Title: Payback
Description: "Sylvanas delivers a package to a peculiar customer who's more familiar of her than she is of him."
Notes1: Been busy with work and school again, more so the former than the latter because the semester ends in a little over two weeks and I might try to go for summer courses if I'm not hurting for time and the class(es) I want to take aren't filled by the time registration closes sometime by next month when they do start. I'm thinking of going for a major in Art (I once attempted to go for English back ten years ago, but I had no intentions to be a teacher - I still don't, outside of wanting to get involved in an apprenticeship program, if that's possible - and would still prefer being a writer that abides by her own rules than an executive deadline), but I'm taking the Meyers-Briggs tests to help narrow down/make it easier for me to decide what to go for so I'm not needlessly spending money on ventures that I might regret later on down the road. But speaking of money: I got a new computer! And I'm not crashing on Legion!Dalaran anymore after ten minutes on the loading screen! And I can actually see the bodies of the Heroes I play when I die and they ragdoll halfway across the map! It was a very good investment, and while I'd love to get a Cintiq tablet for my art it's way too much money right now so I'm either going to sock away cash over time or search for something a little more affordable but just as useful.
On a shorter note, I've been prioritizing which stories to work on (read: it's getting there, but I have an idea where to go with all of them) given my schedule. I think First Impressions and the spin-offs are always going to be of a low priority, being a one-shot anthology with some low-key continuity, and part of the reason I've put off on giving the former constant updates is due to the fact that chapters have been getting longer and longer, which should not always be the case because it's more than Other Such Things. So I'm still trying to figure out what to devote my time to based on priority/motivation/interest (while also writing as many Warcraft one-shots I can come up with over time; those are so easy to write now :P).
Notes2: I'll be honest: I had a hard time dredging up motivation for Chapter 48. Even more honestly, this was actually going to be about something different; and while that chapter is still around in its present document, I decided to shelve it for the time being due to having been struck with the inspiration the new Rise of the Raven Lord comic has given me (Blizzard's way of introducing lore to Heroes of the Storm). Which, really, I told them on Twitter that they were two-three years late, and (this I did not tell them) some of my readers have already taken to making First Impressions the actual 'canon' or the game canon itself. Of course, I'm more than content to read whatever they come up with; I liked the idea of the Raven Lord having a human form (or the human being his true self and the raven just an image of shapeshifting, OR the human form is just an avatar of his actual raven form), although I've read some posters weren't too partial to it.
The comic, however, presented a problem with the fanfic's timeline; the Raven Lord states that he's been witness to countless over thousands of years, whereas in the fanfic the Nexus Hero League has only been around...four years ago (2014 in real world years), which coincides with the release of the first twenty-two Heroes when the game was in alpha testing, due to the acquisition of the Interdimensional Sports Association by the houseborn. Specific events like the Haunted Mines being revamped and Hanamura being pulled/refurbished until further notice happen in real-world time, so normally with the release of new Heroes and their skins following thereafter (recolors are not included, but they may exist to some capacity further down the timeline, like, say Sylvanas' Sind'dorei tint of the Ranger-General variant). The comic introduces the Dark Nexus along with its variants of Alarak, Gul'dan, and Dehaka, and that would mean Dark Nexus!Alarak and Gul'dan would be formally drawn into the Nexus in real-world time.
I want to say, for the sake of the timeline, this chapter takes place in the same timeframe the comic's set in (the thousands of years) so it prevents confusion. It would be preferable, but at the same time it also presents an interesting idea of how I can maintain timeline consistency while acknowledging the potential plothole. Also, with Deckard Cain's formal introduction into the Nexus as a Hero, as well as my search of a way to establish cohesion with the fanfic timeline and the lore Blizzard is laying down for the game, I may have just found a definitive answer to the existence of the transition (and I say that because the Nexus/Storm is already established as a transdimensional cosmic storm and a crossroads for universes).
But let's be honest, there's no way I'm telling you what that is until maybe the second to last chapter of the story (the final chapter in which Sylvanas bids farewell to the not-harem and everyone in the Nexus before all the Heroes are drawn back from whence and where they came).
A van trundled up the gravel-laden road worn by time and weather (it had been many a year, close a century, since vehicle traffic was commonplace in this part of the Cursed Hollow), wipers uselessly sloshing away torrents of rain. It was a brown, squat thing: a two-door drive with rear-hinged coach doors that rattled even still closed firmly and all the way. On both sides were the words CURSED HOLLOW POSTAL SERVICE in large, white letters interposed with the stenciled outline of a raven in flight.
