A/N: Alteon is now my 40 druid, but meh. But the time of this chapter going to post, he'll probs be my 50 druid. XD. I'm thinking that the Training Arc will be about 60k, then I may or may not be going to get into some of the missions Conyeri may or may not be going on.
The Brotherhood
Chapter III
The token prickling feeling running down Conyeri's neck and spine alerted her to the incoming danger. She was camped in the foothills of Westfall, 'protecting' a tent full of supplies that were her and her teammates food for the next week. As soon as everyone in the class could stealth satisfactorily, Marzon had begun their outdoor Stealth Skills test. Conyeri's team was her, Isobella, Harrman (the boy who got the throwing knife in his leg the first day) and two other thugs from the other unit. Her leader was Geylan, much to her relief.
She opened her hearing to the sound of plodding footsteps on the loose Westfall soil, coming from the southeast. After alerting her teammates, they formed their crescent and stealthed, leaving it looking as though the two thugs were the only ones guarding the fully stocked tent.
Two paladins, both of middle age and stocky build, crested the hill. They saw the camp and charged, holy magic lengthening their stride. With the increased stealth detection that most humans had racially, Conyeri would have thought they'd been smart enough to check. That was paladins for you.
"Die, Defias scum!" one shouted as he brought his hammer up to crush a thug. Isobella moved around to behind him and in one swift movement he fell to the floor, having been brutally maimed. His wounds began knitting up with magic, but one of the thugs stunned him by kicking his head in and he remained still after that. The other paladin had knocked the other thug out and was making an even match with Harrman, until Geylan slipped a kris between his armour plates and he, too buckled. Harrman finished him by lopping off his head with his long, tapered scimitar.
Conyeri didn't like the sight of dead bodies, but she was willing to make an exception this time for the sake of getting good marks on her test. She didn't want to have to do the whole thing again with the next group of recruits. They began chopping the bodies into small bits and feeding them into the bonfire that had to remain burning all week. The lack of trees in Westfall made this difficult, with teams having to constantly go further and further to get firewood. They probably should have started from furthest away and then gotten closer.
"Paladins…" Geylan muttered, wiping his sword clean on one's tabard. "Just when you think you've seen all the stupidity in Azeroth."
"Mm," Harrman agreed. "Dez, you want this chain? It's a helluva lot better then that rusty thing you've got on." He pointed to the first paladin's fine chain hauberk. Dez, the conscious thug, agreed and put it on. On the other side of the small camp, Isobella was tending to the other thug. She looked peaceful, like she was enjoying the healing a great deal.
"Alright, looks like that'll be the lot for tonight," Geylan said to them. "We should start cooking dinner."
Everyone agreed heartily to that and goretusk meat began to roast by the bonfire. It was nice to have the heat and light, but it did make them sitting ducks to anyone for miles around.
"Isobella, Conyeri, you're on first guard shift tonight," Harrman told them as he stretched out his muscles. "Wake me and Dez up about 2, and not a minute before."
Conyeri sighed and imagined the sleep she wouldn't be getting tonight, plus she had to spend it with Isobella, who had stayed with her ethos of ignoring Conyeri where possible and being standoffish when opportunity presents itself.
"Okay," Isobella said, her eyes blank now, as the other thug had been tended to. She hadn't got much sleep (none of them had- the cawing of fleshripper vultures and the baying of gnolls carried on for much of the night) and was even more irritable that usual.
Geylan came over and sat with her, just near enough to the fire to be warm and far enough to feel outside of the circle.
"You holding up?" he asked, untying his bandana, which was strictly prohibited when in direct contact with the rest of the world, but he was the best leader to get.
"Are you asking me that out of genuine care, or are you still grading me?" she grinned.
"A little of both," he admitted, transfixed by the flickering flames. "It's a lot to take in in so little time, Conyeri."
She shrugged. "Everything seems a thousand years ago, to be honest."
"You shouldn't just forget everything that happened," Geylan frowned as his gaze dragged itself from the first to her. "It's bad to bottle things up."
"I think they're in a keg, not a bottle," she sighed and ran her hands through her hair. "I feel twenty years older."
He laughed, inching nearer the fire as the night's chill began to set it. "Imagine how I feel. And you can take your bandana off, you know I don't care."
"Marz- Sir could be anywhere, stealthed." He raised an eyebrow. "Fine, fine, I'll take it off."
"But you'd know, miss super-senses," he insisted, grinning from ear to ear. "You know I looked up your surname at our registry."
"Why?" she asked him, wondering if he was secretly a stalker.
"No offense, but you don't hear DeHayersae a lot around here. It's a really old surname."
"I don't really know, to be honest," she shrugged, while Dez turned the meat over and over on the spit in a hypnotic way. "Never really asked."
"There are two places it comes from," he began. "The first is way back to the elves, but a bastardized translation. Hayersae is Old Common for the small, downy feathers that would molt from baby owls as they grew up, and De, though we would think it 'of' actually used to be 'it' or 'the thing' which was what the first humans called the moon. It comes from the Feathermoon line, of which the most notable is Shandris, the general of the sentinels."
"I'm descended from the night elves?" she asked incredulously, a little overwhelmed that Geylan had looked into this so much.
"It would explain your senses," he replies matter-of-factly. "Do you want to know the other place it could come from?"
"Do I?"
"I asked first." He smiled and gave her a competitive stare. She kept it for about a minute before breaking out in giggles.
"I give, I give. Go on."
"Thank you," he rolled his eyes. "Hayersae could also refer to the unfavoured offspring of Jan'Alai, a god of the forest trolls. They were not a dragon-like as their father, so he called them 'Wingless ones' because most couldn't fly, coming back to the Hayersae, for the little wings."
Conyeri was very impressed. "I think I'd prefer to come from elves than a troll god," she admitted. "How did you find the time for all this research?"
