Rhovin
I swiped your bow and tossed it over a lake.
Happy hunting!
All my love,
~Aranya
Rhovin stared at the note that he had found where he left his bow, not quite knowing whether to laugh or scowl, but looking very perplexed all the same. Of all the pranks she could have pulled... Knowing her, there was a fifty-fifty chance that she really had left his weapon to its watery fate at the bottom of some lake somewhere in the world, and an equally fifty-fifty chance that she had left it someplace stupidly obvious.
The hunter read over the words again. There was a hint in there, somewhere, some kind of trick to this game she had started. There had to be.
And then it hit him.
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
"Oy!" Hemet Nesingwary hailed the approaching blood elf, not getting up from his lakeside chair. "You must be Thorne," he said, looking the ranger over as if assessing him. "Welcome to Nagrand, and the happy hunting grounds of the great Nesingwary!" The dwarf turned away from Rhovin and picked up something from the other side of his chair. "The lass said ye might turn up. She left this for ye." So saying, the famous big game hunter produced Rhovin's bow - completely unharmed - and a jug of bourbon with a note tied to it, which read:
Gotcha! April fool!
~A
Several ideas for retaliation ran through the archer's mind, some of which were a bit impractical and others not satisfyingly impractical enough.
Fool, huh? We'll see, princess. We'll see...
Considering the effort placed to get his beloved bow, Rhovin had to come up with the perfect scheme to return the favor. Well, not so much perfect but more hilarious than anything else. A simple trick tends to go a long way. Something of hers that she can't go on without.
Aranya paced barefoot around the bedroom looking for her boots. A frustrated sigh soon followed. Why does his bedroom have to be so huge?! For indeed it was. Lord Kethron Thorne spared no expense for the comfort of his sons, regardless of how he may feel of them.
It took a moment, but Aranya finally settled her glowing eyes to the note on her pillow. Written in a sloppy form of Thalassian, it read:
You took my bow and threw it across a lake. I thought I wouldn't find it, so I burned your boots and hung them outside on Val's favorite tree. Hope you like the feeling of wet grass between your toes.
With tender love and... well yeah.
Rho.
Aranya's blinked. Her heart skipped a beat. He didn't. He didn't!
The idea of breaking in a new pair of boots was terrifying. The possible blisters, the raw heels, the aching arch of her feet. She almost felt like crying. Almost. Mostly overpowered by sheer vengeance. Aranya immediately ran out to confirm. Sure enough, the moment she stepped on grass, it was definitely wet. Too wet.
Bastard!
Rhovin intentionally soiled the grass. Determined, she stomped her angry feet in the sloth mud, fists clenched, and made her way towards that tree. When she looked up, she paled. The utter shock made her eye twitch.
Her boots were perfectly fine. There was a note attached to it.
Gotcha.
Aranya bit her lower lip. The fel flames in her eyes burned with a fiery vengeance the Burning Legion could never replicate. Oh, this is definitely war.
Author's notes - Posting this a bit early for the holiday, but this is some fun that Rhovin's writer and I had for April Fool's Day 2015! Aranya would have told Hemet to deliver it back the next day if Rhovin didn't figure it out, but he doesn't know that. And Hemet would've kept the whiskey. Damn dwarf.