The tower came into view, but the van maintained the same, slow, cautious speed it had been at for the past hour. When the incline leveled out and the gravel turned into asphalt, it came to a stop. The headlights went off. The wipers came to rest. A shadow moved within from the driver's seat; it leaned over onto the passenger side, leaned back, and then the driver's side door popped open.
Sylvanas hopped out, dressed in the mud-brown cap and uniform of the postal service. A long, camouflaged rain slicker was draped over her shoulders, and the hood covered her head. She held a package wrapped in brown paper. She read the address on the slip of white paper layered in transparent Scotch tape:
TO: THE RAVEN LORD
1 HIGH ROOK DRIVE
RAVEN TOWER, CURSED HOLLOW, RAVEN COURT, x1z30
She scoffed, tucked the package underneath the coat, and padded up the driveway toward the entrance, uncaring of the rain beating down on her. She climbed the steps onto the landing that was shadowed (but not covered) by a looming arch, wherein a thick, large door of dark wood and a cold iron knocker nestled. The knocker was in the fashion of a raven glaring at her and at the world.
Sylvanas took the knocker and shook it three times against the door. The sound it made was very hollow, like the nonexistent heartbeat of her chest. "CHPS," she called. "Got a package for the Raven Lord. Open up."
She waited for a moment for an answer, but none came. She got up on her tiptoes and tried to peer through the tiny window at the top of the door. Stupid, she chided herself, settling back on her feet with a grunt and shake of her head. How can you see anything when there are bars in the way? There was not much to see but gloom, gloom that could not be offset by what appeared to be torchlight on the walls.
Sylvanas banged the knocker again, this time a little more harshly. "Hey," she called. Bang bang. "Hey." Bang bang bang.
Footsteps, barely heard above the din of the rain. They were soft and light, seemed almost as if to be dragging than picked up. Sylvanas stepped back just in time for the door to swing inward and came face to face with a short old woman. She had on a purple robe and had her grey-streaked white hair up in a messy bun. She smiled at the Banshee Queen. "Ah, Miss Windrunner, welcome. My Lord has been expecting you."
"About time someone showed up," she said. "He couldn't come see me himself?"
"I apologize, Miss Windrunner, my Lord has been preoccupied the past few days with an important matter. Please, do come in."
"Thanks." The woman moved to the side and, when Sylvanas went through, closed the door behind them. She took the slicker in one hand and draped it on the coat rack to drip dry. "So where is he?"
"Probably holed up in his study again," said the woman, with a click of her tongue and a roll of her eyes. "I told him someone would come by this week with his order, but he's been so busy as of late I can't help but think he's forgotten all about it."
"Again, you think?"
"It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest! Oh, listen to me, go off on a tangent! Silly thing, that transition; where are my manners?"
"Sounded normal to me," Sylvanas said, wiping her boots on the carpet, "but what would I know? Normal's subjective."
The woman nodded. "That you are, Miss Windrunner! But forgive me. I didn't introduce myself. I am Neeve, the Lord's primary caretaker and adviser, as well as one of the overseers of his rookery."
"You happen to be in charge of his answering machine, as well?"
"Not always. For the time being, and for his sake, I've taken it upon myself to balance his checkbooks, his stocks, his investments, the union dues…."
"Damn, lady, you're something else," said Sylvanas, giving a low whistle. "That, or your Lord's a couch potato and you had to pick up the slack."
"It's been a busy week, and once my Lord decides to do something he focuses on that and forgets everything else. It is just like him to do that."
"Who's to say it's not the transition making him that way?"
"People like my Lord were always hyper-focused even before then. Ah," Neeve sighed, "but that would not surprise me in the slightest if that were the case. Sometimes I wonder if he even knows he's transitioned, just like the rest of the Realm Lords. I can't help but envy the echoes…just a little." She looked at Sylvanas, her smile small and a touch sly. "I've heard a lot about you, Miss Windrunner. You're quite the famous character."
"Am I now," Sylvanas drawled tonelessly.
"You are, indeed. My Lord is always talking about you whenever he sees you participating in the House feuds and the League matches, although I'd be lying if I said he didn't see you as much if not more on the daily news channels."
"You don't say."
"I've told him many times that nearly everything in the Nexus is immortal. The ravens and crows will always return, but he has such fondness for them; it's almost hard to believe if you could see it for yourself, but it's true. He takes such good care of them."
"Oh, so he told you about that little incident, didn't he? That one year, during Valentine's Day." Sylvanas nodded. "If they were such good birds, then maybe he should've taught them to be more resistant to mind control. Pretty stupid of him to have birds that sit there in the trees looking pretty when they could've flown out of there. For heralds of the Raven Lord, they had such feeble minds. Oh, and Doodle ate good. Very good."