"Rhank'Zor, since we taught him to read, has ravaged the libraries of everywhere within a hundred mile radius. He loves books, however weird that is. I was talking with him about it and he mentioned the Elven connection, and I later found the troll one when I was digging around for a tome on the poisonous plants of Westfall, of which there are surprisingly many." His eyes lit up, now in his element. "Did you know that if you crush the thorns of swiftthistle with a mixture of briarthorn and peacebloom stalks, it makes a more potent poison then I've been using for years?"
"No, but I'll stay away from the peacebloom if that's the case," she made a worried face. Dez and Harrman came to sit with them, bringing some bread and ale. They munched and talked about little things, and Conyeri almost smiled at how disturbingly normal it was. They'd just killed two paladins.
"Speaking of wankers, I saw them two paladins we done earlier. They bloody rez'd 'emselves- guess we underestima'ed their skill." Dez said in his thick Lakeshire accent. It amazed Conyeri at the sheer power of magic that she had only ever skirted over before. The notion that one could come back to life after their body had been burned was mind-boggling.
"I never understood magic like that- that holy shit. Turns my head," Harrman, brusque as usual. "But it had something to do with energies and immortal souls."
"We're not gonna get rezzed then," Dez added, glugging his ale. "Reckon my immor'al soul's not too 'appy wiv me."
"I can't help but echo that sentiment," Geylan interjected. "I suppose a druid could rez one of us, though. That had nothing to do with immortal souls."
"In fact, littl' Elfie could," Dez gestured to Conyeri. "I 'erd yure conversation erlier."
"It's pure speculation," Geylan told him, after swallowing a mouthful of bread. "Not fact."
" 'Still cool, thow." He insisted. "Me, I think I'm descended from these ogre types."
"Don't say that, Dez," Harrman insisted, giving him a pat on the back. "You're as honest a man as you could hope to find in a brotherhood of thieves."
"Mighty good at consolin', ain't ya?" Dez raised a bushy eyebrow. "S'okay thow- I know I ain't the sharpest tool in the shed. Suits me- all this stealth you lot do jus' confuses me to no end."
That set Conyeri and Harrman talking about their classes. They had been making fine progress, their stealth having improved drastically. Conyeri was taking extra classes in swordplay from Geylan, and Marisa had been away for ages since the night she had overdosed on magic. What she was up to, Conyeri didn't bear thinking about, but all the same it was nice having a routine. She was quickly learning that the Defias weren't the thugs and pickpockets she had perceived them as- they were in big business.
With a jolt, she recognized the heavy feeling in her stomach at the thought of the Defias. It wasn't hate, not even a grudge. She still had her doubts: hearing that the paladins had survived had relieved her greatly, but now she had so many personal ties there, and nothing but an old friend of the family outside, who wasn't sure if she was innocent or guilty. Geylan, for certain, a better friend than any on other farms. Dash, her surrogate father, and even Marzon, her mentor. Marisa could be left out of her thoughts if she tried hard enough, and even then her hatred had simmered into dislike and a bit of pity.
"You want some" Geylan asked her, offering a steaming chunk of goretusk on a piece of the paladin's frayed shirt.
"Sure." She took it gingerly and placed it down to cool for a minute. "Gosh, goretusk, what a rare treat. Never have I had such a fine dish before."
"If ya don't like it, don't eat it!" the other thug, Jack, told her from where he was roasting the inner part of the goretusk that was still rare. Conyeri took her piece of goretusk possessively.
"No, no. I'm fine." She said, and tucked in to the tender meat, eating, as her father would have said, like a savage. A pang of grief hit her when she thought of that, but she decided that it was no use running from the thought of her parents' death- she should honour their memory, not mourn their passing.
"After the test, me and the lads are 'avin a party down at the Crimson," Dez said, referring to The Crimson Crook, which was the Defias pub/inn/brothel/all-purpose leisure destination. "Invite only, for some top food and… service, if ya catch my meaning. We don' usually ask the sneakies, but you after bein' holed up wit yous for the week, I reckon you're mighty fine. I'd like to ask ya ta come."
"Score!" Harrman did a victory arm-pump. "Parties, here I come. Chicks, mead, food- what's their not to like?"
Conyeri smiled at his enthusiasm. "Were we going to get straight back to work after the test, or do you want to go?" she asked Geylan, who had a mouth full of meat that he had to swallow before answering.
"Course, course, what's one night of merriment? You've got all year to master swordplay, and you're progressing exceptionally fast. No need to rush you."
Conyeri felt a blush tickle her cheeks at the appraisal. "What night is it on?"
"Ah, the fourteenth, straight after we finish."
"Is it really already October?" Geylan asked, his soft brown eyes wide. "Time flies when you're having fun, I guess."
"You can tell by the way I freeze by ass off every night," Harrman shivered, moving closer to the fire. The sun had now fully set and the stars were out. "Probably about time to get some sleep."
The rest of the camp was beginning to pack up too, so Conyeri waved goodbye to Geylan and the rest. Isobella was sharpening her dagger when Conyeri found her and they exchanged icy looks and curt nods. Conyeri didn't quite understand why the girl hated her so- what had she done?
She took her post on one of the protective raised knolls that surrounded the back of their camp, while Isobella guarded the front, near the bonfire. The night was cold and moaning, the nearby dangers suddenly more real. It wasn't just the test any more: this was a full-on assignment with dangers involved, on both sides. Those paladins may have not resurrected themselves, in another instance, and what would become of their friends, their families? They would have been killed for good, gone from Azeroth and never to return.
Except they would return, Conyeri thought darkly, thinking about the Defias' 'project'. She was not clued in to their higher tinkering, but knew of the undead. The Defias had been manipulating and perfecting the plague first used by the Apothecaries of the Undercity. It had first escaped into the outer Deadmines, infecting the miners that were there and turning them into grotesque ghouls that hungered for flesh of any kind. They did, however, have a great deal of potential- they weren't directly linked in any way to the Defias (imagine trying to get a bloodthirsty ghoul to wear a bandana) and they could wipe out great areas in a short period of time.
The downside was that even when the infestation had died down after the initial plague outbreak, working near them was dangerous, as the plague liked to spread and infect the normal Defias. These became the leaders of the ghouls, keeping some of their wits after their horrific transformations. Conyeri shuddered from both the cold and the thought of any of her friends ending up as ghouls.
