A/N: Hey, back with Chapter 2 really quickly I know, but I just love this story. I have so much planned for Cony in the future. There's been another Defias story released just after my one. It's a little confusing to read but stop by it if you have time.
I do not own Warcraft- if I did…well…
This story contains blood, some implied sex, some naughty things we usually associate with Blood Elves (I think) and someone with OCD.
The Brotherhood
Chapter II
Baros Alexton scratched the itchy layer of stubble that was beginning to bristle from his strong chin. There were about fifty people queued up outside the City Hall in Cathedral Square, all claiming to have information about Harrigan DeHayersae's missing daughter. Their minds were probably more focused on the large rewards he had put out for her, rather than the actual wellbeing of the girl.
Baros did not know the girl intimately- his work had made trips to Westfall rare, and so he had only known her as a child, but he owed a great debt to Harrigan, and a seething hatred towards the Defias. It was nearly seven in the morning, at which time he would be expected to open the doors. Sometimes- only sometimes, mind you- he was regretful that he hadn't followed Edwin's example and left the city, and all the mounds of paperwork and debt that it was steeped in. His hatred for what his old friend had become, however, was enough to immediately dismiss such horrific thoughts.
The nervous boy he was employing to tend to his trivial means- Paul or Peter or something- shuffled up to him. "Sh-should we open the doors, Sir?"
Baros sighed and took the final draught of his steaming tea and nodded, pushing himself further up in the wood-back chair. Paul-Peter walked over to the door and unlocked and unbolted it, letting it creep open. The first person to step through the door was none other than King Varian Wrynn.
"Your majesty!" Baros said, alarmed. "Have I kept your waiting?"
"For mere minutes," he waved Baros's concern away with a gauntleted hand. "I am merely here to discuss with you the Defias and how we could use the girl to finally eradicate them thoroughly,"
Baros's eyes glowed excitedly. As a young man, he had mourned along with the Alliance when King Wrynn had gone missing, and the news that Defias had abducted him had fuelled Baros's hatred of them. He had always had a weakness for hero-worship. "I have had many thoughts, your majesty, on the subject."
"That is good." Varian sat on one of the chairs across from the eager man. "I have something to aid your search," he pulled a small scroll from his belt. "It is a Warrant of Discountability, signed by me personally. It allows you to do whatever you want, however ruthless you must be, to find the girl, and thus the Defias base of operations."
Baros took the Warrant with awe. Such documents weren't given lightly, and then only to great army generals and heroes. "I thought we already had, your majesty- the Deadmines in Moonbrook,"
"That was a step in the right direction," the King agreed. "However, it is certain that they know that we know. The Deadmines will be one workshop amongst possibly hundreds- only the foolish still imagine that the Defias are merely pickpockets and pillage the occasional farm. I have seen their cruelty first-hand,"
"I do not doubt that, your majesty," Baros said. "I have many theories about Conyeri DeHayersae, most of which are horrific to even think on. I knew her as a child and have fair assessment of her temperament- I am reasonably sure that she would not have joined the Defias out of her own free will,"
"You knew her as a child, sir, not as a teen. People at that age are unstable: they tend to change their outlooks on life quickly and erratically. There is no knowing of her current personality, other than reports from the children of surrounding farmsteads. Which I presume you have?"
"Yes, your majesty," Baros leafed through a sheath of papers and took a dozen out. "They said that she was friendly, and outgoing, and loved her parents very much. None of them would believe that she had done such a thing herself,"
"The sentiments of other teenagers," Varian scowled. "How are we to know they aren't embroiled in this themselves?"
"They're barely adults," Baros felt uneasy. He tensed up in his chair. Talking with the King was exercising a great deal of his energy. "Though the Defias don't discriminate based on age,"
"Exactly. The question now is, do we issue a Warrant of Recovery or a Warrant of Arrest? Do we go by worst-case scenario or assume she's innocent?"
"I would advise to hold out on the innocence," the architect advised, again scratching his beard. "If she truly desires to find us, then there will be signs. She was a spirited girl- she will leave clues. If she is guilty, which I find difficult to fathom, then the Defias will cover her up impeccably, and we she will disappear off the radar completely."
"How will we monitor for clues?" the King asked, a calculating gleam in his eyes. "We can double the pay of our informants in Westfall- take the money from the fund for new civilian housing in the Mage Quarter- and send some adventurers to constantly attack the Deadmines. You can send orders to Stoutmantle, and we'll relocate half of the guard force at Northshire Abbey- there's nothing there that could harm the trainees. The Defias presence is weak, and they have lost a large amount of interest in the region. Put the guards around Westfall. Are you getting all of this down?"
Baros's quill was scratching away even as the question was asked. "Yes, your majesty," he said, smiling deviously. VanCleef would get his recompense after all.
"Good. Now, I'll want a report on your progress in a few days. Deliver it personally, and don't make it public knowledge that we are masterminding the capture progress out of anything other than concern for the girl," Varian stood up and made his leave. Paul-Peter opened the door awkwardly for him.
"Boy," Baros motioned for him to shut the door a moment. "You repeat any of this to anyone, you've not only lost your job, okay?"
"Yes, sir!" P-P said, bowing comically lowly. Baros thought it safe to assume that he wouldn't be getting any trouble out of this one.
"Open the door, then."
-
Conyeri whimpered in pain as the wooden sword caught her in the ribs again. She hated all of this, all of the pain and the fighting, all of the odd looks and jeering glances. There were over fifty people in Camp RUTN, and 49 of them seemed to outwardly hate her.
The one who did not, of course, was Dash. Though he seemed to have many duties to perform since they arrived, and could spare precious few moments to come and talk to her.
The man she was fighting now was a full head taller than her and twice as heavy. The first few fights, Conyeri had tried to weasel out of actually physically doing anything by dodging around, but the Monster had quickly put a stop to that. The threat of a bout with her, in which Conyeri was sure to lose, painfully, hung thick in the air as she barely parried the man's next stroke, the force of the blow making her teeter on her heels. As soon as they had arrived at Camp RUTN, Conyeri had been placed against a string of opponents, trying to determine what skills she had. So far, she had epically failed the physical combat tests, and when she had tried stealthing, she looked more like she had suddenly lost the entire colour in her face.