Neeve flinched, but said nothing of it. Instead, she changed subjects: "Are you hungry, Miss Windrunner? Or thirsty? I can have one of the servants provide you with a spot of refreshment. It must have been a long drive, given all this rain."
Sylvanas shrugged. "I guess. I volunteered for the week to bring in a little extra cash and I'm not exactly crunched for time, so I'm in no hurry. I'm not about to kill myself trying to deliver someone's college textbooks or whatever they ordered online; I left an hour early just to get here." She scoffed. "Makes me glad layaway's all but diminished. Most people can't even find their way out of a paper bag."
"My Lord has spent thousands of years promoting organized traffic and road safety, promoting the green wave mechanism, and the advocacy of relative directional awareness and basic, fundamental understanding of translational variance among the middle class, working class, and the underclass. We all might be a little daft in the head, but my Lord means the very best for our people even if it may not seem like it."
"Good for him."
They came out of the hallway into a large foyer with large stairways carved into the stonework of the building leading higher to the upper floors. There was a fire burning in the hearth, logs spitting and crumbling white powder from dry rot. A sofa couch and two ornate chairs whose head- and armrests were made of veined Etowah marble and padded with purple, velvet cushions encircled it in its cozy comfort; a low-end, glass-topped table set between the hearth and the couch finished the ensemble.
As they entered the area, Neeve straightened up. "Oh! My Lord! You've actually come out of your study!"
"I needed a moment away," said the voice of the Raven Lord, soft and thin with reediness. "There is too much on my mind."
"Oh, I know, sir. It's okay to step away for a little while. No problem can be solved within a day."
A slight cough. "If only."
Sylvanas stopped and took in the shadow stretching along the wall. It was tall and man-like, almost amorphous in its outline. It emerged into the torchlight from the hearth and the sconces on the walls and the brilliant, three-layered chandelier hanging from the ceiling, revealed itself to indeed be a man of tall height and imperious features. His hair was black shot white along his goatee and muttonchops. His right eye was yellow and the sclera was red, but his left was completely devoid of iris and was, for lack of a better description, simply red, bright and cold under the thick brows. His mantle were shaped in the skulls of ravens, which clasped together the preposterously feathered collar and fell down his back in a long black drape. His robes were purple and green with a gold belt with a raven's head as a buckle that tapered just past his ankles so as not to drag them across the floor. On his chest was a hexagonal gem glowing faintly with aether. Power seemed to ooze out of it and through him, from the gem to the odd, twisting wooden rod he carried; the purple globe completing the piece had a single black slit, like a cat's eye, that seemed to rove back and forth with every motion he made.
(It reminded Sylvanas of her encounter with the aether, during the storm; but this man's presence was like a tornado in the bottle compared to the beauty and terrible splendor of the instability of reality and omnipresent, omniscient genius loci of all sentient, sapient that has ever and will ever exist in the eternity of everything and nothing.)
Then it fell upon Sylvanas and—It's the light, she thought suddenly, trying not to squirm—glared, just as the man did when he looked at her. "Oh. It's you," he rumbled. "I suppose the postal service was short on staff today. Just my luck."
Sylvanas stared at the man, swept her eyes from the points of his bone-tipped boots (probably made from, what else, a dead raven) to the tips of his moussed hair, then looked at Neeve. "Who is this?"
Neeve's lips quirked up. "That's the Raven Lord. His true form, I should say. You're one of the few people in all the Nexus that isn't a Realm Lord who's seen him for what he is."
Sylvanas blinked at her. Looked at the man smoldering at her, then at Neeve, then at the man and his glaring staff. "Yeah right," she said, shaking her head. "You're telling me this guy here is supposed to be a Realm Lord?"
"He is."
"I am," said the man.
"You're telling me," Sylvanas continued, "that this guy is in charge of all the ravens and crows in the Court? You're telling me this is the same guy that's been feuding with the Gravekeeper for millennia and isn't strong enough to break the stalemate?
"I am," said Neeve.
"I wear ravens as a tribute to the creatures that have inhabited this realm before I claimed it as my own," said the man. "I chose the raven as a form of transportation and intimidation to instill into my foes." His mouth pressed into a thin, angry line. "My title is literally The Raven Lord…and yet you still refuse to recognize me as such?" He scoffed. "You, Sylvanas Windruner, are selectively blind. Or stupid. Neither would surprise me; you are as dull and insipid as all the rest."
"Where's the proof then?"
