A/N: And so the story continues! That's good, right? Anyways, thanks to the ever-talented and always-funny Buglet (seriously, check out his stuff, Azeroth's Finest may be the most hilarious fic I've ever read), this is out and about. Not as long as I thought it'd be, but a lot longer than I feared it wouldn't be. Anyways, on with the show!
I'm going on an adventure!
- Bilbo Baggins
Pale streaks of dawn slowly spidered along the sky, shoots of golden pink splintering the dark blue. A cool breeze wafted through a broken window, and Zoen inhaled deeply, the tang of salt stinging her nostrils. Tiris whined in his sleep next to her, wriggling and kicking out his feet. Zoen watched him for a moment before yawning, her eyes beginning to close. Sleep had barely come last night… Maybe she could snatch a few moments' rest before -
An earsplitting crash from just outside the room startled both human and wolf completely awake, the former swearing loudly as the latter barked and growled madly. A flash of orange light burned on the other side for a moment, followed by a breath of silence that lasted the span of a heartbeat before the voice of Sparks yelled, "Damn it, Belkol, are you trying to get yourself banished?!"
A high-pitched snarl of Eredun replied and the argument quickly deteriorated into a shouting match in the demonic tongue. Zoen shut her eyes again, falling back down and grinding the heels of her palms into her eyes. Bursts of color exploded behind her eyelids, and for a moment she almost forgot the fight going on behind her rotting door. Almost.
Eventually, she forced herself to roll out of bed, dropping to the cold floor to drag out ragged pieces of black leather from beneath the bed, strapping on the armor as the voices grew increasingly louder. She winced, a headache beginning to throb in the back of her head and around her ears as she laced up her boots. Two yellow lanterns watched her from above, blinking occasionally and growling at the door when something thumped against a wall. When she pulled on her long coat, a deep, demonic voice boomed imperiously before morphing mid-sentence into a far less impressive (but no less dangerous) woman's furious shouting.
Zoen had just began hunting around when Tiris tensed, his ears pricked as he whined. Idly, Zoen said, "They're burning down the apartment again, aren't they?" She grinned, finding an old, faded receipt and a bent quill. Just as she found a cracked inkwell she added, "And she wonders why I want to leave."
The hunter scratched a note on the back of the receipt, careful not to tear the thin paper. She stuck the note under a bedpost before retrieving her bow and quiver. She frowned. There were far fewer arrows left than she was comfortable with.
Another shout came from outside and Zoen sighed, slinging her quiver over her shoulder and gripping her bow tightly as she stood up. She motioned to Tiris before turning the doorknob, shoving the door open to be welcomed into anarchy.
Fresh scorch marks littered the walls, ceiling, and floor, and the ratty couch was slowly smouldering, bright embers threatening to catch flame. The stench of smoke and burnt coffee of all things permeated the air along with a thick, repugnant malodor Zoen had learned to associate with fel magic. Off to the side lay a smashed soul shard, its crystalline features dulled to a dark purple. Wooden shards and white fluff littered the floors, some black and smoking leisurely. Amongst the wreckage, heedless of the destruction they had wrought, stood a warlock and a fel imp, locked in mutual death glares. Their silence lasted only a moment before the warlock grated out in an uncharacteristically hoarse voice a string of guttural words in the demonic language. The imp responded in kind, high-pitched and indignant. The hunter noticed a shattered mug that lay near the warlock's side, a brown liquid staining the ceramic and the wood beneath.
For a moment, Zoen hesitated. She could leave, right then and there, slip out with Tiris and Sparks would never know.
And yet…
Maybe it was her subconscious indulging in a moment of pure masochism, maybe it was some lingering sense of debt; whatever the cause, the words poured from Zoen's mouth of their own accord, bright and cheery and false and sending guilt down to twist her stomach into intricate knots. "Good morning, Sparks, Belkol."
Sparks' hand twitched. Belkol bared his fangs at his mistress. A breeze came through a crack in a window, stirring bits of fluff close to not-quite-dead embers. Zoen swallowed. "So, ah… Did I miss anything?"
Sparks' jaw creaked as she ground out in Common, "Nothing important."
"Boss lady's right," added the imp venomously. "Just having a little disagreement."
"Yes." Tiny flames flickered to life on the tips of Sparks' fingers. "A disagreement."
The hunter shook her head at the two of them. "Yeah, sure. Just don't burn down another apartment." She made for the door, finally arresting her guardian's attention.
"Where are you going?" It was said sharply and caustically, suspicion heavy and naked. The words struck Zoen, driving the breath from her lungs. She doesn't trust me.