The orphan, however, was determined to prove herself as anything other than a mage. That would mean training directly under the Monster, who was sure to make her life more miserable than it was now. The man took advantage of her weakened balance and barreled into her, knocking her to the ground with a hard thump. Her back exploded with pain as she fell on the hard rock of the cavern floor. The wooden sword poked into her throat as the man declared himself the victor, before striding off to join his group of big, thuggish men. Conyeri's thoughts blackened and she muttered some words that she should perhaps not know at him before picking herself up, anxious that if she stayed down for too long, the Monster would get her back on her feet, or keep her on her back. In front of the rest of the cavern, too, which Conyeri paled at the thought of. It was a popular sentiment that the Monster was an object of desire, and Conyeri was making no friends by commanding so much of her attention.
The Monster came up behind her and chuckled. "Looks like you're not cut out for swordplay. And you didn't do too well on the rogue front, either. Looks like you're a mage."
"Can I not try another one? One that can't just crush me before I have a chance to fight it?"
The Monster frowned. "They're usually able to crush you. These paladins and warriors are even worse, because they're actually trained. You stand no chance if you can't beat one of them," She motioned towards the assembled rabble.
"Give me another go," she insisted, muscled tensing. The clout on the side of her head came, as expected, but she pulled back, turning it into a graze. "You're deliberately putting me up against opponents I can't beat. You want me to train as a mage, even if it isn't necessarily the best thing to do."
"So?" The Monster gave her a disbelieving look. "You thought I, of all people, wouldn't do something like that?"
"I thought you held the greater good of the Defias in higher esteem." Conyeri flinched as she said that. The greater good of the Defias was not something she wanted to contribute to, even indirectly.
Marisa scowled at her. "I do- but you're obviously a mage."
"How can you know if I don't try as a fighter beforehand?"
The higher-ranking Defias sighed and shifted her weight to the other leg. "I suppose not. Geylan, come over here!" she shouted, the sound reverberating off the sound wards placed around the cavern. A wiry man in his early twenties looked over his shoulder, from where he was sharpening a plain dagger, and needed Marisa's call.
"Yes, Ma'am?" he asked, eyeing Conyeri briefly.
She placed a hand on his weak shoulder. The gesture itself was even sexual. "I want you to have a practice bout with Conyeri. Do as you would for anyone else."
"You sure, Ma'am?" His eyes flickered up and down Conyeri's leather-clad body, a look of pity on him.
"Absolutely. She's… stronger than she looks," Marisa winked at him and stepped back. Geylan sheathed the real dagger and grabbed a wooden on from a crate. Conyeri tightened her hands around her own, the splinters reminding her of the night she had first gotten mixed up with the Defias. The older man began circling her, his feet always in a maximally balanced position. Conyeri tried to imitate it, but it hurt her calves.
Geylan lashed out with his dagger, aiming for her stomach, so Conyeri pulled herself back and twirled around the blow. Expecting this, the more experienced fighter brought his weight onto his back foot and pushed back with his elbow, catching Conyeri's shoulder and throwing her off-balance. She teetered, but regained her footing and scuffled back.
"You sure I should go all-out? I'd snap the little twig in half!" Marisa just nodded to him and he continued, crouching low and driving up. Terrified, Conyeri looked around for something to push herself off, but the rock wall was too far away. Geylan grabbed her waist and tried to force her down, but she quickly used his shoulders as a platform and rolled over his back, landing on her knees painfully.
Others around the cavern began to watch with more interest now. The thug who had just overpowered Conyeri turned from his mates and observed the battle, a speculative quirk to his dull features.
"Shit!" Conyeri felt her body lose contact with the floor as Geylan crabbed her ankle and pulled it out from under her. Days of working on the farm had strengthened her, but not enough for this intense melee. She rolled over and sprang back to her feet just before the slightly larger man slashed his wooden dagger. Finding his target no longer present, Geylan moved to turn his slash into a horizontal swipe and take Cony's neck, but she ducked and rammed her own into his stomach.
"Stop!" Marisa said halfheartedly, her gaze icy. "Bout goes to Conyeri, as much as I hate to admit it."
Geylan stopped rubbing his stomach in pain and looked at her. "For a spratling, she's got good reflexes. Just lacking in strength, I'd guess, and anyone can be trained to be stronger. Marzon would love her, she's so quick."
"She can't stealth, though. He'd never take someone who couldn't do the simplest trick in the Rogue book." Marisa insisted, quickly losing hope of getting to personally torture Conyeri through her training. "And she's got lots of mana."
"It's not mana yet, ma'am. Just Talent, which can be shaped into mana, or rage, or energy, when she chooses a class."
"But the stealth!" Marisa again mentioned, alluding to Conyeri's pitiful attempt.
"No offense meant, ma'am, but when you first joined the Brotherhood, could you stealth?"
Marisa glared at him. "Well… no, but-"
"Then there you have it. She can train as a rogue- she's got took much agility to waste on spellcasting. If you want, she could so a bit of supplementary magic also."
"I'd like that very much," Marisa cooed, looking from Geylan to Conyeri. "I guess I've lost this round, Cony, but at least I can look forward to our supplementary… lessons,"
With that she walked off, stopping to smile and wink at some other men along the way.
"She's a real bitch," Geylan said off-hand, checking himself for bruises. "Sorry about all of that. Are you hurt?"
Conyeri shook her head, amazed at his sudden change of personality. "Thank you for getting me out of that, but I wish you hadn't mentioned supplementary lessons. She'll be livid later."
"Apologies," he gave her a weak smile. "I dunno to what level she's into you, but it must be bad if you don't even be in one of her classes,"
"It's alright," she said, pulling off the heavy leather tunic. Her undershirt was awfully damp and clung to her like a cheap perfume. "It's nice that someone will actually talk to me,"
"I was in your position recently," Geylan explained. "I got kicked out of SI:7 for selling poisons to Booty Bay, and indirectly, the Horde. They called me a traitor and sent me packing with nothing 'cept my pack and my clothes. I couldn't find any work, so I got into some shady-er dealings. It led me here."
"I'm sorry," Conyeri didn't know exactly what to say. She knew how it was to lose everything. "If it helps, I'm in the same boat."
"You used to work for SI:7?" he asked.