There were thousands of other projects, some huge and some individual hobbies, but Conyeri wasn't privy to much of that. Marisa, however, was, and something big was going down at the moment, which was taking up a lot of her time, for which she was thankful to a level she had not previously thought possible. The lack of her personal Monster made Defias life, dare she say, fun? Her qualms were still definitely there, but now she was comfortable. Not as comfortable as she had been with her parents, but she was certainly not as bored as previously, but there were still grim realities of the 'job' that she wasn't comfortable at all with.
The fire burned a slow coil of woody smoke up into the tar-drenched sky interspersed with tiny stars, and besides the distant cries on gnolls and the omnipresent background noise of Westfall in general, it was peaceful. Conyeri sat down and pulled her knees into her chest and rocked gently back and forward like her mother was rocking her to sleep.
"Don't cry, don't cry,
Little one, rest and lye,
To sleep, to sleep,
Little one, grow strong and reap,
Sing peace, sing love,
Sing heaven above,
Sing, my little one,
Sing for me."
She sang softly under her breath, filling herself with thoughts of her parents. Their presence, or rather the presence of their memory, was bittersweet, but gave her a bit of hope that maybe she was doing the right thing. Her parents would hate what she'd done, joining the people who killed them, but she thought they would appreciate how she had found out that people were not just generic killers behind bandanas, but real and had stories of their own.
They'd hate Marisa though, more than Conyeri did, even. She smiled at the thought of them meeting her, the oral beating they would give. She nearly started crying, but kept herself strong, not wanting her sobs to reach Isobella down by the fire.
Someone was stealthed behind her, she suddenly realized as her thoughts cleared from her sentimental haze. She carefully slipped a tiny dagger from her sleeve and faked quietly sobbing. The presence was not particularly powerful- she was surprised that she hadn't felt it a lot earlier.
She pushed herself up on her free hand and did a half-turn on her knee, grabbing her assailant's ankle and pulling them down. They landed with a thud on the floor and Conyeri straddled them, her dagger to their throat.
She didn't recognize the man, but he wore the red bandana of the Defias. She flipped his hand over and saw the tattoo of the cog, but kept him down.
"Would you like a drink?" She asked threateningly, her voice loud enough, she hoped, to attract Isobella's attention.
"I'll have a cutthroat's brew," he replied, completing the safe-phrase. "I'm Nightly. Marzon sent me."
Isobella came up behind her and regarded Nightly. "Oh, Night, you should have said you were coming!" She glared at Conyeri. "Get off him."
She obliged and dusted herself off. "You two know each other?"
"Iz is my little sister," he replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He was tall, with cropped black hair and two gouged scars on his forehead. "Not by blood, but I ran the safehouse she stayed at in Stormwind while awaiting trial."
"You don't have to tell her anything," Isobella told him, grabbing his sleeve and trying to tug him away.
"I have to report to the watchers of duty, so that means both of you," he pulled off her grip. "Marzon wants to warn you that there are another load of adventurers ransacking camps. He said he'd rather you were unprepared, but that he didn't want to lose his favourite sparring partner."
"Can't you stay?" Isobella asked him pleadingly, eyes going all goggly. It was odd to hear her talk so much, let alone acknowledge someone as her superior, or someone she deferred to.
"I have to warn the other camps," he sighed. "But I'll take you to our party when the test is over,"
"You're going to the party?" Conyeri asked him.
"I'm going to our party," he said threateningly. "Not that mass orgy of drinking shoddy beer and gambling money away that the thugs call their party. We have a proper party for the more discerning crowd."
"The Defias have a class divide? Shocker." She said smarmily, disliking this Nightly fellow more every second she spoke to him. "What happened to hating the upper class, nobles cheated you, blah blah?"
He gave her a threatening look. "Know your place, grunt. I'm your senior officer!"
"Senior is right," she retorted. Isobella glared daggers at her. She received a (probably deserved) backhand that left her face stinging.
"Just 'cause you're Miss Du'Paige's little pet project, doesn't mean you're any better than anyone else," he said under his breath. "And if you think that the Defias are all about brotherhood, you're sadly mistaken. It's every man for himself."
He waved off Isobella and drew energy into a Sprint, and was over the next hill in the time it took Conyeri's watering eyes to blink. She wondered about his statement- that the Defias weren't united. Of course they were, and she'd seen it first hand. Probably just the babbling of a pissed-off guy who had to work the night shift instead of going down the pub.
"Why did you talk that way to him!"? Isobella angrily snarled at her, pushing her towards a tree. "He's my big brother!"
"He's an asshole," she corrected her, now not at all in the mood for a confrontation, but still agitated from her dream of a perfect Defias being shattered. There were bound to be a few rotten apples in the barrel, she knew, but she'd hopes she'd never bite into one.
Her eyes opened wide and she regarded Conyeri with a seething hatred beyond that from a rivalry or a general dislike of each other. She pulled her short, curved sword from its scabbard and kept her other hand that was pinning Conyeri to the tree, her face livid.
"Whoa, a few harsh words don't constitute sticking me with that thing!" she panicked. "You just seem to hate me for no reason!"
She faltered slightly, but still gripped her sword way too tightly for Conyeri's comfort. "You're stupid, insolent, spoiled, a friend-snatcher and a bitch. That sound enough?"
"Uh, explain?" she looked at Isobella dubiously.
"Since you got here, Geylan has talked to me twice, and yet you're with him whenever I look. Dash looks at you like a daughter, even Miss Du'Paige likes you! And Sir! Everyone likes you and they've forgotten me!"
That came out quickly, Conyeri mused, but kept a straight face. Isobella was nearly crying. "That must suck." She said quietly.
"Damn right it does." She sighed and let go of Conyeri's aching shoulder."
"Why didn't you sit with us when I asked you?" Conyeri asked, remembering the first lunch she had had outside Marisa's rooms.
She just huffed and shook her head, sheathing her sword. The girl turned on her heel and jogged back down to the camp. "Uh, Isobella? There are hoards of angry fighters on the way, remember?"
