulders with a near sickening fluidity of motion, "I'd still rather be savin' that dumbass Koltira. At least then we'd get to kill some people! Shit, everyone here is already dead. And I hate Tirisfal Glades!"

Negate breathed a deep sigh internally as it occurred to him that the woman was referring to someone else entirely, and had likely not yet taken notice of him. Still, he was not quite yet out of danger: something hard—loosed brick, perhaps?—was digging into his back, and Jublops's teeth were steadily beginning to draw blood.

Cracking her neck, the female knight exhaled deeply. "So where is this Nissa bitch any-lightdamn-way?"

"Saiynt," her partner called flatly with a deep, baritone voice, emotionless to a fault. Having hailed her attention, he pointed to the floor near his feet.

Curiously, she crouched low to the ground and ran her fingers over some sticky ooze where Nissa had fallen—the remainder of her essence.

"Weyll, I'll be damned," she laughed, springing to her feet again. "Bitch is already dead! Guess it makes our job a lot fuckin' easier, huh? Since we got some time to kill…" she seized her partner by the arm suddenly, smiling broadly with a certain unstable quality Negate couldn't quite place. "…Wanna have sex in the dead banshee's old room?"

Negate's jaw dropped open as he wondered for just a moment if he shouldn't join the Lich King's army himself. Of course, as soon as the idea entered his mind, he remembered that most death knights—at least from what he had encountered—were more akin to the man: solemn bringers-of-death, hence the name. This woman was probably a rarity among her class. Curiously, he determined he would ask Vaschel or Phasilica later.

The male looked down at his companion as she clutched his arm appealingly with clear skepticism on his stony face, but nodded all the same. Then, with the type of excited squeal Negate would sooner expect from his little sister than from an agent of destruction, the strange woman snatched the other knight's hand in hers, lacing their fingers together like lovers.

"Yeah! I knew you'd be down!" she cheered, pulling him toward the stairs. "This will be awesome!"

Waiting until he was certain the two were out of earshot (and more than likely quite distracted) Negate allowed himself to breathe again, releasing his hold on Jublop as he rolled out from the fireplace. Jublop was quick to somersault away from his master, spitting blood he'd chewed out of Negate's hand.

Negate rubbed his back with a groan as he glared at the uncomfortable stonework fireplace to find a solid object among the ashes—likely what was causing his backache. Since his hands were already filthy, he curiously reached into the soot and produced a thick, leather-bound book. Rifling through it briefly, it appeared to be some sort of accounting records regarding payroll for their workers.

"Hm," the warlock flipped through the pages quickly, scanning each with mild interest. "I wonder if Lisys is in here."

"That hideous beast!?" Jublop cackled, dancing around his owner.

In light of his small discovery, Negate had almost forgotten about Jublop, but was reminded in the event of the creature's screeching. Snapping his head to attention, he snarled at the imp. "You little shit! I have had enough of your impudence!"

Yellow eyes widening, the creature appeared startled by the sudden outburst. While he'd never thought of his master as patient, this was above and beyond typical, and he had every reason to be frightened: after all, the fate of him rested within the blood elf's hands.

Placing his clothed boot upon the creature's head, Negate pressed downward until its little legs gave out. "I'll tolerate no more—another attempt at my life will see the end of your existence, do you understand!?" he hissed.

The imp began to protest, but before he was able, Negate lifted his foot and delivered a powerful kick to the small demon's chest, sending it sprawling. Then, with a lost meaningful snarl, he dismissed the creature back to the hellhole from which it crawled.

Exiting the home quickly after, the elf cursed—it was dark, the sun had long since set completely—and he needed to find Lisys and get out of the mills before the death knights, ahem, finished and caught up.

xwx

The remains of Thurman and Gregor Agamand rested soundly in her backpack as Lisys patrolled along the road for the last, Devlin. Part of her felt quite prideful that the majority of this quest had fallen unto her, but the other was a bit worried; she assumed Negate would locate Nissa quickly. Still, the plan was to meet within the hour, and it'd only been about forty-five minutes—not yet time to panic, although she strongly would have preferred his help locating Devlin.

Suddenly, much to Lisys's surprise, Devlin Agamand found her. The crack of a steel mace on the base of her skull sent her stumbling forward several steps as the skeleton shouted, in an unnatural, booming shriek:

"The Agamand Mills is held by the Scourge, Rogue! Join us!"

Regaining herself, Lisys jerked her dagger from its sheath and spun around to face him.

Unique among his family, Devlin's bones had been picked completely clean by rot and wild animals. He appeared a skeletal mage, though his mind had long since lost the capacity to cast spells—instead he was reduced to wielding a barbaric mace, putting him below even the dark-eye bonecasters running freely over the mills. In fact, the only way to really tell him apart from the rest was his armor and distinctive purple cape.

"Hush!" Lisys demanded, slashing at him with her knife. "Mindless fool, you've no idea the trouble you have caused!"

White flecks of weak bone jumped at every slice of her dagger like mini explosions as the skeleton cackled, near hysterics. "You are rotting!" he screamed, raising his mace for another strike. "And there is no sympathy in all of the world for you!"