"No, I don't have anyone left," her voice choked slightly.
He put a calming hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry. It'll all work out in the end. And you're lucky, Marzon is the best instructor. On his good days."
"I'm beginning to think my life is a perpetually bad day," she sighed and flexed her bad hand. It was mostly healed, but very sore, and she was left landed to boot. It made the fighting even more painful than usual. It felt nice to have someone be nice to her for the first time since what seemed like ever, but was really a few days.
"I got some news for ye!" Dash's heavily accented voice reverberated around the chamber. "Fresh from Stormwind itself!"
Conyeri twirled around. "What's that?"
"Well," he licked his lips. "The King himself is personally involved, and that old fart Alexton is in charge o' yeh're case. They think yeh're innocent so far, but they got their doubts."
"I am innocent," she grumbled, but let him continue.
"Well, they're tryin' to eradicate the Defias through ye. They've moved a load o' soldiers to Westfall and started payin' their informants here more. They're sendin' a shitload more wussy adventurers into the Deadmines, too."
"He's serious," Geylan remarked. "Then again, he did get abducted and tortured by the Defias for many years. He has a right."
"Why was he abducted?" Conyeri asked, tendrils of disgust wiggling in her stomach. She had seen King Varian Wrynn a few times since he had returned, and he seemed nice, if not a little turgid.
"He was on his way to speak with the Horde chiefs," Dash explained. "The whole conference was meant ta be a peace talk, but on the way through Dustwallow Marsh, he was attacked by some Orc scouts who were 'gainst the Alliance. He defeated 'em, but was grievously injured. The Defias in the area, after a lengthy discussion, decided ta capture 'im and save 'is life. They kept him on their little island for many years, and then orchestrated his 'escape' exactly at the time when the Alliance needed 'im most. This distracted a big amount of interest from the Defias, so we finished buildin' the ship in the Deadmines an' took everythin' important outta the place."
Conyeri fiddled with the hem of her shirt. All this contradicting talk was beginning to fray her brain. The Defias did things for good, for bad, for personal gain and for the 'greater good'. She could not accurately see, at this point in time, which was the most prevalent. She knew that they were evil, and that they did many things that could be deemed horrific. Since being pushed into everything, however, she was beginning to see a different side of the Defias- one that almost bordered on philanthropic. It was too soon to tell what exactly they were, or how to judge them, she decided.
"Lass, are ye listenin'?" Dash asked. Conyeri shook herself out of the queasy moral battle that was going on in her mind and apologized to him.
"No. I was thinking on some stuff,"
"Must have been pretty important 'stuff' ta not listen to one of yer higher-ups," Dash observed, his eyes smiling at her. "Now as I understand it, yeh're off ta meet Marzy. Good luck ta yeh, lass,"
"I'm hoping I won't need it," she smiled at him and he jogged off on his stubby dwarvern legs to the exit of the cavern.
That left her and Geylan alone together. She turned and peeked at him, worried that he would revert back to the stiff person he had been whilst talking to Marisa, but she needn't have worried. He smiled goofily and shook out his long blonde hair like a dog before tucking it behind his ears and beginning to take his armour off. "We'd best freshen up before going to see Marzy- um, Marzon. Don't call him Marzy to his face."
"I will as long as he doesn't call me Conzy." She retorted dryly, picking up on the friendliness and nickname that both Dash and Geylan had spoken of Marzon with. He was one of the most feared assassins she knew! And here she was, about to chum up with him. Never had she thought it.
Geylan stripped to his underclothes and wiped sweat off his brow. The only problem with being underground was that the temperature was at a fairly constant warm, which really wore you out when you were fighting.
The main cavern was arranged like a circle, with smaller cubbies leading off it on all sides. Some were natural, other evidently the result of a well-placed stick of dynamite, which Conyeri wondered about. Surely they would have heard that sore to explosion up on Sentinel Hill?
Conyeri didn't have a cubby. She was forced to sleep in the Monster's one, which was the biggest and best furnished. Geylan's was relatively small, but filled with little things that made it criminally personal. It had perhaps hundreds of sheets of paper strewn about, many about poisons and techniques to administer them. Conyeri kept her nausea down as she reminded herself of the grim reality she faced. His bed was a spongy mattress covered in thin linen, which was pushed to the edge of the space, which was about 3 metres wide and 6 deep. Not a big place to keep everything you owned in the world. Clothes were lying haphazardly around, and Geylan scooped them up, his face slightly red.
"I don't usually have guests around," he explained, shoving them into a satchel. "I can understand when you really don't want to go back to the bitch's room, but Marzy isn't fond of smelly people."
"You talk about him like he's your mother," she speculated, watching him go about his hurried clear out. "How old are you, Geylan?"
"What would you ask?" He seemed surprised. When Conyeri had first seen him, he'd looked a few years older than the Monster. Now, she wasn't so sure- he seemed to be getting younger by the minute. She could even see some spots clinging to his hairline.
"Um… because I was trying to make conversation?"
He cocked an eyebrow and gathered up a sheath of papers. "I'm twenty. I started my Rogue training at 13."
"So young…" Conyeri mused. People didn't usually go out and ask for training until they had left home. "How did you convince Master Mathias Shaw to train you?"
"Ah, well," He blushed. "When he was younger- a lot younger- he liked a girl who worked in the Tannery in Old Town. She was eighteen and he was sixteen, and they spend a great deal of time together. And then, um, D-Mathias left for a long, drawn-out mission, not realizing that he'd got the Tannery girl… pregnant."
"Ah," Conyeri echoed, the pieces clicking together. "I see."
There was a period of silence after that. Conyeri was standing next to Geylan Shaw. Mathias Shaw's son. Who joined the Defias? Had the Master really expelled his own son from his guild? That must have been heartbreaking.
"We need to go and wash. I'm not allowed into Miss Du'Paige's rooms, but I'll wait outside."
Conyeri agreed and they walked over to the large, central cubby. Warm light radiated from behind the thin curtains that partitioned it off from the main cavern. While she had seen the Monster walk in the opposite direction earlier, it would be like her to stealth back, just to catch Conyeri unawares. Nervously pulling the drape over, Geylan gave her a thumbs up before she entered.