She nodded tersely, her face again a picture of hatred. The others were roused, much to their dismay, and began kitting up. Yawning and stretching were the favoured activities, but soon the camp hushed and those trained to do so slipped into stealth, ready to face the attackers.
Conyeri sensed them first, and the phrase 'impact kobold', that she now knew was code for how long until an attack struck, rippled around the camp. Dez and Jack gripped their heavy swords tightly and tried to look unassuming, which was hard when you're seven foot and built like a tauren. There were a small group, no bigger than five, but they were heavily armed- a much different level altogether than the paladins from earlier.
They came over the hill and Conyeri's heart leapt into her throat. She recognized Salma Saldean's daughter, about her age, in oversized leather armour, and Riell, a member of the people's militia who had come to their farm many times to report on the activity of the various dangers within Westfall. She felt her dagger slip in her hand. How could she even raise a blade to these people? Sarah, who had been one of her best friends, whose mother had made the best goretsuk liver pie in Westfall?
The stealthed Defias began to maneuver around the back of the group, but Conyeri stayed paralyzed at the top of the hillock. Dez and Jack pretended to have only just noticed them and shouted in alarm, brandishing their swords and charging with practiced speed to confront the two heavily plated melee fighters. Riell came after that, slashing and twisting under Jack's huge blows easily. At the back, Sarah Saldean was shooting off arrows wonkily as a small, tame coyote bounded towards Jack. There was a man Conyeri did not recognize at the back, his hands spewing holy magic at the rest of the group, healing their tiredness and the wounds that were being inflicted.
The 'sneakies' closed in behind the group, Geylan taking the priest out with a flurry of whirring blows that sliced his back clean open. Harrman lopped one of the warrior's heads clean off his shoulders, but the other one caught the jist that they were being ambushed and twirled around Isobella's stab, kicking Dez in the face and sending him sprawling as Riell closed in. Conyeri panicked, unsure of what to do. Geylan shot her a look from where he was running to confront Sarah that made up her mind for her.
She jumped down from the ledge smoothly and concentrated on the warrior she didn't know, who was swiftly parrying Isobella's quick jabs and Jack's heavier swings. She barreled into him, her stealth fading, but he was put off balance and went down in an overpowering flood of blades. The other warrior, who had been on his way to help Sarah and left Riell to deal with Dez, met a similar fate, the numbers of Defias too great for him to effectively use his training.
Dez looked a sight: he was bleeding profusely and sprawled on the ground where Riell had left him. She had made a fatal mistake, though, not killing him cleanly. Conyeri's attention instinctively flitted to Isobella, who looked at the dying man with a steely gaze. She had known, ever since training, that the girl didn't like killing as much as she did healing. She was caught in limbo between energy and mana, so that she wasn't the most effective stealthed warrior, but she wasn't allowed to heal. Her eyes grew wide as white magic splayed from her fingertips and into Dez's body, his wounds knitting together and his blood pumping once again. She looked fearful, like this power was not something she felt she should have, but she shakily concentrated anyway. Dez, as surprised as Conyeri, felt his chest of the wounds and sat up, only slightly flinching. Isobella offered a hand and he wordlessly took it and got to his feet, flexing his hands. Words would come later.
Conyeri looked to where Sarah was barely parrying Geylan's sharp blows and her stomach lurched. She ran over to the main fight, which was now centered on the two people she had least wanted to engage, and stood there. Riell expertly took Isobella down, a heavy shield bash knocking her unconscious. She moved back, so she was protecting Sarah from anyone other than Geylan, whom she turned and attacked. Swords connected in masterful symmetry and they weaved in and out of each other for a minute while Dez and Harrman tried to get through, but Riell, once she had forced closer contact with him, kneed him between his legs and he crumpled. Dez shouted in anger and swung his sword, but she parried the blow with her shield and undercut him, slicing through the sinews of his calf. He flinched but tried to collapse onto her, hoping to crush the smaller mass, but Riell sidestepped easily and set her sights for Harrman.
He went for a simple strategy of wearing her down by force, and it worked to a certain extent, until she was forced into an unbalanced stance, but she used her abilities and channeled her rage into a huge kinetic force that threw him off, but not before he'd managed to slice her sword hand off with his dagger.
They both fell to the ground, and Conyeri found herself facing two people she couldn't kill.
"One left," Riell assured Sarah, dropping her shield and picking up her sword with her good hand. Sarah, scared witless by what was probably her fist intense fight, nodded and they both turned on Conyeri, who found herself in a dilemma. She could reveal who she was to them, and try and tell her story. Or she could kill them.
Sarah cocked her head o the side. "Wait a minute, Riell. She's not attacking."
"A ploy to get us to hesitate," the older woman explained, her face strained and pasty as blood continued to pour from her stump of a hand.
"No, no. Look at her." The farmer's daughter insisted, walking forwards. "Conyeri?"
She froze as her blood turned to ice. "Conyeri DeHayersae? Harrigan's daughter?" Riell asked, peering through the gloom.
"Yes, it's her!" Sarah looked horrified and glad at the same him. "Cony! Cony, what's happened?" she ran forwards a little before pausing. Conyeri then realized that at some point she'd forgotten to tie her bandana back on.
"Uh," she managed, her mind racing. "Hey."
"What are you doing here? Did you come to get rid of the Defias with us too? I thought your parents got-" she paused. "Why didn't you come to us? You look terrible, like you've hardly slept! Have you been eating right? There's a rewards out for your recovery! Oh, by the light…" She pulled Conyeri into a tight hug, her hands clinging to her tunic. "We all thought you were dead, Cony. Or worse."
Riell eyes her suspiciously. "Don't. I saw her take down Gerrik. She's with them."
Sarah broke the hug and looked at her in bewilderment. "She's Conyeri, Riell, not some money-grabbing self-interested thug!"
"No, Sarah, get away now!" She commanded, and Sarah shied away under her gaze, coming back to the Scout's side. "I'm apprehending you on behalf of the Militia of Westfall."
