Eight days after arriving in Northrend.
She was a whore. Or at least that was the gist of her description of what she did in Port Valgarde. An engineer officially, Luciya would happily accompany anyone- and she meant nearly anyone- by payment of the most bizarre: fresh fruit.
That was her primary payment method, I had been told. Fresh fruit was hard to acquire in a new land, especially one so wintery where crops were hard to cultivate- and being a non-meat eater she valued it highly. So people in port would buy some from the traders in secret whenever new ships drew into bay before the official unloading just to spend a night in her company. She also accepted rich materials ("Silk is the best"), jewellery ("Some fine metal to be smelted there") and on the odd occasion- poetry.
"I don't understand the poetry part," Father Favian commented, taking a bite of, what looked to be, stale bread.
"She's a hopeless romantic, is our Luci. Read her the right words and she'll swoon like a fairy tale heroine," Bart interjected, ignoring the glare from 'Luci''.
Unsure as to how I found myself at night with this group, all I could do was listen to their familiarity. Two prostitutes, a Cleric from the Crusade, a quiet hunched-over dwarf, a former Knight-Commander to the Lich King and a not-quite-a-Death-Knight Death Knight sitting around a campfire enjoying each other's company, eating broth and mending clothes.
The Cleric was a surprise.
Terowin and I had an uneasy truce; not officially 'friends' in any form of the word, but simply putting up with each other's company due to the fact that few others would. It was a better-of-the-two-evils situation with the alternative being sitting alone in my poxy tent with bugger all to do. He wasn't there for me anyway- he was there for Luciya and her assets.
"So, by pleasuring others, you keep peace in Valgarde?" the Cleric surmised. I was intrigued by how unperturbed he was by the conversation, in fact he showed a keen interest.
"Something to that effect," nodded Bart. "By ridding of sexual frustration -pardon the terminology Father- those far from home, family, wives and lovers etcetera, are more at ease. In my experience there's less tension, less fighting and people are generally more relaxed." He shifted to view his work better by the firelight, "My dance card is no longer full every night though, that generally only happens whenever a new boatful arrives- what a boom in business!" the grin on his face was nearly infectious.
Bartheleus was a kaldorei man of very slender build. Fondly referred to, and introduced as, Bart, he also sold his body for more traditional payment as well as masquerading as a tailor by daylight. Their reason for their late-night activities being that happy in the shorts was happy in the port.
"Amen to that- no offense Father," Luciya waved, spluttering food crumbs out of her mouth, "I accumulated so much when that Menethil boat came in a few weeks ago-that one that Jerry arrived on! Oh and that other one a few months back; do you remember, with the Legion?" Despite the long scar covering half of her face, she was still very expressive when talking.
"I had a busier clientele three boats ago, lots of women on that particular one and a few nights involving three of us-" he coughed, sparing an embarrassed glance from under a curtain of long, blue hair to the eldest in the group. "Again, no offense intended Father. I don't mean to upset your ah, sensibilities."
"Fear not, Bartheleus, I assure you that I have seen far worse in my lifetime and heard even cruder tales," He chuckled. The man kept his cowl up throughout most of the time I had seen him. Even though it was a large port, I hadn't seen him during the daytime, mostly at night when sitting around a campfire was all there was to do. His grey-white beard and whiskers had grown a little shaggy to suit him, but his deep voice was calm and collected from what I had heard. He was a very comfortable man to sit with, I surmised.
"So I've heard! You're not really my type of catch, I have to admit, sir, but that doesn't mean I can't cast my net out to you if you need," Luciya chimed in, a spanner now in her mouth and fingers tinkering something delicate; her more-vegetable-than-broth meal emptied from her wooden bowl. She asked as though offering to break bread with the man, such was a trivial thing she suggested. I don't recall knowing a lot about intimate relations but this did seem unusually outwith social boundaries. The Cleric seemed mortified at the idea however, which amused the group- even the silent dwarf gave a deep chuckle.
"Forgive me child, but I will decline. I am one with my faith and that is enough," he said, though his voice seemed a little strained. Despite showing the good man some deep respect, the two companions didn't seem embarrassed or ashamed of their professions at all- in fact they embraced it and made it their own. Could I…maybe do the same? Somehow turn my situation around into sometime more positive? A loud voice, sounding rather like Walden and Firesworn combined, gave a large resounding NO in the back of my mind.
"Well you wouldn't be the first Of-the-Cloth either of us have had and I doubt you'd have been the last, but your recent shipload is bad for our occupation," Bart continued, Luciya now fighting a frustrating battle with her small project- there seemed to be cogs involved. "A little bit stuck up, I can't even drop hints to any of them for fear of a lecture about The Light or how bad my ways are. I'm not sure if you know, but going that long without- well, it's painful, Sir." To my, and possibly everyone's surprise, the Cleric just laughed.
"I can imagine. I'm sorry however, I cannot openly advocate your, ah, vocation to my Crusaders. However, it is interesting to seek this from another point of view," he said thoughtfully.