It was a big chamber; at least three times the size of Geylan's. Marisa had a plush feather bed and silky covers, and next to it was her own, similar to the ex-SI:7 agent's. Weapons hung neatly on the walls and a huge bookcase occupied a large section of the eastern side. A trunk with her clothes was at the foot of her bed, and a table and chairs for private eating and guests was set up in the remaining space. It was nicer than the rest, but still not luxury.
If Marisa was around, Conyeri couldn't see her. She crossed to her bed and opened the duffel bag of basic clothes and provisions she had been provided with. It hit her then, when she grabbed a pair of preaches and a shirt, that she was immensely relieved. Relived that she had some friends here. Relived that she wouldn't have to face the Monster more often than she had to. Relieved that maybe, just maybe, the Defias had some morals.
-
"We need a healer. There's no way to get though those cursed mines without someone to heal me up."
"But you're a paladin. Can't you heal yourself?"
"I can try, but then I have less mana to try and kill the Defias bastards with."
Alteon scratched his long, pinky-blue ear as he sat and watched his friends argue. Only hours before, Gyran Stoutmantle (though he was a bit of a scary one) had ushered them in for a quick briefing. They were one of the ten groups of skilled fighters who were to launch a full-scale attack on the Deadmines, the main base of the Defias Brotherhood. So far, though, his group would be getting no-where fast.
"I said, I won't heal! I trained to be in the thick of righteous battle, not on the sidelines!" Yohwyn had always been fiercely protective of his right to battle. The mage, a short gnome with disproportional power, sighed and looked around. Moonbrook was a sorry sight, especially in the fading light, and the hushed groups of fighters discussing battle tactics made the situation so much more morose. Alteon hated this kind of atmosphere; where tension hung palpably think in the air. He had traveled from Teldrassil to get away from oppression, not magnify it.
"Alteon, will you heal?" Yohwyn asked, his red face glaring at the mage, Gadge.
"Fine," he agreed. "But we need to take this more seriously. It's a big operation from the king himself, and an opportunity to eradicate these rogues."
"It's settled then," Yohwyn smiled broadly. "Where did Nightly go?"
"Here!" The human abandoned his stealth, to reveal he was standing over Gadge. "Are we ready?"
"We don't have the recommended five for a group, but we can take it regardless." Yohwyn explained, hefting his hammer from its holster on his back. "We all ready? I think the other groups are moving out too."
The rest of the group murmured the affirmative, and they set off into Moonbrook barn. They were the second-last group, who would be heading straight to the portion of the mine that had been overtaken my undead miners, so reports told. Alteon wasn't worried: he had trained from Mathreygl Bearwalker himself, and was confident in his abilities. Yohwyn he was not too sure about.
They entered the mines and soon enough the cries and sounds of battle was all they could hear. When they got near to the dispatch point, Alteon felt the back of his neck tingle.
"Heal any of them and I kill you, druid." A soft voice whispered in his ear. It was female and sultry, but he could not sense the presence. The woman was stealthed.
Yohwyn rushed at a zombie, hammer flailing and holy magic radiating from him. Powerful bolts of frost hit another squarely, by they kept coming. Alteon was powerless to help them and Nightly had vanished. Then, he saw a flicker behind Yohwyn and in a flash of blades, and he thunked down on the mine floor. Gadge looked around wildly, but met the same fate, at what Alteon now knew was Nightly's dagger.
"Good work," The female voice behind him said as she left stealth. "Go claim your reward. And please put your bandana back on how. The sight of your bristly chin is annoying me,"
Alteon was stunned. He knew Nightly, not well, but they had been on several conquests together before. To think he had been working for the Defias all that time sickened him.
"Yes, Ma'am," he saluted to her and pulled a square of red material from his back pocket. He quickly put it on and saluted once more before slipping into stealth and disappearing.
"You're the lucky one," The lady purred as magic gathered in her hands. "One of you idiots from each group is coming with us. We've just perfected a new machine that we'd like to… test." She sniggered. "You adventurers sure are stupid. There's one rogue in every one of your little groups, and you don't even check their backgrounds? Go and have a drink with them and get them to remove their gloves? Gosh, the standard has really slipped since I wasn't a Defias."
With the creeping sensation of a knockout spell, Alteon toppled to the floor, cursing his luck.
-
"Lesson one, class," Marzon the Silent Blade said as he addressed the group of about ten new Defias who were going into stealth combat. "In this room, you will be impeccably behaved, or hell shall follow. You will come in clean, and remove your boots and place them on the rack. There is then a basin, to wash your hands with. Then, you will sit at your desks- don't touch anything- and wait for me to begin. Okay?"
"Yes, sir," Conyeri felt like a schoolgirl. It was the most surreal thing she had ever experienced, being in a cavern a mile below Westfall and having to take her boots off before learning to kill people for profit.
"Right then. Lesson 2- you're all dead. Lay on the floor. But don't scuff anything. Backs on the ground."
They complied with his odd request. "None of you even thought to stealth, or to check that I am, indeed, Marzon. I could have been an impostor waiting to slice your pretty little heads off."
"But sir, that contradicts lesson 1-"
The boy got a throwing knife in his thigh. He screamed and tossed around.
Marzon grimaced. "If you get blood on my floor, I'll use more than a blunt throwing knife!" he warned, and the boy stopped his writing and carefully picked the knife out. It had only sunk about a centimeter deep, so the wound was not that bad. He grabbed the red bandana from his back pocket and bandaged the wound with it. "You really want to wear that on your face now? Wool doesn't grow on trees, boy."
He seemed to want to say something, but refrained. He undid the bandana, which wasn't yet bloodstained, and looked around for something to stop the weeping wound from earning him Marzon's wrath.
Conyeri had a handkerchief in her pocket, she remembered. She took it out and offered it to him. He snatched it up and tied it, not even thanking her.
"Good, good, my little ones. Now you may take a seat." They all sat down and he mimed shooting them. "You're all dead, again. Checking the seat is one of the most duh things to do."
They stood up hastily. Conyeri was not sure if she liked Marzon yet. "Right, check the seats. Then the ceiling, then under the desks. Who doubts I am the real Marzon?"
Not surprisingly, everyone raised his or her hands. "Then how are you going to discern that I am, in fact, who I appear to be?"