Conyeri raised an eyebrow. She wouldn't kill them- she physically couldn't- but she could find it in herself to knock them unconscious. Especially considering Sarah and her had fought over boys many a time, and Sarah always won. She put her hands up in a gesture of surrender as she saw Riell come towards her, blade outstretched, and Sarah with a small binding spell enchanted to a metal rod. A figure came up behind them silently, and Conyeri's eyes widened as the outline of Marzon became clearer, just as Riell's mouth started gushing blood. She fell to the sandy soil without a sound and the assassin turned to Sarah and deftly kicked her down. She had the wind knocked out of her and a couple of ribs broken, by Conyeri's estimate.
"Go on, then." He urged her, gesturing to Sarah. "Finish the job."
Goretusk rose back up Conyeri's throat as Marzon's eyes glittered in the distant bonfire's image, filled with expectance. She realized that this was her personal test, not the weeklong camp or the sparring or the poison quizzes or anything else. This was her final judgment, her rite of passage, and her initiation. This was what she had to do to stay in the Defias, to open her eyes to the severe nature of the work she would have to undertake. To understand that it would not always be nameless and faceless people's lives at the end of her blade, but people she knew, people that she held emotional ties to. She was trapped between a rock and a hard place, both of which whispered different things to her. To kill or to be killed? To exist, or to live? To let her spirit, who she once was, die, or to let her body be condemned to the damning flames, who had few qualms with her so far?
If she did this, it would be a mortal sin against the Light. Not that the two paladins didn't count, but they were resurrected. They were trained and protected to give their lives for the Light. Sarah was an innocent, gleaming white in the world of blacks and murky greys Conyeri felt herself drawing closer to.
"Conyeri?" Marzon asked, his boot pressing harder. "Are you there?"
"Yes." She said, her voice sounding faraway. "I'm here."
"What are you waiting for?" he asked her, looking down at Sarah's teary eyes. "She attacked you."
Conyeri slowly drew her sword and Sarah's face changed from terror to a strange pity. She spoke in a voice crushed by Marzon's weight.
"Cony," she said, turning her head to look at her. "You… really are… one of them?"
She nodded sadly, looking at the blade. It was sharp, and pointy. It could kill someone. She wavered there, standing on that spot, crumbling. Sarah had big, blue eyes, brimming with tears. Sarah took this in, her face changing from one thing to the next.
"Did you… kill them?"
"No." Conyeri said, bringing the tip of her sword to Sarah's neck.
"That's… okay, then. If you… didn't do that… then you're not… a… monster…" she huffed, her body struggling to get enough air.
"But I'm about to…" she said, looking from Sarah to Marzon to her sword and back. "To…"
"It's… for the best…" she said, her face oddly placid. "I never… wanted to… kill. I didn't have… the choice… I… under…stand…your…position…" Marzon pressed harder on her chest and she began to choke, unable to get air.
"Now or never, sweetheart," he said, looking at her seriously. Conyeri looked at Sarah's fluttering eyes once before gently slipping her blade in and cutting her windpipe. She felt horrible, like she had just killed a part of herself. And Sarah had said she understood, like she wasn't afraid of dying. How was that possible? Sarah was eighteen. She wouldn't want to die. Had she seen things so horrible since Conyeri had seen her last that she'd lost her will to live? Were the Defias that forceful in taking over Westfall? What had she done?
"Pass. You cut it a little close, though." Marzon remarked, kicking the body aside. "Downing someone you knew is always hard. It doesn't get easier."
"Are you trying to console me, now!?" she cried incredulously as Geylan began stirring from his painful experience. "She… you… I…" She couldn't get a full sentence out. "I just…"
"You just became part of the Defias, for real," Geylan said, wincing as he stood up. His eyes were sad, like a mother watching her children leave home. "Not a great feeling."
"It's supposed to be?" she asked irritably, chucking her sword down in disgust. "I can't do it. It's not right."
"Didn't stop you a second ago." Marzon said, dusting himself down. "And besides, someone will probably resurrect her sometime, if they can find a paladin who'll ever set foot in Westfall again."
"That's not the point!" she exclaimed. "The point is that I did it in the first place. The point is that I'm a monster!"
Marzon took her by the scruff of her neck and pulled her really close to his face. He was in his mid-thirties, but his eyes spoke volumes of hurt, pain and sacrifice. "She let you off, you know. She told you herself! She said that you weren't. Are you not happy with that when it came from the very girl's mouth!"
"She was dying! What else was she supposed to say?"
"That she'd come back and kill you, traitor, cruel, sadistic excuse for a human being, etc?" Geylan interjected, looking around at the unconscious Defias. "That's what I got."
"I almost wish she had," Conyeri sighed, tears welling up in her brown eyes. "It would have been easier knowing that she didn't forgive me for killing her."
"You win some, you lose some," Marzon said. "I'm in no mood to tank about morals with you at the moment. That's on the syllabus later on. We need to fortify the camp and get everyone back on his or her feet. You were unlucky to get hit by them, the other camps were treated to less experienced groups."
Conyeri sat in her tent and moped for the rest of the night. Dez and Harrman agreed to take watch, as they had been bandaged and refreshed with some little spells that the Defias Conjurors kept in their metal batons in this case. The metal acted as a holder for the spell, but was weak enough that the body's own attraction could pull the force from it with the right channeling. She almost admired the idea and then remembered she was moping, so she just cried and thought about her parents.
Geylan came in shortly before dawn, having done his watch.
"You okay?" he asked, and then realized what a stupid question that was. "Stupid question."
"Yeh," she replied monosyllabically, her knees tight to her chest in her comfort position, bundled up in the quilt.
"I know it sucks," he sat down next to her, pulling his boots and gloves off. "But… it's inevitable."
"I should have just picked being Marisa's sex slave," Conyeri mumbled. "I wouldn't have to kill then."
"But would that be any better?" he asked seriously, looking at her with sincere eyes. "You hated that she forced you when you first got here, then it stopped. Now you have a new thing to abhor about your new life, but following the pattern, it should soon go?"