Knocking him once more with her weapon, Lisys literally broke the skeleton, and with a dying gaggle it collapsed into a pile of bone and dust.

"Mad chattering indeed," the Forsakenness scoffed, plucking the man's skull for proof to his demise. "I can't believe he wasn't slaughtered sooner; voice is worse than Jublop's…"

"By the sun, my sister has a doll in that hideous thing's likeness!" gasped her partner from somewhere behind her.

"Oh!"Lisys started, turning around quickly. She was forced to squint hard to find the elf in the night, even with the bright, full moon overhead. "Negate—Nissa was tough, hm? Where's Jublop? Gee, he didn't die, did he?"

"He came close," Negate scoffed, walking past her. "Actually, I ran into a pair of death knights, so we really should be leaving—quickly," the elf ordered, but paused to turn back around when Lisys did not follow.

"Death… knights?" she questioned, staring ahead of her as if stuck.

"Yes," Negate confirmed impatiently, crossing his arms. "And so we have to go—now."

With a pathetic whimper, Lisys covered her head against wretched, guilty pain as she recalled, with starting clarity, digging up body after body with the full knowledge that they would be reanimated to suffer as she was, all under the watchful eye of Arthas's finest, mindless and hateful under the unforgiving white light of the moon…

"Lisys!" Negate growled, doing his best to communicate the urgency of the situation. "Damnit, quit waiting time!"

"It doesn't matter…." She returned quietly, and with a heartless quality to her tone that unsettled the elf: it was out of place with her. "If they want to kill, they do… you can't really run away from them…"

"Lisys…" the warlock repeated, this time exhaling with sympathy as it occurred to him that, once upon a time, the Forsakenness had probably taken orders from the Scourge. Of course she, who was frightened by things so basic as social interaction, would be terrified of death knights. Approaching Lisys carefully, as not to frighten her more so, Negate placed his hands on her shoulders.

All at once, heat crashed through her insides, smashing away unhappy thoughts like a tsunami with crushing, unforgiving force. Her head snapped back upright, eye sockets wide, to find she was staring directly at her companion's face. Despite her best efforts and deepest desires to avoid eye-to-eye contact with anyone, but especially with Negate, she could not turn away. She was stuck.

"Uh… y… huh?" she stumbled numbly.

"If we get going now," condescendingly he removed one hand from her shoulder to pat the undead's head, like one would a child, "it will be a nonissue—we won't have to worry about them, okay?"

"Worry… about what?" Lisys questioned breathily.

Removing his hands to clench his fists, Negate felt irritation creep around his features. "Lisys!" he barked.

With a pitiful whimper, she jumped back and tore her gaze away quickly. "I'm sorry! Don't get mad, lead the way, I'll follow…"

Tilting his nose up indignantly, Negate began swiftly for the path. "It's late… at this rate, it will be well past midnight before we return…"

"Maybe so, but at least now we're done here—I killed Devin, Thurman, and Gregor, and you took care of Nissa, right?" when the elf nodded, she beamed. "So it was worth the extra time! Oh, and also…" flitting around in her pockets, she produced a piece of paper. "One of them was holding a letter, says it's to a Yevette Farthing—maybe related to Coleman?"

"Throw it out," Negate scoffed, shaking his head. "About had enough of other people's mail."

Lisys frowned, replacing the letter in her pocket. "How would you like it if someone found one of your letters and did not deliver it?" she demanded, clenching boney fingers. "Especially if you died—oh! How could I expect you to understand, you don't care about anyone else's feelings—" she rambled with frustration until he cut her off.

"All right! Keep it, we'll look for Yvette in the morning. By the sunwell…" Negate grumbled, unaccustomed to Lisys acting according to her own opinions.

Satisfied, Lisys beamed, but her smile fell shortly after another troubling thought resurfaced. "I guess the Scourge has lost its foothold—but what were those death knights doing here? You don't think they came to bother anything… do you?"

Negate smirked knowingly, shaking his head. "I honestly don't believe they'll bother anyone, at least nor for a while. They're…busy," the elf laughed maniacally.

"Doing what?" Lisys tiled her head.

//SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY

Between a set of delicate tweezers, Dawnn's large, steady hand held a tiny cog piece, painstakingly crafted himself earlier in the day from heavy thorium. Closing his right eye to focus through the magnified lens in the left side of his goggles, he prepared to assert the gear into its place on a hair-thin axle. Steady… steady…

"Dawnn!" Negatory squealed, completely throwing the man's concentration. Bursting up from the day bed a short distance away, she stumbled back again and held her head. "Dawnn, I feel really strange still!"

Sighing, Dawnn abandoned his pursuit temporarily—concentration and Negatory simply do not go together. "Don't worry, it won't last. I'm glad you're awake," standing, the knight began to tidy his work area. "I was beginning to think I might have to carry you."

"Carry me?" she lifted her head up, swinging her legs over the side of the couch. "Carry me where?"

"My mother's," Dawnn laughed, moving to sit beside her. "I couldn't very well keep you here all night, I told you—your brother would kill me."

"Oh no! Nate!" Negatory squealed, eyes wide. "Never wrote him back! Eee, it's so late already!" she wringed her small hands in front of her, panicking.