"A codeword?" A girl suggested. She looked only a year older than Conyeri, but her eyes were cold and tired. "We could set one up in advance next time, and change it at the end of every lesson."
Marzon kissed his fist. "Finally, someone with a corpuscle of intelligence. That would work, but what if the fake Marzon overheard it at the end of class?"
"We could say one thing and actually mean the opposite of it," a man in his thirties said, suddenly very shy as the class turned their attention to him.
The assassin clapped his hands together and smiled. "Good, good. Now, take a seat once you've checked it and dusted yourself off."
They obliged, nervous to see if he was going to 'kill' them again, but he turned back to his desk, a heavily polished an lacquered one of darkened wood. "You're here because you can't brawl to save your lives. And frankly, that's a good thing- it means that you aren't the front-line fodder of the Defias. You will work behind the lines, on the lines, in between the lines and sometimes parallel to them. You will be a force to be reckoned with, the scourge of Stormwind."
He sighed and surveyed
them. "Right now, however, you are the biggest bunch of pansies
this side of Theramore. And I say that because the pansies the other
side of Theramore are those Syndicate prats, who can't even
stealth. It makes me cringe to see them walk about openly in their
off-orange bandanas." He gave a dramatic shiver. "Anyway, your
training is split into three stages: Basic Theory, which is held in
this beautiful cave," he motioned to the dripping, slimy, mossy
growths. "Basic Combat, which is held in the main cavern, and
Stealth Skills, which is held outside."
"How much theory is
involved in stabbing someone?" the boy with the leg wound wondered
aloud.
Marzon's face darkened. "More than I reckon will fit into your pea-sized brain."
He shut up for the remainder of the introduction.
"I expect to be referred to as Sir at all times." He continued. "And rest assured that I will find out if you call me anything else, any time."
"Your training is interspersed with assignments. These give you field experience to help you apply the skills you hopefully will learn in the next year or so- providing you don't get any mud on my classroom floor." He smiled at them in a condescending way. "Your first lesson: how to properly tie and take care of your bandana."
-
Alteon woke up in a dark, frightening place. There was no light filtering into it, and the smell of terror and human waste was all too prevalent. His head hurt to high heaven, and his body didn't seem to want to obey him. His sensitive ears could hear moaning, sobbing and muffled attempts and suffocating. Wherever he was, it must be hell.
As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he found he was in a cave. The ceiling was low, so that only gnomes or dwarves could stand at full height. There were twenty people with him: a couple he recognized from the gathered groups and their foolish attempt to break the Defias brotherhood. The cave had only a single exit and entrance, a passageway barely thin enough for a man to squeeze through, which was warded by an intricate magical barrier that was giving out a low luminescence, providing the cave a gloomy glow that was barely noticeable.
"The elf's awake."
"Elf awake."
"Talk to him."
"Can't he break the barrier?"
Alteon heard the whispers of recognition of his consciousness that rippled through the assembled crowd. He realized, with shame, that they were all naked, and that he wasn't. His armour was gone, but he had somehow kept his trousers and boots on.
"Elf," a stout dwarf with a matted beard and watery eyes addressed him. "Can ye break the barrier? We have ta get out o' here."
"What's going on?" he asked, sensing the tension within the group. "Where are we?"
"Keep yer voice down," the dwarf whispered. "If they hear yeh, yeh're gone first,"
"They?" Alteon was puzzled for a moment. "The Defias. We're held captive. But why can none of you do the barrier yourselves?"
"The mage comes every mornin' and saps our power. But yeh've only jus' come in, an' she won't come fer a while. The others that came with yeh're warriors and paladins, and they can't do magic fer peanuts."
Alteon nodded slowly. He concentrated on the weave of spells of the barrier and tried to discern the pattern, but he was more a feral druid, and this kind of magic was weak in him. He did manage to grasp a few loose and frayed ends of the weave and tug on them, seeing if they would weaken the magic. They held fast, but footsteps quickly came scuffling down the thin corridor. A human woman appeared, dressed in plain clothes.
"Tsk, tsk. Another one trying to break my barrier. Who was it this time?"
"The elf!" the dwarf pointed at him. "He did it. I treid ta stop him, but he kept goin'."
Alteon couldn't believe it. The dwarf had set him up to keep himself out of whatever laid beyond the thin corridor. He felt wrath growing in his blood and nearly struck out at the filthy liar, but felt a creeping cold wash over him. His earthen magic was tugged from him viciously- the mana in his body was depleted entirely. He couldn't do anything.
"I guess you're next then, little druid," the woman unsheathed a sword and ushered him down the corridor with it. They passed through the magical weave as if it wasn't there. "And nobody likes a tattle-tale, dwarf."
They continued past where the ceiling heightened and the passage became larger. Alteon could feel the blade pressing against the small of his back and a sense of terror falling over him. Why him? Why had he ever traveled far to his accursed land of 'opportunity', away from his home?
"Your name, young druid?" the woman asked.
The blade broke his skin and he grimaced in pain. "Alteon Moonwhisper."
"Pretty. You'll be Alt from now on." Alteon didn't like it when people shortened his name. It made him sound lower in stature. "What a lucky one you are."
"What are you going to do with me?" he asked, shaking. They were headed along a mine shaft-like tunnel now. A few goblins stopped to salute to the woman, but she walked on nonchalantly. They came into a huge cavern, the roof so high that Alteon couldn't see it. It was filled with benches and machines, along with humans and goblins in their hundreds. They were all tinkering away at their own little projects: he saw bombs, grappling hooks and other dangerous items strewn about things that he had no idea as to the use of.
They were greeted by a huge, dark green goblin with a twinkle of madness in his eye. "Miss Du'Paige,"
"Cap'n." they saluted each other, but the Captain was obviously the slightly lower rank. "Meet Alt. He's in for Project Tinker."
"Good, good, good," he rubbed sweaty hands together. "Gilnid had just finished a perfect batch of thorium bolts that we think would work better. They'd stop the physical deterioration the pervious ones have experienced."
"Excellent. He's a strong one, but don't let his mana regenerate at all. Druids need very little to shapeshift, and if he got into cat form he'd be stealthed out of here and we'd miss a great opportunity."
"Yes, Ma'am," the Captain said, a group of Defias gathering around him. They acted as a guard for Alteon as he was again led through the cavern to a smaller workshop in a chamber off the main one.