"But it's part of the job," she said. "It doesn't stop."
"You thought Marisa wouldn't," he pointed out.
"But she'll come back."
"And maybe then she'll have a new someone to force."
"Or she won't," Conyeri said, shifting towards Geylan's warmth. "And I'll have two things to 'abhor'."
"Pessimism is that way," he let her lean on his shoulder, looking so frail and childlike compared to the young woman he had seen her as. "It wont get you anywhere."
"I'll not get let down, though," she smiled weakly, tears drying on her cheeks and leaving salty paths.
"But you'll never be pleased," he said, tossing his gloves and boots to the corner of the tent. "Conyeri… you have it hard, and we all know it. But you have to make the most of what you do have, of you'll just end up killing yourself."
"What do I have? A rapist psychopath, a classmate who hates my guts, a tattoo that means I'll never walk free again…"
"An overly pessimistic view of life…" he continued in her tone of voice. "You have me," he smiled, reddening imperceptibly. "You have Dash and Harrman and Dez, you have something to work at and something to aim for."
"Aim? For what? Betterment of the Defias? I don't think so." She said, still locked in the moping mindset.
"However small a contribution you make to anything, nobody is irrelevant," he explained. "Look at, say… a raiding party. There will be up to forty people in it, but the whole thing couldn't go on if you're missing just one priest, or one druid."
"Excellent analogy," Harrman said as he stooped to look inside the tent. "But you'd feel even more excellent if you got some sleep."
Geylan raised an eyebrow but complied, shuffling under his covers. Conyeri missed his warmth and the wisdom he was imparting. "You can change the Defias for the better, if you give it your all," he whispered. "It may take five years, it may take ten. You may even have to give your life for it… but whatever you leave behind will be important, because it's you that's leaving it."
He rolled over and slept.
-
"There's two paladins here t-to see you, sir, a Sir Ferrin of Theramore and a Sir Kinelly of S-southshore." P-P said to Baros, his stutter on full blast in the presence of the irate man.
"Paladins?" Baros asked. "Sirs? Let them in immediately, and be courteous, boy." Paladins, especially those with the title of Sir, inferring that they held a large amount of sway over their respective cities, had not visited Baros since before the reconstruction of Stormwind. He hastily tidied his desk and washed his face, slipping one of his formal jackets on.
"Lord Alexton," Sir Ferrin greeted him, easily distinguished by the anchor-emblem tabard that was stretched over his heavy breastplate. They both looked dirty, tired and as though they were in a great rush. Kinelly was nursing a large head wound. "We come with news from Westfall."
"Ah, excellent," he said, sizing them up. They must be the first sons of their respective families, because neither was old enough to have children, so Baros guessed they weren't quite as experienced as their titles and armour suggested. "Do sit down."
"No time, I'm afraid," Ferrin explained, scratching his bearded chin. Baros admired the bristly growth for a minute, wondering why his own could never seem to look as manly as this paladin's did, but then set his mind back onto more pressing matters. "We're going to go and rally some more to our cause and storm all the Defias camps in Westfall."
"U-uhm," P-P interrupted. "I wouldn't d-do that."
"Why not, boy?" Baros asked, angry that the boy had interrupted his important talk with the two righteous protectors.
"Well, you wouldn't listen... sir… but the Militia sent another f-forty people to deal with them. All d-dead, sir, and resurrecting them… the priest said… would be d-difficult."
Ferrin's eyes widened. "So, the Militia did take action. We implored them to send a bigger force, but Gyran Stoutmantle refused. He must have changed his mind."
"There is something amiss," Kinelly spoke up, his face troubled. "The Defias are too well organized, too knowledgeable of our movements and attacks. There is only a select group involved in the higher workings of this operation, yes? Then someone must be crooked."
Baros shook his head. "There are only seven men who know what we are about to do before we do it, and they are all completely clean."
"No offence, Lord Alexton," Ferrin said apologetically. "But liars often are the most earnest, to contradict myself."
"I suggest you have all of your advisors monitored and checked out again," Kinelly advised, looking at the grandfather clock on Baros' wall. "It is late, and we have still too report to the Chapel of Light for evening prayers."
"I wish you good luck, then," Baros bid them goodbye, before collapsing in the chair of his parlour. "Some brandy, boy, quickly."
P-P scuttled into the cellar as his master bade him and pulled out a bottle of finest dark, pouring it into the delicate glass with trembling fingers. He had always been a weak boy.
Baros downed the brandy in one and demanded another, the liquor burning his throat but bringing him clarity. He had already reported to the king once, and then he only had the deaths of scores of young fighters to report, as well as the increasing encroachment of mechanical golems, pillaging, etc. The search for Conyeri was equally frustrating: signs of a scuffle at her home but no other evidence.
A weak knock roused him from his brooding and he groaned, not in the mood for any more visitors. P-P opened it and a woman stepped in, clean and fresh smelling, wearing a simple dress. Her left hand, however, lit up the whole room. It was constructed of light and holy magic, the coruscated up her arm and lit up the dimming room.
"Scout Riell of the People's Militia," she addressed Baros with a bow. "Though not until I learn to use this thing," she gestured to her hand, that stayed locked in an outstretched position.
"Lord Alexton, Stormwind city-"
"I know who you are," she cut him off, helping herself to a seat. "And I'm going to be horribly frank with you."
"O-okay," he said hesitantly as P-P shut the door. "Do go on."
"The people's Militia, enlisting several people from surrounding farmsteads, launched an attack on the Defias encampments. They knew we were coming and not a single person survived the battle. I was lucky to be resurrected by the Spirit, and given this hand back. But a young girl, fresh from her farm, who came with me, was not. She was killed in cold blood."
"I offer my greatest condolences," He said, trying to keep the ire from his voice. The last thing he wanted to hear now was sob stories.
"She was killed by Conyeri DeHayersae." Riell stated with venom in her words. "I saw it in my dying seconds."
Baros shook himself out of his disinterested state. "What did you say?" he asked, not sure he had heard correctly. Riell re-iterated herself.