"Hey, calm down," Dawnn soothed, placing a comforting palm on her shoulder. "If he's already sleeping, he'll probably check it again when he wakes up. Just write him now and he'll reply by tomorrow night, I'm sure of it."

"Right!" Negatory answered brightly, springing to her feet with renewed energy. Instead of simply requesting a pen and paper, she proceeded to tear through her friend's entire house like a whirlwind. At the expense of the home's typically immaculate condition and an expensive face, she found what was required in a matter of seconds.

Throughout the whole ordeal, Dawnn remained stationary, wincing once at the sound of breaking glass. "You could have just asked…" he sighed upon her return.

"Nah! I found it myself just fine. Thanks, though!" cooed the elf as she began to write as fast as her little arm could. "Oh, I can't wait to hear back from him!"

Sharing in her excitement despite the recent destruction of his house, Dawnn beamed. "Tell him I said hi!"

"`kaaay!" sang she, finishing quickly and jumping to her feet. "Now we deliver this letter to the mailbox!"

Jumping to his feet beside her, Dawnn bent his arm, fist pressed to his side, offering it to her. "Shall we?"

Hooking her arm into his, she nodded with a bright, sunny smile. "Yeah! Oh, I'm going to tell Vaschel that you've been a good babysitter so you two won't have to fight over this, okay?" Negatory gleamed, literally skipping out the door along side of him.

Careful to keep pace with the much, much smaller girl, Dawnn skipped with her. "Hmm? What makes you think we'd do that?"

"You really don't like him, right?" she questioned, furrowing elegant, dark eyebrows.

Returning to a normal walk, Dawnn shook his head with disdain. "Ugh, no… I don't dislike Vaschel, not at all, we just… don't always agree, get on each other's nerves, normal stuff…"

"Oh, that's a relief," the girl exhaled, abandoning her skip as well as the pair approached the mailbox. "But at the same time…" expression saddening, she stared at her envelope before dropping it into its destination.

"What is it?" asked the knight, concerned by the sudden shift in her mood. When she did not reply immediately, he bent slightly, hands on his knees, as to be closer to her level. "Tory?"

"This afternoon… that's our secret, right?" she bit her lip, refusing to look him in the eyes.

"Of course!" Dawnn laughed, straightening his back. "I told you—I want to live!"

"But—would you…" she paused, whimpering. "You're a much better person than I am, I feel so wretched for asking…"

"Asking what? You know that isn't true, and you can always ask me anything," Dawnn shrugged, glancing out around them to ensure that no one was eavesdropping.

"Would you bold-face lie for me if you had to?" she burst suddenly, pleading him appealingly. "I know that everyone… everyone wants me to be so cute, and if they find out that I messed up, they'll—"

"Whoa," Dawnn quieted her, setting his hands on her shoulders. "Everyone wants you to be yourself, trust me. You're cute enough naturally, no need to stress over it. Besides, even if someone did think you made a mistake, it's not like you'll get written off."

Grinning broadly, she finally lifted her face to his. "Thanks—that means so much to me! But… would you lie anyway?"

"Sure," Dawnn removed a hand from her shoulder to pat her head. "Don't worry about it, okay?"

"Oooh! You're my best friend!" Negatory cheered, turning away from him to skip down the sidewalk, bursting at the seams with her usual energy once more. "Which reminds me! I've been meaning ot talk to you about your wedding!"

Face falling, Dawnn chased after her. "You're still on that kick?"

"Yeah! I met this girl who would be perfect for you…"

"Another blonde priestess?"

"Duh! You're a blonde paladin, who else could it be?"

"Tory, it doesn't always work out like a fairytale!"

"This will! And the wedding will be sooo pretty!"

// SET LOCATION: BRILL

"Oh, wow…" Lisys mumbled, wide-eyed as Negate heaved several letters and a package from the mailbox just outside the Gallow's End Tavern. "You sure are popular…"

"I… I guess so," Negate answered, honestly just as surprised as she. "Looks like the whole damn city wrote me."

"Actually," leaning forward, Lisys took a closer look, "It appears to be only four envelopes, just… one of them is very thick."

"Indeed, that would be from my sister," he sighed.

"I can help you carry this," Lisys offered, taking the package from the elf as they strode through the door and up the stairs together. "Hey, there's a label on it! Oh, your language looks so pretty—may I ask what it says?"

"It says, To: Negate; Love: Vaschel; parenthesis—it's not what you think it is—close parenthesis," he replied mildly, having already read the label. As they moved into the room Negate had acquired questionably the night before, he tore open Vaschel's letter and began to scan it quickly. The man rarely wrote above third-grade proficiency, making this an easy read.

"What do you think it is?" ask the Forsakenness curiously as she set the package down carefully.

Without glancing up, he answered, "I am absolutely certain it's cheap liquor. You can open it, if you like, see if I'm right."

Struggling to contain her excitement, Lisys tore at the package like a mad woman to find, just as the warlock had predicted, an array of bottles. "Oh, wow! You must be psychic or something! What's this stuff taste like!?"

"Ugh!" Negate threw the letter down unto the desk with irritation. "The cretin! At least I noticed when she tried to kill me!"

"What?" Lisys asked, attempting to peek over Negate's shoulder.