Though he was mortified, Alteon couldn't stop. He soiled himself in terror.
In the chamber, there were five workbenches. People occupied four. 3 humans and a draenei. They were bolted to the tables, each in different stages of being fitted with a manner of metal. The Defias were creating metal men. They howled in terror and pain as solutions were injected, skin was soldered to metal and live wires were poked through holes in their flesh. A fifth metal-man, who was not at his table, stood in the corner, eyes peering at his kind.
There was a difference to him, Alteon noticed. He was calm, controlled and fully sentient. His long black hair fell over his face, where a glowing red socket had replaced one eye. He locked eyes with Alteon ad smiled underneath the Red bandana he wore. Twin cutlasses hung at his hips and thick groups of wiring down his arms and legs. His chest was arranged in slats of metal that bonded with the flesh of his neck. His right hand, however was the one part of his body that remained un-enhanced: a faded tattoo of a cog.
Alteon was forced, struggling, onto the fifth table. He cried out in desperation, his body spasming wildly. He didn't want this. He was a child of nature, of timeless beauty. The wilderness beckoned to him. This metal, this artificial prison, would kill him. Not his body, maybe, but his druidic spirit.
He was bolted down onto the table, and the head goblin came and inserted a needle into his arm. It glowed a marvelously gold, and Alteon knew from his forays into Alchemy that is was an Elixir of Invulnerability. The toll on the used was huge, but it granted practical immortality for a short amount of time. Very expensive to make too, requiring-
He cried out as his clothes were ripped off him. Drills and a box of greenish bolts were placed by the table.
"Here goes the first try with the Thorium, boys. Be sure to watch carefully, you'll have to do a lot of these soon enough…"
-
Conyeri was so engrossed in the parchment that Marzon had given her on basic stealth that she didn't hear Marisa enter. That was, until her hot breath tickled the back of her neck.
"No, please. I have lessons tomorrow, and everyone can hear. Don't do this to me again,"
That was what she wanted to say.
Instead, a quick silencing spell flowed between her lips and it caught in her throat before she had even started. Limbs started their slow and controlling exploration of her body. Her clothes began to undo themselves. She shut her eyes and tried not to cry. She almost managed it. Almost.
Hot tears streaked down her face as her body moved by itself. She felt nothing, not even the slightest touch. She was numb, after all of it. She didn't care. In the barn in Duskwood, she had been emotional about her coming decision and that inevitability of her internment amongst the ranks of the evildoers in Azeroth. But now she was here, and actually making friends and learning things, she didn't want this, this thing that was stopping her trying to accept her choice.
"I condemned a druid to a life of torment and eventual painful death today," the Monster breathed. "The look in his eyes was amazing."
The Monster's sick hobbies were no mystery to Conyeri now. She had an intimate knowledge of her day-to-day workings, portrayed in the worst light humanly possible. The Monster gripped her by her brown hair and kissed her. It was horrible, the force of lust that barreled down upon her, like a siege engine against a tiny country village.
"You're so pretty, Cony," the Monster said, detaching herself to set astride the helpless girl. "Why won't you kiss me back?"
Then Conyeri saw it. A flicker behind her eyes, a fleeting spirit of lust. The Monster looked confused, like she actually was puzzled at why Conyeri wouldn't kiss her. Her brow furrowed and she looked around for a moment before she returned to her senses. Curious, Conyeri switched her senses from physical to magical, and soon saw the cause of Marisa's confusion. Her body was overloaded with magic- druidic, demonic, arcane, holy, anything you could think of. She was like a roaring Midsummer's bonfire of magic, leaking heat and magic everywhere. Every square inch of her body was coated with magic, enveloped by magic, consumed wholly by magic. Her eyes, in this sense, were glowing orbs of incandescent fire that burned into her own. She was totally and utterly overwhelmed with magic that she couldn't contain or control.
"Kiss me," she purred, her magic lighting up a fiery and lustful red. "What do you have to lose?"
Conyeri thought about that. What did she have to lose? What tatters of pride she clung on to, for certain, and a good deal of her perceptions about herself. She thought Marisa was beautiful, yes, but was not sexually attracted to her. She then thought about everything that had happened. She didn't know Marisa's story, and it occurred to Conyeri that she shouldn't judge her without knowing if there were reason that she acted this way.
"50 adventurers tried to raid the Deadmines today," she said, twirling a lock of Conyeri's hair in his fingers. "We killed all but ten, and we captured them."
She closed her eyes and an expression of pure pleasure washed over her. "I drained them all of magic. It was exhilarating." She put her hand on Conyeri's forehead and pushed some of the magic into her. It was like a flood of pure power, which suffused her limbs and made her breath catch in her throat. She gawped helplessly and the overload of magic that her body wasn't trained to take rendered her helpless. Suddenly, everything was amazing. She saw in a million shades of colour that coruscated off objects and even the air. Her body thrashed under Marisa's firm grip and the addict watched with mirth as Conyeri became intoxicated by the magic.
"This was the Blood Elves' downfall, you know. Magic." She pushed more from herself into Conyeri, making her scream out, but no sound came under the silencing spell. "If there was ever a vice to have, I reckon this you be the best. After lust."
Conyeri whimpered.
"If I wanted to," the Monster reared up within Marisa again, the creature created by her lust for magical and carnal pleasure, casting her face in an angry purple hue of dim spellfire. "I could control you. I could make you do whatever I want! I could make you kiss me! Make you do thing that would have your skin crawling! I could do it!"
Conyeri dimly registered that the whole cavern would be listening to this. Tomorrow, she would be even more hated than she was yesterday. However, she was honestly so caught up in everything that was happening that she didn't care. The numbness of her body threatened to fade as the Monster screamed at her, her face contorted in pure hatred.
All she could do was lye there and wish for the morning to come swiftly.
When she woke up, it was not in her own bed, but sprawled on the floor of Marisa's room. The heavy weight of the woman made it hard for her to breathe properly, but she daren't move. Switching her senses back to normal, she looked around. The cubby was suddenly so… small, she decided. Marisa stirred, her eyes fluttering open.
She groaned and pulled herself off the floor. The stiff way she moved in was a note that her body was reacting to the vast amounts of magic that were using it as a host. "You have lessons."