"There was a reward out for the recovery of Conyeri DeHayersae, whose parents were killed by the Defias, in Sentinel Hill. She's with them. She killed one of her friends."
"That's treason and murder, but I can get her a more gruesome execution if she killed her own parents," his eyes were sparkling, the brain behind doing rapid calculations as to what he could do now with this huge chunk of information. Inform the king immediately, for a start, and-
"She said she didn't, before she murdered Sarah," Riell said. "But why trust words from her mouth?"
"Of course." He smiled, not the least bit sad. He'd always known that murder and treason ran in Harrigan's family, but now had the evidence to support it.
"My five-hundred gold?" she asked off-hand.
"Oh, yes," he pulled out a scroll and filled her name in before signing it in a flourish. "Take this to the city bank and they'll see you rewarded properly."
"Thank you, Lord Alexton. You understand the plight we face, especially when children do such criminal things to their own parents… it is a sad reflection on our youth."
"Indeed." He echoed, wringing his hands together. "I wish you well with your second chance, Miss Riell."
She bowed and exited; leaving Baros's head to spin at how fast thing had suddenly developed. One minute, he was being told that everyone was dying, the next that the girl he was using was indeed embroiled with the Defias, something that gave him a wonderful excuse to get rid of Harrigan DeHayersae's legacy once and for all. He had always outshined Baros, having designed the whole trade quarter of Stormwind almost single-handedly, whilst his own plans were rejected. Now, he would prove that he knew Harrigan was a crook all along. Though he had voiced these concerns to many of his peers in the remaining stonemasons, they had hailed Harrigan as pulling off the only successful deal with the Defias, and laughed off Baros's claims of his continued involvement with the Defias as jealousy. And now look at where they were. Baros was the city architect, and Harrigan was dead.
P-P came back after about twenty minutes to light candles.
"Don't bother, I'm going to have my first good night in weeks," he smiled. "You can go home now."
"Goodnight, S-sir," P-P bowed and left, after shutting the house up and extinguishing the main lamp. He scampered out of the house and heard the heavy bolt slide across the door.
Thus he began his long, long walk home.
-
It was deathly quiet, unusually, around the central cavern below Sentinel Hill. Men were not standing around talking or sparring, and nor were women. The cubbies were empty and the classrooms deserted. There were two places to be on the fourteenth of October, and in your room was not one of them.
The majority of the Defias who operated from Camp RUTN, which housed trainees and a chunk of the ordinary forces, was in the Crimson Crook, having a merry time. The other, less used tavern, the Lady Westfall, held about fifty others. Their activities were starkly different.
In the Crimson, there was more noise than Conyeri had thought imaginable for such a covert organization. They were right under Sentinel Hill, too. She sat at a wooden bench with Geylan to one side and Dez to the other, both of whom nursed foaming mugs of beer. There was a game of dice going on at their table, and Geylan had lost ten gold already. The whole room reverberated with laughter and a general fuzzy feeling of belonging and living life, one that Conyeri really wasn't in the mood to join in with. After they'd finished their camp, they had been whisked back to Camp for a small report and debrief from Marzon before a 2-day holiday. The first night of this was affectionately referred to by the Defias as 'the carnal night', though most just called it the carnie.
Mead was drunk, bets were made, girls were bought and music was strung. You really noticed that the Defias weren't just thugs or crooks: Conyeri, had she seen Dez across the street or in a crowd, would not have picked him as a brilliant guitarist, but here he was, resting his aching fingers after three encores from the crowd. Harrman was busy dancing with one of the girls, the two very involved in each other. There was no rule that forbade sex within the Defias ranks, but there was a huge gap in the male to female ration that had to be bridged somehow. This was where the girls came in. They were there as a result of trying to join the Defias but not making the athletic cut. They held certain rights, and the guard of four thugs on duty to make sure men didn't overstep their boundaries enforced these. They could be bought, but often they just found a guy they liked and went with it. Marriages had happened through this before.
Conyeri was trying to be happy, she really was, but the weight of her moral transformation was pulling her back to the ground every time she tried to fly. Geylan had noticed it too, and he was trying to keep her mind occupied with anything else.
"A beer?" He asked as one of the attractive maids came around with a fresh tray of mugs.
"I'm underage," she said, looking at the drink that she had little experience with.
"No, you're not," Geylan smiled at her. "I looked you up in the registry, remember? No hiding things from me, birthday girl."
She opened her mouth to speak before she remembered that it actually was her birthday today. She was seventeen. The thought of that was dwarfed by the thought of actually forgetting her own date of birth. It must have been such a crazy month for that to happen.
"Thanks," she told him quietly. "But you don't have to make a big deal-"
Geylan, now on his fifth mug of beer, stood up and raised it in a toast. "To Conyeri! Seventeen today…hic!"
Conyeri's face reddened as every patron of the Crimson crook drank a toast to her. Dez finished winning his game of dice.
"You shoulda told us! We wud 'ave dun something!" he swept the gold into his coin purse, which was going to have to be upgraded to a sack soon if he kept winning.
"Didn't want to make a fuss," she explained, leaning her elbows on the table. "And besides, you have your own fun to be having tonight, and I'm just not in the mood for anything,"
"Aww, don't shay that!" Harrman came waltzing over to their table after the song ended. "Carnie ish for becoming happy! After a long, hard shlog!" he motioned to the girl on his arm.
"No thanks," she declined.
"You are not going to sit there sulking through carnie. It would be a sin to let you do so!" Geylan said, tugging her by the arm from the table. "This is the first carnie where I've really had fun. The other party is so tight-ass…"
Dez chipped in. "Thas why we don' usually get the sneakies to come to this one. Dead borin', theys are."
"Meh," Geylan brushed off the accusation. "If you don't like mead I'm sure we can find some alcohol you do." He pulled her over to the bar. The girl behind it was flirting with a thug, but she spied them coming over and excused herself.
"Haven't seen you down here in ages, Shaw!" she said, leaning on the bar. "Who's the birthday girl, exactly? You know stuff doesn't reach down here fast."