Negate started to hide the letter before remembering she could not read it anyhow. "Never mind—repeat the question."

"Cheap liquor—what's it taste like?" she repeated obediently.

Negate glanced toward the opened package, shaking his head with a laugh. "Terrible."

"Oh, then… why drink it?"

"To get drunk."

"Oh…" Lisys glanced around her shyly before venturing to ask, very quietly, "What's… that… like?"

Negate lifted his eyebrows. "You… don't… know?" the reach of Lisys's naiveté never ceased to impress him. Surely she'd experienced inebriation before.

"I… was never really interested… and, I was always so ridiculously poor," she stumbled, taking a step back. The last thing she needed was to give him another reason to think her stupid and inexperienced. "Look, just forget I said any—"

"Want to?" the elf interrupted.

"Want to… what?"

"Get drunk," Negate replied, nodding his head toward the package. "There's enough in there to knock us both out."

"I…" Lisys stared at Negate suspiciously, waiting for him to revoke the offer or make some cruel joke. After a moment, she returned with, "Are you sure it's okay? Do we have time to waste like that?"

The elf glanced at the stack of letters. His sister was fine, and they were so close, and he hadn't really relaxed in a while… besides, Lisys was his friend, wasn't she? What kind of warlock would he be if he didn't corrupt her innocence a little? "Yes, we can afford to waste some time."

Covering her mouth against a squeal, she bounced up once. "Tonight?!"

"Sure—why not. It's already late, we'd never wake before noon anyhow."

"Yeah!" she cheered, then stopped all festivities abruptly. "Oh, can I go give the grave yard a once-over before? I want to make sure we didn't miss anything…"

"Go ahead, I have a lot of replies to write."

"Okay! Umm, I will hurry. Wait for me!" Lisys beamed, bounding out the door.

Negate watched her go, shaking his head lightly. Lisys was an oddity—like his sister in many ways, but painfully shy. And while he was thinking of his sister, he decided he ought to read her letter, next.

Sitting on the bed, he tore open the envelope and began scanning the four-page ramble, unable to prevent an honest, genuine smile from crossing his features—the first one in five or six days. Negatory had a habit of writing in the same manner in which she behaved—hastily jumping from one subject to another, with no rhyme or reason for the change. It was child-like, cute, innocent: everything he fought hard to preserve in her after their mother finally lost the battle against heartsickness, come hell or high water.

Almost dreamily he could recall that all throughout her childhood she'd had issue with holding still; she was always bouncing, always squirming, and one afternoon… one afternoon what? For reasons he did not fully understand, something specific was struggling to resurface in Negate's head. Closing his eyes, he did his best to let the memory come…

It was a completely ordinary day in Silvermoon City: sunny, warm. Five-year-old Negatory in tow, he walked the short distance down the street from his house to the Dauntlight's, reminding her impotently to be polite. It was a rare occasion that Negatory was knowingly rude, even from such a young age, but this was due more to good role-modeling and not at all to Negate's disciplinary skills, which were lacking.

Knocking heavily on the door, he was met almost immediately by the sunny, smiling face of Rachel Dauntlight.

"Hey! Haven't seen you for a while—what's up?" she asked, holding a bottle of bourbon in her right hand, the door in her left.

"Racheeeel~!" Negatory squealed, dropping all pretense of politeness in favor of throwing her arms around Rachel's legs.

"I thought you might like to see her," Negate answered, nodding down at the tiny, dark-haired elf.

Bending down, Rachel lifted Negatory up, adjusting the girl's pony tail (Negate could never get it right except on himself) with a broad smile. "Liar, you're here for Adel. Don't look at me like that—you think I don't know? Teehee, don't worry, I haven't told Vaschel. Come on in!"

Leading Negate down the hallway, she began to explain that Adel was out but would be back shortly when again, a knock sounded at the door.

"Hm! We're popular today, aren't we, Tory?" Rachel cooed, handing the small girl back to her brother. "I'll be right back, okay?"

Negate rubbed his forehead, sitting up in his chair. He recalled setting his sister down and stepping into the hallway curiously himself to see who was at the door, but who? Who was it? Frustrated in the way that people are when the edge of their memory is just out of reach, Negate rifled through letters subconsciously until he hit the bottom of the stack—a letter from Daynha.

Daynha, it was Daynha. Standing at the door in typical street clothes—a loose shirt and baggy pants, a little boyish, very Daynha—and beside the redhead, her mismatched blonde son, standing nearly to his mother's chest though he was only ten years old.

"Oh!" Rachel started, surprised. Daynha made a point of keeping Dawnn as separated from the Dauntlights as possible, so her alarm was justified. "What—"

"Here," Daynha thrust a piece of paper at Rachel, sounding urgent but sympathetic rather than short.

Unfolding it curiously and without question, she soon looked back up to Daynha, laughing lightly. "Is this some kind of joke? You know I can't read Common, who is it from anyhow?"

"I asked the architect from Lordaeron to write my son letters so he could practice, look here," Daynha pointed, "It's translated."

Feeling a tug on his robes, Negate glanced down to see Negatory had followed him.

"What's going on?" she asked, head tilted.