"Many people do things they don't want to just because they have no other choice," Terowin spoke, finally joining in the conversation. "Few around them are often aware that it is their only path." He continued sharpening his dangerous looking axe with a whetstone-he had been doing it for so long, the noise had faded into the background. I doubted it needed it, but it gave him something to do I suppose. My own standard-issue blade was confiscated, leaving me longing for it, to also see it stained like Terowin's.
"That's very profound for you," I noted. My hands, unlike everyone else's were empty. The only thing they were doing was grasping each other tightly in an effort to hide my restlessness. "Any particular story behind that statement?" I thought of him at his near-execution, pleading for life to exact revenge for his brothers' deaths. Did he truly have no choice?
"Not particularly." He turned, giving me a direct look, "You, however, should be more than familiar with the concept." I didn't care for his condescending tone, so I turned to ignore him again, instead watching the ever silent dwarf stitch together scraps of leather. What an ass that elf was. Thinking of how much two elves had now aggravated me, I had to wonder if there was just something about them that made them naturally annoying.
"What made you join the Crusade, Terowin," Luciya asked, - her mechanical item lay discarded at her feet in frustration. I saw out of the corner of my eye, unsurprised as he spun a quarter-turn to view her full on.
"Interesting story behind that, actually," he smirked, throwing a look his side, "I made something of a deal with them. All of my information about the Master's plans, strengths and weaknesses in exchange for my life." Luciya looked awed and leaned forward on her knees to hear more. It was hard not to notice that bust of hers from underneath her plain shirt and leather braces. A cloak was draped around her shoulders, but she probably didn't notice it.
"So, how can they guarantee your loyalty then? I mean, theoretically couldn't you just lie to them about that information? For instance, deliver them into His clutches, almost?" Luciya; not one to mince words or sugar-coat them.
It was impossible not to take an interest in the conversation really; everyone had paused their tasks and leaned forward- even Tonie, the dwarf was listening in. We were all eager to hear his answer- I know I had thought about it more than once, hence where some of my distrust of him stemmed from.
He smirked once more, this one sinister in the flickering campfire as night drew darker. He leaned closer to Luciya, no doubt getting a better view of her chest as well as making an attempt to the dramatic.
"That is a simple one, my dear. In fact I'm sure that our dear Cleric here could even explain it in full detail," He threw a wicked grin at Father Favian before resuming. "Now, have you ever-"
"GREEN! Where is that damned contraption of yours?" All heads turned to see a large, overbearing man storming towards our small party. Sporting an eyepatch and a bandage-wrapped torso, I couldn't help but wonder how he wasn't cold this late at night. I suppose the inordinate amount of chest hair probably kept him warm. He spat as he shouted, stopping behind Luciya. She made no move to acknowledge him, simply tinkered on with her project- when did she pick it back up?
"Green! Answer me, woman!" Luciya started to hum, frustrating the man more. The rest of us watched on carefully, or at least Bart, the Cleric and I did. Terowin seemed to be withholding a laugh. Tonie had bent his head low once more, stitching leather scraps together, the scene before him labelled boring, perhaps. Even in the firelight, this intruder's flush was evident.
"Luciya," said Bart carefully, not sure what might set this man off. She looked up curious, and in mock surprise, turned to the man seething behind her like a rabid wolf.
"Zorek! How good to see you. When did you arrive? Do you know I was just on my way to see you this very instant to tell you that this-" she waved around her shapeless metal apparatus, "- is nowhere near completion and to ask you to sit tight a little longer." I could actually see a vein throbbing on his bald head- that cannot be healthy.
"Curse you woman, I tasked you with this weeks ago!" Luciya looked unconcerned by the threating tone directed towards her.
"Yes, yes, all in a day's work, Guard-Captain, but if only I had the book…" she waved her spanner off-handedly, turning back to her work. If I hadn't seen her working on it for the last while, I wouldn't have known that she wasn't even doing anything to it. She was hell bent on winding this man up. Judging by his twitching jaw and that vein, she was doing a pretty good job.
"You know damn well I'm not retrieving that damned manual for you. Just hurry up and figure it out or I'll send your ass back to Stormwind!" Bart jumped up at this, walking round to the man. His sudden action nearly made me miss Luciya's flinch.
"Tell me Zorek, when did you and I last catch up? How about an ale on me at the tavern? I have something to discuss with you about the new recruits' uniforms…" Bart said cautiously. Zorek let out a loud breath in a cold cloud, which was probably for the best as he was one step shy of frothing at the mouth, before accepting. With one last grunt of anger at Luciya, the two men walked slowly away, Bart distracting the man into calming. When they were out of earshot, Luciya shot out a loud curse.
"Aargh! That man! Would getting the damned manual be so difficult?" she proclaimed exasperated. Her chest was heaving in anger, much to Terowin's amusement, I noted.