Conyeri nodded and shimmied out from where she was still too close to Marisa for comfort. She couldn't decide: was this Marisa, or the Monster? Or were they the same thing. Her head hurt thinking about it, so she pushed it unceremoniously from her mind and decided to concentrate on hating whatever Marisa/the Monster was. She pulled herself up and started redressing, snatching the paper on Stealth Marzon had given her, thinking he'd be angry that she hadn't practiced overnight, and doubting that her excuse would be valid.
She left the cubby in a hurry, heading to Geylan's half-dressed. It was either very early or very late, so nobody was around to hassle her. She pulled the drapes aside and found him in a state of half-consciousness, digging about groggily in the pile of clothes that he had tidied up for her yesterday. He acknowledged her with a lopsided grin.
"Mornin'" he yawned and pulled a shirt from the pile. "Though I guess you haven't had much sleep."
"Nor has the whole cavern, I'd wager," she stretched out some of her stiff joints.
"How can you be so cool about it?" he wondered, trying not to watch as she pulled her shirt on over her camisole. "She's a monster, do that to you."
"You don't know the half of it," he smiled meekly and gave the helpless feeling of dread that seemed to cling to her the cold shoulder. "It isn't that hard. She's just the Monster."
He clothes himself and they walked out of his room together. Marzon's chamber was about a five-minute walk of the main one, and Conyeri was grateful for Geylan's presence a second time: he had shown her the way the first time she had gone, but she still had no idea where she was going. After a life of open fields, all the rocks looked the same.
They arrived at Marzon's 'classroom' and took their boots off as expected. Conyeri washed her hands, by Geylan didn't bother.
"Wash your hands, Little Red Riding Shaw," came Marzon's gruff voice from nowhere. "Or I'll splay your girlfriend into a gazillion pieces."
Geylan disappeared and Conyeri was left wondering what on earth was going on until the air next to her erupted with the clash of blades. Geylan twirled gracefully under dual slashes from Marzon, whose hands were equally fast. They parried and twisted for about a minute before Marzon forced Geylan to a wall. "Wash your hands, sonny,"
Geylan pulled his knee up and hit Marzon in the soft spot. He tottered backwards in agony. "Cheap shot! Foul! Pull him up, ref!"
"Isn't that the first rule in you book, Marzy?" he smirked and sheathed his dagger. "The cheap shots are actually the most satisfying?"
"Meh," He hopped up and dusted himself off. "Look how dirty you got me! I'll make her pay for it," he pointed at Conyeri.
"Don't, Marzy, she's had a hard enough time as it is."
"Ahh," he grinned. "I did indeed hear Marisa's dulcet tones in the main cavern last night," he looked at her quizzically. "Can't tell what she sees in you, but I'd be careful if I were you. Bit of an unstable one."
"You're telling me?" she asked incredulously, before quickly adding "sir,"
"She speaks!" he said. "You were a bit of a quiet one yesterday, so I didn't really get an impression. Why're you here?" he scratched his head. "Abusive household? Debt? Pissed off your father who happens to be one of the most powerful men in Stormwind?"
"Um," she didn't quite know how to phrase it. She hadn't really wanted to make it public knowledge, especially not to Geylan, who she wanted to give no reason to distrust her. "I didn't really have a choice."
"Does anyone who ends up in this shithole?" Marzon asked rhetorically, bending down to tie up one of the laces on his boots. "C'mon, you can tell Uncle Marzy."
"I didn't have a choice," she repeated, her confidence growing. "The Defias pillaged my house and killed my parents. The Mon- Miss Du'Paige was taken with me… she didn't really let me choose."
Marzon nodded him head sympathetically. "You know the smart one in your class yesterday? She was the same a while ago- except not because of Marisa. She fell to the corrupt Alliance judicial system."
"What do you mean?" Conyeri asked.
"She was under guardianship of her grandparents after her parents died many years ago. In the end, as all humans do, they both died, and she was then too young to own the property or savings they had. She was taken to the orphanage in cathedral square, where she lived a pretty crap life until she was eighteen. Then, when she asked for the inheritance, she found that the city had already taken it for themselves. They sent her away, with nothing. She resorted to stealing bread from a small-time baker in Stormwind, and because she didn't have anyone to defend her, she wasn't sentenced with the normal petty theft. She got treason against the kingdom- how stealing bread is treason, I'll never fathom- and she was sentenced to death."
"Eighteen, homeless, family less and sentenced to death for a crime you didn't commit," Geylan remarked with a low whistle. "Didn't have much going for her, did she?"
"Since they didn't want her down in the Stockades, she had one night before beach by firing squad. Fist helped her to escape, since he often gets sent into holding for brawling, and she came here. And she's never been happier."
"What was her name again?" Geylan asked Marzon.
"Uh, something-ella."
"Useful." Geylan remarked sourly. "Learn their names, Marzy, it does wonders for self-esteem."
Conyeri was now beginning to see what it was that the Defias fought against. If something-ella's story wasn't exaggerated, then something really was wrong with Stormwind. She wondered if her family had ever been wronged, or if not, how many others had. Was there actually a great amount of suffering behind the shiny city of prosperity that so many people flocked to to make their living?
She daren't think on that.
"Anyway, I can hear your other little ones on their way," Geylan tipped an imaginary hat to Marzon. "See you in the Crimson later?"
"Sure thing," Marzon agreed and gave him a hefty slap on the back- that would probably knock the wind out of Conyeri, but only made Geylan grimace a bit. Geylan wished her goodbye and left, just in time to be saluted to by Conyeri's fellow trainees. They all had their stealth papers and their bandanas, and were chatting amiably until they saw Conyeri and Marzon. They saluted him and took their boots off, washed their hands and walked past him warily. Something-ella broke the silence.
"Anything to say to us, Sir?" she quipped, taking her mousy hair and putting it up in a casual ponytail.
"Oh, right…" his face screwed up. "It was Ditch, right?"
They all froze, alarmed. Their code word had been Ditch, but he was supposed to say hill or mountain, the opposite. Conyeri figured it out quicker than most that he was testing them to see how they'd react if he actually wasn't Marzon, since she trusted Geylan's ability to know when his good friend was not actually himself.