Quietly kneeling down to her level, Negate placed his finger to his lips, gently signaling for silence.

Placing a finger to her own lips and nodding to show that she understood, she turned to watch the scene quietly.

Rachel held the letter up, reading the cramped handwriting in the margins aloud. "At… six-thirty this morning… Saiynt Cisneros and Sihner Xanthic were…" her voice grew suddenly quiet, far away—a sharp contrast to her typical, sunny self, "…executed, hanged by the neck… for their crimes against the…"

"Rachel, I'm really sorry…" Daynha mumbled uncomfortably. She reached out to touch the woman's shoulders, but before she could, Rachel collapsed to her knees, gripping the floor with small, dainty fingers.

"No! This isn't fair! He really liked that girl! How petty! How could they execute someone over something so petty!?"

Negate quickly threw an arm around Negatory to keep her from rushing forward. He only had a vague understanding of the situation but knew enough to determine that they should not have witnessed this.

"Damnit, they weren't hurting anyone!" she continued, covering her face. "Why do bad things always happen to people like this? Nate, Tory, my brothers, my sisters, Daynha, this!?"

"Hey, lady, don't cry!" Dawnn insisted, suddenly jerking his hand free of his mother's. Before she could stop him, he dropped to all fours, crawling to Rachel in an attempt to catch a look at her face. "I'm sorry—maybe I shouldn't have said anything?"

"Hm," Negate opened his eyes once more, absently tearing open Daynha's letter. He skimmed it briefly, but found the contents uninteresting and returned back to his thoughts repeatedly. Saiynt—was it a common name among humans?

xwx

"Nothing again…" Lisys spoke aloud, striding casually from the arches signaling the end of the mass gravesite. Of course, in all honesty she expected no more—she and Negate searched with heavy vigor already. Still, she couldn't help being a little hopeful…

"Hey! Lisys!" called a friendly, but unfamiliar voice, from her right. Thinking at first it was her imagination, the undead ignored it. When the call sounded again, however, she paused, turning.

"Who--?"

"Lisys Grind, right?" Standing at her side for shadow-knows-how-long was Eliza Callen, the leather merchant who had fixed her armor earlier.

"Y- yes," Lisys answered nervously, stopping quickly. "How do you know my full name?" as she recalled, she hadn't even told Negate—had she known this girl in life? Fear choked her insides as she struggled to recollect, lest Eliza think her rude. "I'm really sorry if I don't remember you, ah, give me a minute…"

"It's okay, we've never met," Eliza answered quickly, waving her hands. "Really, don't stress. I know your name because I used to work with Missus Andy—I worked for her family when I was little, then we did a lot of tailoring together for war refugees, orphans and the like."

"You knew Missus Andy?" Lisys asked, empty eyes widening. "Then do you know--!?"

"Scourge," Eliza answered before Lisys could even finish the question. "She was risen as Scourge."

"Oh…" Lisys heaved a heavy, disappointed sigh. "So she did get sick…" rubbing her forehead, she pictured her delicate Missus Andy in the throws of a devastating fever, bed-ridden and with no one to look to her. Why did she have to disappear? And now… Scourge?

"I'm really sorry," Eliza mumbled, setting a hand on Lisys's shoulder. "I know this must be hard for you… If it's any comfort, she was very tough. All while he was sick, she was helping others up to the very end. Strongest woman I ever knew…"

Both women's eyes grew dim as they thought, neither speaking to the other for several moments. Finally, Lisys was the first to snap to attention.

"Hey," she said suddenly, then smiled sheepishly for startling the other, "Sorry… if you don't mind my asking… what are these?" Lisys gestured towards the thick straps covering Eliza's face.

"Ah, just some enchanted leather," Eliza replied, waving it off as something unimportant, "they don't add any armor or anything—just for looks. They're all the rage in The Undercity."

"Oh, do they hurt?"

"Mmm, yeah, quite a bit, actually—but they look so cool!" Eliza countered, smirking. "Why? Do you want a pair on your face?"

"I, well…" Lisys looked to the ground skittishly, "How did you know?"

Locking her hand around Lisys's wrist, Eliza hurried her to the black smith, mere feet from where they previously stood. "I saw your face when you caught your friend staring. I can get you some better clothes too, if you want."

Lisys huffed, throwing her nose in the air indignantly. "The warlock!? Hah! What does he have to do with anything?"

Completely ignoring the other Forsakenness, Eliza threw aside several swords in a small box next to the furnace, producing a red set of leather clothing. "Yeah! This is a bit sexier than what you've got on now. Here, try it."

"I… what?" Lisys stumbled, completely shifting tone. So Eliza was serious? "I… but… I like what I've got on!"

"This is tougher, and it will protect you better," countered the leather merchant. "And that guy will like it, I promise. Just try it on! What harm could that do?"

"Well, if you say it's tougher…" Lisys muttered shyly, taking the garments from Eliza. "But, do I have to try it on in front of…?" with a quivering hand, the Forsakenness pointed to Oliver Dwor and Abe Winters, two apprentice undead men who inhabited the smithy and had been following the women's conversation with heightened interest.

With an angry snarl, Eliza quickly rushed the men out of the shop. "There. Now, go on!"