"Proof? I need no proof!" said the man, banging the butt of his staff for emphasis. "I do not have to justify myself with words or paper to prove you wrong. What you see before you is proof! To say I am not the Raven Lord is either born out of pure ignorance…or you're the Gravekeeper's Nancy. Are you a Nancy, Sylvanas Windrunner?"
Sylvanas shrugged. "I do what I do best. I don't do undying loyalty to people that aren't me."
"Then for what purpose have you come here if to bore me with your foolish words? Speak or begone. For every minute I waste standing here I could be doing something else more important and fulfilling with my time."
"I have a delivery for the Raven Lord. If you see him, give this to him. The order form said it was 'important', but it feels like there's nothing in it at all. Wouldn't surprise me if it was bird seed or, I dunno, whatever goes through that dumb bird brain of his." As she spoke, she went up to the man and thrust the package into his empty hand.
He glowered at the box, and from underneath his lashes he peered up at Sylvanas. "You think this is funny?" he snarled. "You think me a simpleton playing pretend?"
"I mean, yeah, you look noble and you're wearing all this bird paraphernalia…but for all I know you could be some guy who has a fetish for cosplay or furries. I could ask for papers, too, but those can be forged and you could just be pulling my leg. I'd need more than just your word and the written word for proof that you're really the Raven Lord…which, in all honesty, I think you're just a patsy. You may as well be Gaston from that movie. Beauty and the Beast, was it? Mm, yes." She smirked. "You kind of look like one, actually. It probably is your name. Sucks to be you."
From his long, pointed nails, the brown paper covering the package crumpled and tore.
Neeve sighed quietly. "Shall I get the door, sir?" she asked the man.
"No need," he told her. Then, when he saw Neeve step off to the side, he raised his head and looked Sylvanas in the eye. "Thank you for the package," he said politely. "Now…get out."
His left eye shone. A cold breeze wafted through the foyer and swept past Sylvanas, like a lover's kiss, warm and ethereal against her skin. It ran ghostly fingers through her hair, tickled her ears, and tossed the heads of the dancing torchlight.
It was all the warning she got before the breeze turned into a full-blown gust with the force of a hurricane, blowing her backward away from the Raven Lord, past Neeve, out into the hallway. Her hat flew off and went tumbling into the dark.
"WHAT THE HELL!" she cried, shielding her arms with her face.
"TASTES BITTER, DOESN'T IT, WINDRUNNER?!" said the Raven Lord, and it was his voice and the voice of legions, the voice of a Power steeped in aether. It was his voice and the mergence of choice and reality, cause and effect. "Don't think I forgot what you did to my birds! My precious babies! They were so young!"
"I WAS DEFENDING MYSELF, MAN! THEY WERE JUST SITTING THERE! IT WAS ALL FOR A GOOD CAUSE!" Sylvans grit her teeth, pushed against the wind, and was resoundingly spun against her will. Her back slammed into the wall adjacent to the door. "IT WAS THEM OR ME!" And, she purposely omitted to add, she was not going to cave in to Morales and Li-Ming's magical girl variant!
"Your dog ate my children! Just because he's cute doesn't mean he shouldn't be exempt from complicity!"
"Doodle was hungry! He just started eating!"
"NO EXCUSES, WINDRUNNER!"
"I stabbed a Lord of the Storm in the eye once!" Sylvanas yelled above the roar of the wind. "You don't scare me! You're just a bird!"
"I am more than a bird!" said the Raven Lord, and when she could manage to crack her eyes open she saw not the shadow of the man but the Realm Lord in his full, avian glory, his voice no longer soft and reed-thin but deepening into cavernous, subterranean, cosmic might. "I. AM. A. GOD!"
The shadow beat its wings once, and it sounded more like a bomb going off than anything else. With that beat the door slammed open, letting in the steady downpour, and Sylvanas was forced off the wall and onto her feet. She stood her ground, threw all her weight into her legs and called up the necromantic, shadow magic roiling inside her to keep her grounded in a flare of black fire.
It beat its wings again, and the fire blew out. Her heels dug furrows into the floor.
"BEGONE, THOT!" And the Raven Lord beat his wings one more time.
For one beautiful, infinite second, Sylvanas felt weightless. Her feet had left the ground, her body became light, and the wind had died completely. Her mind had gone blank. All sound ceased to be.
A single thought echoed in her head, like a Chinese gong: Holy SH—
Sylvanas flew backward through the rest of the hallway, out the door, and bounced off the hood of the van in a series of ragdoll rolls that dropped her right onto the ground.