But can you blame her?
"Just - just to the forest," she managed to choke out, the lie catching in her throat and pulling the knots in her stomach tighter. "Just hunting. We're… we're almost broke." She swallowed, trying to speak around the obstruction lodged in her windpipe. "I'll be back soon."
Please don't ask me to stay, she thought desperately. I'll suffocate here. Please don't ask me to stay.
Sparks was silent; Zoen couldn't breathe.
There were no words from the warlock. No wrathful condemnation, no wise advice, no encouragement to bolster the hunter's resolve. Instead, Sparks merely turned away, resuming her argument with the imp. Zoen bit the inside of her cheek, feeling her heart crack. She fled the dingy, wrecked apartment, slamming the door behind Tiris.
She jumped at the sight of a withered old woman glaring at her. Startled, Zoen opened her mouth soundlessly. She didn't know this maybe-tennant.
"Tell your mother to quiet down," the crone reprimanded, showing off broken, mossy teeth.
Zoen swallowed back the tightness in her throat and the blurs at her peripheral and wheezed, "She's not my mother."
Who's Mother?
"Do your parents know you're here?" A quick, icy fear raced through Zoen's blood. Her grip on her bow tightened as she searched for some telltale sign - unusual paleness, or maybe a tattoo - and saw none. After a moment, she blinked and mentally slapped herself. When the hell did she care if she was talking to a cultist?
"I really hope not," she admitted honestly, grinning a little at the woman's expression. She shoved past the crone and ignored the irritated calls. She flew down the stairsteps while Tiris loped ahead until they both burst from the apartment complex. Zoen gasped for air, drawing in massive lungfuls as she stared up at the sky. The sun had risen higher since last she saw it. The golden pink was a little bit brighter, the night sky just a little bit more faded. For a fleeting moment, Zoen wondered what the sunrise looked like from the docks before the image twisted into last night's sunset and the little boy whose name she didn't know, and the knots in her stomach tightened to the point that she thought she might throw up. Shivering, she jammed her free hand into a coat pocket and began the trek to the Cathedral District.
It was not a particularly long walk to escape Old Town, and the yellowy arms of dawn staved off the deafeningly quiet darkness that often plagued the streets. The Canals were empty save for the fish and crabs who scuttled around in the trashy muck at the bottom of the canal beds; once, Zoen thought she caught a glimpse of the sewer beast of legend, but it was nothing more than a dirty, yellow-white shirt tangled below. Candlelight illuminated homes behind closed curtains, silhouettes moving about their abodes. Stormwind was slowly awakening.
Crossing a bridge, Zoen reached up, plucking an apple from one of the trees lining the edge of a canal. She munched on her impromptu breakfast as she turned a corner, crossing through the archway to enter the Cathedral District. The pristine streets already had more than a few paladins striding their lengths, priests going about their morning routines while initiates to both holy orders scurried about in search of whatever obscure article their masters ordered brought to them. As was her habit, Zoen peeked into an alleyway. No shadows lurked with glinting eyes, no red-stained victims of rigor mortis forgotten 'til the cultists came across them. She felt homesick already.
Waiting for a specific paladin in a sea of paladins was arduously tedious; actively seeking out a specific paladin was too herculean a task for her. Mith moved to a stone bench beneath another apple tree, grabbing another apple and throwing the core of her old one behind her shoulder. Tiris curled up at the bench's edge and Zoen folded her legs underneath her, leaned against the front of the bench, and stroked the wolf's fur. A chilly breeze rustled the tree's leaves; Zoen shivered, pulling her coat tighter against herself. "Why is it so cold?" she muttered bitterly.
"Air currents." Her head snapped up to see a boy not much older than her standing before her. He grinned, shaking his head as a few inky black strands of hair fell into his eyes. The paladin's armor he wore gleamed faintly in the sunlight.
"Air currents," echoed Zoen as she got to her feet. She nudged Tiris, and the quiet growling that'd been rumbling from his chest ceased.
"From Northrend," he added. "Just one more thing that lovely land of undead horrors and frozen death gives to the rest of the world. Isn't that sweet?"
"Absolutely." His grin got a little wider, and a ghost of a smile played on Zoen's lips.
"My manners!" exclaimed the paladin. "I seem to have forgotten. Salric Volta," with more than a little dramatic flair, he bowed low, "paladin of the Knights of the Silver Hand. Or the Argent Dawn." Conspiratorially, he whispered, "I have no idea what the difference is."