"But the doors—"

"Don't be a baby!" Eliza snapped. "Just stand in the corner and be quick!"

Feeling as if she'd die (again) of embarrassment, Lisys rushed to the corner to comply, dressing faster than any female had ever dressed before, only pausing to breathe once the last buckle had been fastened. Her relief was short-lived, however, as she became aware of what she'd actually put on.

A crisscross halter bikini-like top with a buckle just below her breasts had even more cutouts than the average skimpy leather top as to accommodate her spine and shoulder bones.

"Ghah! My breasts will fall out!" Lisys squeaked, throwing her arms around her chest protectively. "I certainly can't fight in this! … I can't even go out like this!"

"Ahh, you really are pathetic, aren't you?" Eliza laughed, albeit affectionately. "I think I know what Miss Andy saw in you. Now hold still and close your eyes," Eliza instructed.

Half-whimpering, the shy Forsakenness obeyed. "I can't pay you for this, I don't have enough…"

"This will sting a little," Eliza advised, wrapping a studded leather strap around Lisys's face diagonally. "Don't worry about it—just hit me back before you leave, okay? … Are you ready?"

"Thank you," Lisys drew in a deep breath. "Ready."

Before the rogue could scarcely finish the last syllable, Eliza yanked the strap tight and fastened the buckle, causing Lisys to cry out in surprised agony. The idea was to create a permanent indent in the girl's skin where the belts would naturally lie. The procedure was successful.

A short time later, with both straps in place, Eliza helped walk a very dizzy Lisys to the door of the Gallow's End Tavern. The smithy and the tavern were only a few feet from one another, and yet Eliza honestly didn't think the other Forsakenness would make it.

"Sorry—I thought if I was totally honest, you wouldn't go for it," Eliza advised, stopping at the door. "Can you make it to your room okay?"

"Apology accepted, and yes," Lisys exhaled wearily. "Again—thank you, I'll make sure I get the money to you before I go."

"No problem, and… half price, okay?" Eliza smiled. "That's just enough to break even—consider it a donation."

"Really? Thank you!" Lisys repeated, broad smile appearing even broader than usual between the dark leather. Waving, she started to turn into the inn when once more, Eliza stopped her.

"Wait! One more thing…" shifting around in her pockets, Eliza produced a letter. "She… Miss Andy… wanted me to give this to you in case she died. It's in Common, so I wasn't going to say anything but… Well, maybe you'll find a translator?"

Beneath the belts, Lisys's empty eyes widened considerably. "Oh…" she exhaled, taking the piece of paper from her very, very carefully. On the outside, printed in neat, perfect handwriting were the only words in Common the undead girl could still recognize: 'Lisys Grind.' It was, in fact, from Missus Andy. She was certain of it. "I don't know how I could ever repay you…"

Exhaling through biting bitter-sweet, mixed feelings, Eliza waved her off. "Don't worry about it, okay? See you 'round." Then she left quickly, before Lisys could add anything.

"Hmmm… I wonder if she and Miss Andy… had something?" the rogue asked herself quietly as she watched Eliza go.

"Lisys!?" gasped a distinctive male voice as Negate emerged from the tavern. Having long since relived a distant memory in its entirety, written several letters, and lounged around for sun-knows-how-long, he finally decided that perhaps the Forsakenness had gotten herself lost.

"Oh, Negate," almost sunnily the girl turned, eager to ask his opinion. "I ran into Eliza Callen, and she told me about Miss Andy, and then she put these things on my face and got me some new cl—" suddenly remembering the, ah, condition of her new outfit, Lisys quickly threw her arms across her chest.

Negate stared intently at Lisys's face for several moments, quickly recognizing the apparatus as the same that he had seen on many undead, even gawked at on Eliza. The longer he stared the more mixed his emotions, until finally he found himself utterly speechless. It was attractive in a way, as addicted to suffering as he was, and it was certainly an improvement—the vengeful position of Lisys's eyes simply did not suit her, and as a result, she was hideous. Now, of course, the teeth were still frightening, all exposed by her lack of lip—this addition did not lead to perfection. But still, it was an improvement.

Then, on the flipside, the leather was studded and appeared to be extremely heavy. Just the weight of the device on her face had to be unbearable—much less the thick metal buckles in the back, hidden craftily by her hair, and how tightly the belts were fastened. In some ways, this fashion statement appeared inexplicably cruel. Why would anyone endure that kind of torture?

Dreamily, as if entranced, Negate finally ventured to ask, "You didn't do this for me, did you?"

Startled by the accuracy of his judgment, Lisys shook her head more vigorously than she meant to. "No! Of course not, I don't like looking at me, either," she answered quickly, then internally cursed at herself. Why did she have to go and answer like that?

Furrowing his elegant eyebrows, something akin to a shot of guilt stabbed the warlock in the ribs for the first time. Pushing it down quickly, he was thankful for the Darkmoon Special Reserve back in their room. "Well, it looks… nice." After throwing insults at the girl nearly non-stop, using her as an easy target to alleviate the stress of finding himself stuck in this God-awful place away from friends and family, the compliment felt awkward.

She did not appear to notice. "You really think so?" she asked, forgetting herself momentarily and releasing her chest to cheer.