Conyeri was first to draw her dagger. Her proper one, not the wooden ones they sparred with. She slid it out of its sheath what she hope was silently, and felt the familiar weight in her hand. It was made of light metal, and was not dissimilar to the trowel she had used daily back on the farm, so se had no problems with handling it. Something-ella saw and did the same. They all caught on in the end and Marzon was faced with a room full of people with pointy objects.
Of course, he stealthed. Conyeri smirked, now in her element. Her strangely acute senses, which she had had from birth, were easily tuned into different things. She had used them for disturbances in the air the night her parents were killed: and last night, she had switched over into the magical spectrum, which had let her senses take over her eyes. IT wasn't an ability that she liked to brag about, but she did wonder where it came from. She heightened her hearing (at a cost to touch, taste and smell) and could here the vibrations off the cave floor where Marzon was stepping. He was sneaking up behind something-ella, daggers drawn. Making a lunge for him, she barreled into the unsuspecting rogue (for he had been certain that none of the trainees could ever notice his stealth) and took him down. His stealth broke and she quickly decided to play along with the whole 'imposter' exercise and brought her dagger to his throat.
"Mountain, mountain! Geez, get off me, crazy kid." She relinquished her hold. The class looked at her with curiosity. "How the hell'd you see my stealth?"
"Um," Conyeri wondered why she was suddenly so shy, especially when she had had no problems talking to adults or publicly back home. It could be the fact that everyone in here could stab her at any given moment. "I have good senses."
"Good? More like epic!" He started at her incredulously. "I shan't pull any funny business while you're around then," he gave a low whistle and walked back over to his desk, sheathing his daggers.
"Right, you all checked out the stealth paper I gave you last night?" there was a general murmur of assent. Conyeri wanted to say yes, but honestly she had only gotten halfway through. She wondered if Marzon would really make an exception for her, since he did know what was going on. "Good, good. We'll have a little recap before I test you all," he shot Conyeri a look that seemed to say that she was indebted to him.
He went through the basics of stealth on the board them paired them up to practice. Conyeri was placed with something-ella, who introduced herself as Isobella tersely and just glared daggers at everyone else in the room for the whole session. Though she still couldn't disappear completely, like the boy with the knife wound was nearing being able to, she could make herself go see-through enough to blend in. It took a great deal of concentration and she still wasn't very good at keeping it up while moving. It was more exhausting than she'd thought, and soon trainees were becoming more and more visible. Isobella was trying, but she was even worse than Conyeri (which gave her a small amount of hope) and she kept mumbling swearwords to herself. Marzon walked around the room eyeing people and shouting at them if they got slack. It was he who gave Conyeri her breakthrough.
"You've got excellent senses, right? Well, think of stealth as stopping other people's senses sensing you."
She had to sit down a while and calculate that, but she devised a plan. She began blotting herself out to every sense, first the easy ones like taste and smell, then to sight, which took a huge amount of what was becoming her energy, the more she trained. It was nearly impossible to stop herself from making noise: there were just too many things about her body and clothes that caused vibrations in the air. She supposed it might be easier to stealth naked, but didn't like her chances if she lost concentration.
The scariest thing was when she had got the hang of stealth to a degree, she decided to try and blot herself out to touch. At first, it was as if she were submerged in a very cold bath, then an icy ocean and finally frozen in a block of ice. Every move, every twitch, became a mammoth achievement, but she found that she could place the tips of her fingers through the desk. She was careful not to let Marzon see her experimentation, and stopped shortly after, confused at this new ability.
Lunchtime soon came, and Conyeri was excited. She hadn't eaten anywhere but Marisa's rooms before, and the refectory was a whole new experience. She followed Isobella down the winding passages until the smell of food hung thick in the air. She breathed in the scent and opened her smell senses to it. The way that she was training now had opened up thousands of new uses of her senses, some of which were immensely useful and some that scared her.
Geylan was at a table with Dash when she went in. She ran up to them, but saw Isobella waiting, unsure of where to sit. "Do you want to sit with us?" Conyeri asked.
"No," Her brow furrowed. She the immediately strode over to where some of Conyeri's class were sitting.
"Rude little 'un," Dash scowled at her. "Ye were bein' real nice ta her as well."
"Leave it. She's got some demons to deal with," Geylan explained, digging into a stew. "You can go up to the hatch and grab some stew. Cookie has really outdone himself this time."
"Cookie?"
"Our master chef. He and his teams of murlocs cook for us, since Stoutmantle and his militia started hunting them, calling them 'pests'. They did nothing wrong except living in Westfall, and they were here before any humans."
"Mm," Conyeri agreed absentmindedly as she stood back up. "Food…"
The two others laughed as she went up for her stew. She was a little apprehensive to take the dish from a murloc, but swallowed her prejudices as she had been doing more and more often. The server smiled at her (if she had correctly read the murloc's face- it could have been a grimace of pain) as she received the piping hot stew. It was fascinating to see inside the kitchen- murlocs waddled everywhere, mixing vats of stew, rolling dough, stoking ovens and all sorts of things. They all looked happy, like they were really into the cooking. They spoke in their guttural language, but when it was not a battle cry as Conyeri had heard on the shores of Stone Cairn Lake, it was quirky and interesting.
She brought the bowl back to the table and sat down with her two friends, glad that she had something to be here for other than obligation. If she could, of course, she'd go free, but now she was beginning to wonder if she would turn the Defias in. They helped people, even if it was into a life of crime. And even then, the line between definite evil and good was beginning to blur at the edges.
The only thing she dreaded were the nights, where she'd have to face Marisa, or the Monster, or both. The woman worried and repulsed here, but she felt a little pity since finding out that she was obsessed with magic, something she'd thought humans were not inclined to.
Was magic making Marisa into the Monster? It was not particularly far-fetched- magic was known to change people in malevolent ways.
She wondered all these things, unsure of her life to come.
-
So there we are. Chapter 2. 10k, again, which I'm going to take as minimum length for my chapters. It took me a while to get into this.
I hope you liked the Defias' new project. Certainly a little more adventurous than a giant ship to blast SW. Poor Alteon. He's my 34 druid and I love him so, but the chance was too good to pass up.
Please review, or alert, or whatever. Thank you to the 3 people who reviewed chapter 1 (as of this chapter going to post).
~Emmy