Zoen breathed a quiet laugh, admitting, "Neither do I." A moment of companionable silence followed before she asked, "So, are you the paladin who recruited me? Because you're a lot shorter than you were before."
He was confused for a moment before it cleared away. "You're the archer, aren't you? The one Markus said he was gonna get? Huh." He rocked back on his heels before leaning forward a bit. "You're not quite what I expected. You're a lot less..." He twirled his hand in the air as he searched for a term before settling with, "night elf-y."
"Night elves get paid more than I am." She threw her apple over his shoulder, smiling when Tiris raced after it. A pang of guilt went through her when she remembered she'd yet to feed him today.
Is that really what you feel most guilty about? In her defense, she really liked her dog.
If Salric noticed her sudden melancholy, he didn't comment on it. Instead, the paladin reached up to get his own apple. He took a few minutes to chew on it, during which time Tiris returned to Zoen's side. The sun rose higher; Zoen could just hear the sounds of the Trade District as it revved up into full swing, the calls of vendors and adventurers and the occasional roar from some large creature echoing through the city. More exotic passersby than priests and paladins wandered through the Cathedral District: shaman and druids and magi and even a warlock (don't think about her) or two. Eventually, both Salric and Zoen sat on the bench side by side, Tiris at their feet. As time went on, the duo resorted to games of intense wit to keep themselves alert.
"I spy... something... white."
"If it's that bloody stone one more time..."
"That stone is a proud member of the masonry of Stormwind! Show it the respect it deserves!... And your turn."
Zoen rolled her eyes before she began searching for something new. Something caught her eye, and she quickly shut them, groaning, "I spy something golden."
Salric snorted. "Let me guess, a paladin?"
"Yep." She pointed in the general direction of where she'd looked. Salric's silence was a tangible thing.
She knew what he saw: three paladins bathed in the late morning sunlight, their armor gleaming like polished gold. She could hear the three sets of boots tread their way towards her and Salric, could half-imagine the Light singing its praise of these holy champions as they neared the apple tree. Even Salric appeared to glow more, to brighten as his brethren neared him. Light built upon Light, it seemed.
He stood, and Zoen followed suit. "Salric," rumbled the largest paladin, a hulking behemoth whose size along would have been intimidating even without the massive greatsword strapped to his back. "I see you've found our archer." Slate gray eyes slid over to Zoen, and the paladin tilted his head at her. "I am Markus Tarren, in case you have forgotten."
How could she have forgotten this giant? Still, she ducked her head, saying, "Ah, Zoen Mith. The... hunter you recruited." Words alone could not convey how relieved she was at how steady her voice was.
"Hello!" A head popped behind the giant, grinning brightly beneath a mop of blonde hair. "Felix Solas, it's utterly fantastic to meet you -" He looked up, saw Salric, and his grin widened. "'Ello, Sal. Great to see you, too."
"Solas. Chipper as ever." Exasperated fondness colored Salric's tone. Felix smiled even brighter.
There was a movement behind Markus; Zoen leaned to the side, curious -
"The archer?"
She jumped back, almost tripping over the bench, only saving herself by putting one hand behind her on the tree trunk and knot the other in Tiris' fur (to the wolf's irritation). A paladin, around Markus' age but smaller, stared wide-eyed at her. He smiled quickly, though, saying, "Ah, Blaine Arnol, my good lady. A pleasure to meet you." She noticed belatedly that his armor was far lighter than that of his brethren; where the others wore plate, he wore mostly chain and cloth.
"You as well -" Tiris growled, and she subtly jabbed him to keep him quiet - "Sir Arnol, Tarren, Solas, and Volta." They were all looking at her, and Light, it was uncomfortable. "T-thanks for letting- recruiting me, for this -"Stop stumbling, Mith - "foray." Her bow creaked ominously, and she loosened the death grip she'd unconsciously made. "It's an honor to be service to the Dawn." Or Silver Hand, reminded that wretched little voice in her head.
Blaine Arnol smiled again, and there was nothing but sincerity as he said, "It would be remiss to not have a fifth member of this expedition, Miss Mith."
"It'll be great!" promised Felix. "A perfect adventure, eh?" He smiled, and the Light seemed to shine brighter as he did.
A perfect adventure.
A/N: A Chapter three will hopefully come out before a month has passed. Also, to answer some questions, yes, I am the original author of the now-deleted story Lich Child. So... yeah. There's that.
Good day, lovely readers! Review (it is literally the lifeblood that keeps me writing) and have fun.
Frostfyre.