Negate shifted his gaze downward, noting the red-leather top and matching bottoms were a great deal more showing than what she'd worn previously. He was relieved to find that, upon examination, regular instincts kicked in. This was 100% improvement—no guilt there.

Quickly covering herself up almost as quickly, she hurried around the elf and up the stairs, wondering if she'd ever get used to this new outfit. "Well—can we get started now? I'm excited!"

Negate nodded as he lead Lisys up the stairs and to their room, carefully shutting the door behind him. "It's important that neither of us leaves," he informed her, locking the door. "Alcohol—this stuff especially—can make people do stupid things… and you'll get lost."

Shaking her head with a quiet smile, Lisys quickly had a seat at the table near the door, where on sat the box of booze. "Who did you say gave this to you?"

"Vaschel," Negate answered, pulling a bottle from the box almost eagerly. "A friend of mine back home."

"Have you already wrote him?" Lisys asked, copying him as she waited for the warlock to answer. "Well, if it's not too late to amend the letter, can you thank him for me as well?"

"Certainly," answered the elf, popping the cork slowly so that Lisys could observe and follow suit.

"What's he like?" waiting for him to drink first, the Forsakenness nervously took a sip herself, and spit it out immediately. "Ugh! This is terrible!"

Negate laughed openly at her, drinking the foul liquid almost easily himself. "I told you!"

"Yeah, you weren't kidding…" she mumbled. Not to be deterred, she tried another swallow and this time, kept it down. "Ugh, burns my throat…"

Smirking with clear amusement, Negate briefly considered suggesting a mixer or even a chaser, but ultimately decided he'd rather watch her writhe. It was cute, in a hideous, scary way. "Vaschel is a paladin… and an alcoholic, hence the gift."

"Oh…" mere minutes later, Lisys felt the liquid hit her head like acid. Almost unable to stop it she relaxed visibly, dropping the arm she'd been using to cover her cleavage. "Can you tell me more about your friends?"

//SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY, AFTERNOON

"You know what I like about you?" asked a pretty red-headed warlock, none other than Fae Adams. "You stay."

"Of course I stay!" Vaschel scoffed, sitting at the edge of the bed next to the spellcaster, bottle in one hand, the other resting lightly on the woman's knee. "I'm a gentleman!"

Beaming, Fae tilted her head back to kiss the blood knight's jaw. "And what's better, you don't expect me to cook for you in the morning!"

Having almost died at the poisonous ingestion of Fae's cooking once before, Vaschel forced a laugh. "Yeah, well… You don't have anywhere you need to be, do you?" he asked, setting a hand on Fae's shoulder. He started to push her back down, but she slid out of his grasp and off the bed before her back hit the comforter.

"Now, now! That would completely void all that time we spent getting dressed just a second ago! Besides, I told you last night, I have to go see my sister today!"

The holy warrior's eyes widened as if Christmas had come early. "You have a sister!?"

Carefully reinserting large, gold hoop earrings, Fae giggled in a ditzy, over-exaggerated way that took years to fully master: not so high-pitched as to be annoying, but just stupid enough to send the right message. "You, Ambassador Dauntlight, need to lay off the moonshine. I have two of them, but you wouldn't like them—they aren't loose."

"Right, right," Vaschel waved off the issue, pretending to remember. "You sure you don't want to—"

"Tonight," she cooed, bending to kiss the man's nose. "I promise."

Vaschel smirked vampirically, reaching up to grab her around the middle, but Fae saw it coming and dodged successfully. With a dainty wave, she disappeared through the open, billowing curtains of the Wayfarer's Rest Inn.

With an extremely displeasured grunt Vaschel fell back onto his hunches. With Fae gone, there really was no good excuse: phases one and two, writing Negate and drinking the night away, of Vaschel's plans were complete. Like it or not, it was on to stage three.

Daynha Highnoon's obnoxious, overbearing parents died in the third war, along with Daynha's only obnoxious, overbearing sibling. Since a series of petty disagreements over Daynha's class and profession caused a rift between herself and her family, every penny of the Highnoon's vast fortune went to Dawnn and, as he approached the man's front entry, Vaschel couldn't help but think with agitation that at a mere twenty-five years of age, the kid had a way bigger house than he ever had.

Shoving past curtains and kicking the walls along the hallways, Vaschel made a point to be as noisy as possible. "Dawnn! Heeeey! Dawnn!" and his efforts were rewarded almost instantly.

"Damnit, Vaschel," growled the younger as he appeared, pair of goggles resting atop his head. "I'm never going to finish your salt shakers if you're going to interrupt me."

With a cocky smile, the elder leaned against the wall, arms folded smugly over his chest. "Don't blame your lack of skill on me! If I'd known it was such an epic request, I wouldn't have bought you the thorium. I'd have taken my business elsewhere."

Dawnn was very much accustomed to this end of Vaschel's nature and ignored it. "What do you want?"

In response, Vaschel stood upright again and dropped all pretense, conveying the seriousness of the situation. "I came to ask you a favor—it's about Phasilica and—"

Dawnn cut him off with a harsh, maniacal laugh. "Well! Then you came to the wrong house." Dismissively, he turned and started for his work-bench once more, pulling his goggles back over his eyes.