The Raven Lord didn't want to know nor care to know if the fool was unconscious or dead; he beat his wing one last time, and the heavy wooden door shut the world and Sylvanas Windrunner out of his sight. He drew inward on the shapeless, mathematical integrity of Realm and Universe and Infinity from within the aether of the gem and pulled upon the amorphous outline that was his human form. His body stretched out, up, became thinner and more robust, discombobulated the talons and wings into arms and legs and pushed in his face until it was smashed flat, spread, and became his eyes and nose and lips and ears.
The torches and the hearth reignited with a flash of aether. A second flash, and the gem solidified, pushed the membrane of his germ into his raiment and shattered the chaotic susurrations and quantum equations into untold, countless pieces that were irrelevant and useless to count and consider.
He sighed and brushed his hand upon his breast, dissipating the last strands of fractals into hexagonally kaleidoscopic blue-purple energy. "Peace and quiet," he told Neeve, smiling.
"Don't you think you went overboard?" the woman asked as she fixed her hair and smoothed the crinkles in her robes. "I'm certain she'd have left peacefully enough." Then, looking over her shoulder, she added offhandedly: "You didn't even blow the rain slicker after her."
"In that moment I conceived of at least one million and one ways I could have seen her out, and this was the most lucrative and safest option. Besides, there are the rooks to consider."
"Of course, my Lord. But the world cannot truly be immortal; even the ravens must be beholden to some sort of deliberate design beyond our ken. The Nexus needs to have a cycle of subsistence for the people to survive."
He sniffed. "Bullshit," he mumbled. Still holding the package in his hand, the Raven Lord took it over to the table where he set it down. Then he leaned his staff against the fireplace and took a seat on the couch. He began to unwrap it, corner by corner, being mindful of tearing it where the tape was pressed down.
Neeve came up beside him and peered around his shoulder. He was smoothing the paper out and leaned back to show her the squat, plastic container. On it were three birds: a Piresian sunhawk, a Shadow-touched white-tailed hollow raven, and a pigeon. In large black on white letters superimposed on a yellow background were the words MALFURION STORMRAGE™'s WILD BIRD SEED PLUS MAX. Recommended by every bird, far and wide, in the Nexus (including the Sunless Reaches)!
At the very bottom, in even smaller print—WARNING: Not for human or humanoid consumption.
"Do you think I'm weird, Neeve?" the Raven Lord asked, twisting open the cap.
"My Lord?"
"Be honest with me, Neeve. I'm a Realm Lord with powers that have been stolen and contested since long before the Age of Transition came into being. I have waged a war with the Gravekeeper and those that have preceded him for thousands of years, a stalemate I intend to break and emerge victorious someday. And yet…here I am. I, the Raven Lord! The Master of the Raven Court! Eating…bird seed." He sighed and stared mulishly at the box, then glanced up at his adviser. "Really, you think it's weird, don't you?"
"Well~" Neeve looked away, scratching her cheek. "It's normal for people to have…peculiar tastes. Even gods. I've certainly heard worse, however. Dogs love the smell and taste of cat food better than their own. Others put ketchup on their bologna sandwiches, or pineapples on their pizzas."
"I like pineapples on pizza, and I will fight anyone who says otherwise!"
"Some might even like having birdseed, which, I will admit, is a lot better than eating insulation, cigarette butts, and mattress stuffing," Neeve finished, shivering. "But Realm Lords such as yourself can put up with a lot than your usual Nexian (although I do believe the X-Class Riftwalker might give you some competition). It's common for you have to numerous neurosis; Blackheart and Neithis are robber barons with lust for gold and everything light refracts on. Queen Nightshade and Commodore Ford have a thirst for battle. And the Gravekeeper," she made a show of humming thoughtfully, "he's very…forgetful."
The Raven Lord nodded. "Good. May it be his undoing and my eternal blessing." He placed the cap on the side and dug into the container, tipping it slightly so he could fill his hand with seed.
"And you," Neeve continued, pressing her lips together, "you are very—"
"Determined?"
"That's not exactly the word I would use, but yes, my Lord, I will say you are very determined. At any and all costs, I might add! You never know when to call it quits or when something is enough."
"Now why in the aether would I want to do that? The Gravekeeper won't get a lick out of me! Not one lick! That owl from the candy commercial has a better chance of getting to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop than the Gravekeeper ever will!" The Raven Lord then stuffed a handful of the birdseeds into his mouth and chewed with his molars, making a light crunching sound as his jaw worked up and down. He swallowed, sighed, and smacked his lips. "Hmm…not bad," he muttered. "Not bad at all." He reached back into the box for more.