"Take one deep breath, child. And release it. Again, and release." This seemed to bring her mood down a little, but at the expense of her losing some miniature screws from her device. She threw the item into the campfire, not even bothering to contain her cussing in front of her Cleric friend. I had watched this exchange with a detached curiosity at their behaviour- the tightening of her jaw, the soft touch Favian offered on her arm, the object now turning bright red in the flames…
I was reaching in to retrieve it when I heard him say:-
"Maintain your cool and calm like Cersae here, I'm sure she could offer you advice on dealing with your emotions." My fingers stumbled over the device, dropping them in the burnt ashes at the base of the fire, but I quickly recovered and pulled it free of the flames. 'Dealing with my emotions' – what a laughable idea! And I was not the only one to think so, a deep baritone voiced a sinister laugh.
"My dear Cleric, you are truly charming," Terowin overstated.
"How so, Terowin Darksworn?" Now, I have no idea when or how it started, but these two had some strange rapport that allowed them all sorts of social privileges- straight up (possibly intended, sometimes banter-y) disrespect, openly questioning each other's actions and philosophies, even underhanded name-calling that just seemed comfortable with them both. It was a bizarre friendship, if that was what it was, to witness upon. Perhaps they had met on the boat crossing here, because I certainly didn't keep Darksworn occupied socially when we travelled. How the Cleric put up with him was beyond me.
"Well, for one, she would need to actually possess emotions to be able to deal with them." He left as was while Luciya and the priest looked between us, absorbing the information. I couldn't dispute him for it was true. What others experienced joy and sadness at; I felt a big fat nothing. The lack of it didn't disturb me, I hadn't even noticed that I didn't react when I should have felt something, but I knew that it upset Mort. He had indeed told me as much before we parted ways in his 'I will get you back to normal' speech.
"Is this true? You feel…nothing?" Luciya whispered. She was sometimes so like a child it was hard to remember she was supposedly a few years older than me. Right now with her wide eyes and loose, waist-length orange hair, she indeed seemed infantile. I merely shrugged in response.
"What about at Light's Hope Chapel? Or during the battles?" she pushed on, my answers rounding up to a shake of the head each time. Nope, nada, nothing. "What about your Death Knight training?" She didn't know about my memory loss so the next line of questioning shouldn't have been surprising. "Or when you slaughtered everyone for The Lich King? Did you honestly not feel even the slightest hint of remorse? Regret? Guilt?"
I don't know what surprised me more- the near irresistible urge to flinch or that she wasn't even remotely accusatory when she questioned me. She could have asked me about the weather in the same inquisitive tone and not have sounded strange.
I didn't think my own personal torment counted; it wasn't the answer she was looking for. "No, I can honestly say that I feel- and felt- nothing," I supplied.
And then silence.
Even Cleric Favian seemed to have succumbed to a thoughtful- or troubled, I wasn't sure- state at my admission. A foreign sensation came over me, and later the next day, alone on labour duties, I figured out why- I didn't want to lose their company and the conversation that had just occurred was in danger of jeopardising that.
"You are surprised? Look at her! She's paler than the snows of Icecrown, there are corpses centuries-dead that are healthier looking than her and you just witnessed her reach into a fire to come out unscathed!" Terowin effused with undiminished glee. Suddenly my sword on his throat was looking very attractive. "She is not even human, how could she possibly feel anything? We are unfeeling creatures born in Death and Blood, do not forget that, Cleric." The target of that speech simply looked hard at Terowin, something unspoken passing between the two.
"But…but she- you speak with us and you seem normal…I mean, I know you're…well…dead, but you don't feel?" Luciya seemed to be the only one struggling with the concept of my mental and emotional neutrality. I wanted to tell her otherwise, but what could I say? It went on like this for a while, Luciya seemingly very upset at, or with me. Perhaps even for me, I didn't know.
"She will feel though. Eventually." Three heads turned in quick succession to the Death Knight at the sound of his voice. "Arthas made sure we would be the ultimate weapon in his arsenal, and so when we are Turned we are instilled with something even worse than the need for revenge or the enjoyment of a simple slaughter." No one spoke, I wasn't even sure if the other two were breathing now. There was just something in that dulcet voice of his that crept into our minds, grasping something so primal that fear started edging its way out. It was a nasty habit of his.
He looked to me unwavering. "It starts with Agitation."
His hands started to move in a subtle regularity over his beloved axe.
"Shortly following it will breed to Restlessness."
"It will soon take a hold of you…
He was curving a whetstone over the blade as I had seen him do many a time.
"Restlessness will evolve to Vexation," another slice of the stone. Sparks flew.
"Vexation will spill over into Thirst."
…You will feel pain immeasurable…
A scrape across the edge.
"Thirst mutates into Bloodlust."
A final swipe along the armament. He placed the butt of it on the ground, the weapon looming menacingly overhead, dark stains highlighted by the fire.
There is only one remedy for the suffering…
"And the Bloodlust must be sated." He stood, placing his instrument over his shoulder and turned to leave, but not before-
"Not even you can escape The Endless Hunger, Little Sister."
…You are ready, Cersae."