"Damnit, will you at least listen to the request first?" Vaschel asked, vein pulsing in his forehead as he followed his younger.

"I'm not about to lecture anyone," Dawnn answered, returning to his work with various pieces of heated metal. "I've always maintained that you and Negate can keep whatever foolish company you want—but I will have no part in it. You can't ask more of me."

With an eyeroll, Vaschel tossed his hair back and collected himself. "It's about Phasilica and your mother. She keeps pushing me to get rid of the priestess and if I don't, which I won't—couldn't, even—I think she'll try to do it herself."

"Yeah? That sounds accurate," Dawnn agreed, continuing his work and refusing eye contact almost disrespectfully.

"I'm afraid that if—" the elder began, but stopped abruptly as a door in the wall just behind them flung itself open and a dark-headed, impish little girl stood in its wake.

"Dawnn~!" Negatory called, "I don't want to bother you but—oh! Vaschel!" she gasped, covering her mouth. Scanning the situation, the way the two men stood, the way they both turned to her in surprise, she made an obvious deduction. "Eek! You're fighting, aren't you? Fine, fine, I'll ask later…" and before either could protest, she quickly shut herself away again.

If he was angry before, Vaschel now found himself on the edge of pissed off. Grabbing the end of the small table, the elf threw it—and everything Dawnn had been crafting atop it—clear over.

Staring stupidly where his materials once lie, Dawnn slowly shifted his gaze up to Vaschel speechlessly.

"The hell is she still doing here!?" Vaschel demanded, knuckles white and dangerously close to the boy's face.

With a growl, Dawnn shoved the other's fists away, stepping back himself in the process. "By the light, are you jealous or something!? You left her with me yesterday, remember!?"

"I didn't tell you to keep her over night!" he returned, making a grab for Dawnn's shirt collar.

And to think all this time, the young knight was worried about Negate. Smacking Vaschel's hand away, Dawnn returned quickly with, "I didn't! I left her at my mother's—she came back this morning! Sun be praised, what on Azeroth has gotten into you!?"

Dawnn's words washed through Vaschel like water, and he cooled instantly. "Oh."

"Oh," Dawnn repeated with a heavy, sarcastic laugh. "All that hard work… and all you can say is 'oh'."

"Eh, you can start over," Vaschel waved off Dawnn's problems with equal disrespect. "I need you to listen to me right now, anyway…" he paused, waiting for the boy to refocus his attention, before going on more seriously, "Phasilica is leaps and bounds ahead of your mother. By the light, if you only knew how many times I had to pull all five-feet of that girl off of some huge, orcish warrior…" Vaschel grunted, rubbing his forehead with irritation at the mere memory.

Realization dawned on the younger's face. "Ah, I see. You think Daynha's going to get herself killed."

"Exactly," Vaschel agreed, not bothering to point out how bizarre he thought it was that the boy called his own mother by name. "I want you to talk to her for me."

"What? You think she'll listen to me?" Dawnn asked, shaking his head. "They can't fight inside the city, just tell your priestess that—"

"Tried it," Vaschel interrupted. "I'll ask Negate to try again, but… look, kid, it's for her own damn good."

"Fine, fine… but I really, really don't think she'll listen," Dawnn answered, kneeling to mend his once-expensive table.

Just a short distance away, little Negatory sat against the door she'd closed, separating herself from any violence but affording her an excellent vantage point for the audio. Giggling to herself, she wondered if Dawnn would be willing to convince Daynha to not kill Lisys, too.

*END CH9: LETTERS*

//LETTER: PHASILICA TO NEGATE

Dear Negate,

We are all relieved to hear from you; even Vaschel was beginning to worry.

I know that you will be very busy, so I will make this brief. Your sister is doing very, very well. She has shown no signs of fatigue nor anxiety. I am absolutely confident that this will not be a repeat of that day Vaschel and I were called away unexpectedly.

Write if you have a chance,

Phasilica

// LETTER: VASCHEL TO NEGATE

Dear Negate,

Haha, I knew you were okay the whole time! By the way, your sister told me the truth—you're stuck in Tirisfal Glades with an ugly girl! That's terrible!

If she's even remotely doable, I sent you something that might help! Heh heh…

Love,

Vaschel

(PS: There's this girl I hit a while back, I can't remember her name… it was like Anabel or Analise or Fabricate or something… anyway, it was awesome! I don't actually remember much, just that Phasilica had to revive me the next morning because she was so freaky! It was weird, my mana was low… anyway, I hear the girl's in your area! If you get a chance, I recommend it!)

//LETTER: NEGATORY TO NEGATE

(Excerpts)

[…] Please, please, please, please bring her back with you!? Pretty please! Pretty, pretty please? I never get to talk to other rogues, and I bet she's really nice, and I want to meet her! Pretty, pretty, pretty please!? I won't ask you for anything else ever again, I promise! […]

[…] What's this girl's name, anyway? […]

//LETTER: DAYNHA TO NEGATE

(Excerpt)

[…] And make sure you don't trust any of those undead girls, no matter how nice they might seem. Remember, if you get yourself in a bad situation, I can always come find you […]