"This is Conyeri." He introduced her. "Cony, this is Rosea. She's the assistant barkeeper."
"Nice to meet you," Conyeri wasn't sure how to greet her. Instead, she was brought into a hug over the thin bar.
"Friend of Shaw's is a friend of mine," she smiled. "What can I getcha?"
"Cony doesn't like mead," he explained, scratching his shaggy blonde head. "Got something more girly for her?"
"Hmm," she gave Cony a once over. "Some… bourbon? I know it's not exactly girly, but she doesn't look the sweet type."
"You can tell what kind of alcohol people like by what they look like?" Conyeri asked incredulously.
Rosea laughed, throwing her head back. "No, just what'll get you drunk the quickest. You're light but have some curves, means you'll probably need something with a little kick to get you going."
"I don't want to get drunk," She replied, looking on helplessly as the assistant barkeeper poured her the bourbon.
"Nonsense." She replied. "First, it's your seventeenth birthday. Second, it's carnie. Third, it's just plain fun."
Conyeri took the drink gingerly. "Down it," Geylan advised her. She looked at the liquid dubiously, and was not going to drink it until Geylan grabbed her arm and did it for her. The alcohol burned her throat as it washed down and she choked. Before, she had drunk weak mead, but nothing as potent as this. It stung her throat and she put the glass down.
"That is horrible!" she protested as Rosea began pouring another.
"You won't say that after another two or three," She grinned and placed another glass in front of the table. "Whatever you're moping about, forget it. However big or horrid it is, spend one night off shouldering your burden."
"But-" Geylan gave her the next shot. And the next after that. And soon she stopped arguing and started just talking and laughing at the bar with the two of them. She learned that Geylan had known Rosea before the Defias, that she was the maid to one of the influential rogues who lived in SI:7. When Geylan had been forced out, Rosea faced problems for having been closely associated with him and couldn't find work in the city. She started working around Elwyn and finally the Defias pillaged the inn she was employed by, and she joined without hesitation, keen to keep up her line of work and meet her old friend.
"That really is all there's to tell," she said, before a customer whistled for her over the other end. "Late night crowd incoming, I'll be busy."
"S'fine." Geylan replied, and Conyeri followed him back to the table where Dez was now refereeing a fraudulent game of cards. They slipped back into their places, Conyeri now all too keen to take the tankard from a passing maid. She found the fuzziness of alcohol soothing, such as she could focus on the here and now and not her crappy life.
Dez was called up shortly after the cards finished to play on the guitar again. It was a slow and sensitive strummed melody, and Geylan said he recognized it and leapt off to dance with Rosea. They sauntered across the inn in a comical fashion, waltzing other people out of the way.
Someone sat beside Conyeri. She turned and saw a girl, about her age, wearing an emerald green tunic. "You not up for that kind of thing, then?"
Taken aback by the sudden approach but drunk and open to suggestion, Conyeri shrugged. "Never really danced much."
She raised her eyebrows. "Straight to the point, are you?"
"Whaddya mean?" the drunken girl asked, draining her tankard.
"Well," the girl said, shifting her weight so that she leaned into Conyeri. "Some people just want to go straight for the flag and not worry about the enemy,"
"I dunno what you…" the girl placed a hand of Conyeri's shoulder sensually. "Oh."
She mounted the drunken girl and smirked at her. Conyeri panicked, shoving her roughly off. This brought back too many memories of Marisa hat she was trying to keep at bay. "No."
"You could have just said so, geez" she mumbled and rubbed her stomach where Conyeri had shoved her. "You never been to one of these before, have you?"
"No," Conyeri slumped back into the padded seat. "Do you… do people…"
"Usually," she answered. "But meh. If you want a boy, there are a few around."
"No, no. I don't want anyone."
"Suit yourself." She walked off to find someone else to offer her services to, and Conyeri was left by herself again.
She sunk into the chair and sighed. It wasn't that she wasn't interested in doing things like that; it was just that the Monster in Marisa had forever ruined the experience. It was a shame, she thought, that she couldn't enjoy everything about carnie, but when that rent girl had tried to make a move on her, all she could see was Marisa and her blazing eyes. All she could feel was the hatred and the magic and the intense violence of her first night. She nearly cried, but stopped herself.
"Cony, you okay?" Geylan hopped next to her. The song had finished and he had caught sight of her sitting alone. "You get attacked by one of the rent girls?"
"Yeh…" she admitted. "You?"
"Nah. They don't bother me much. You're new and easy pickings."
"Do they all… I mean, everyone here seems kind of lax about who they have sex with."
"You mean girls and boys and every combination?" he asked. "Not sure. I think people are just so thankful that they are enjoying themselves in the middle of a spiral of violence and death that they just became accustomed to not caring." He smiled, the added. "But we don't go at it like rabbits. Its nights like carnie that we just let go. It makes for one giant hangover in the morning."
"I'm sure," she said. "Things seem to be quietening down now. I think I might go back and sleep all this off…"
"I won't stop you." She said, chuckling and Dez and Jack, who were mock waltzing through the crowd. "Oh, and since Marisa is going to be gone for some time, I set up a mattress for you in my cubby. There's no space to swing a cat, but if you'd prefer not to sleep all by yourself…"
"Thanks," she was genuinely thankful for his foresight. "Don't wake me."
"And risk the wrath?" he laughed. "You have a nice lie-in tomorrow,"
"For the first time in ever," she mused, thinking of her early morning sparring and Marzon's lessons.
She waved him goodnight and left the warm light of the Crimson, coming out into a cavern with a small pond. Lichens were growing around it, and some fish had been put there, though they weren't looking at all happy about it. She walked up and through the winding maze of tunnels until she came to the one she thought connected with the training cavern. It did not.
The passageway was big enough for about 2 men to walk shoulder to shoulder, but one huge man took up the end completely. Conyeri squinted. Not a man, but an elf, standing seven feet tall and muscular. And shiny. What was that about? She took a step into the corridor, but the elf sentry picked her presence up and came bounding over faster than she thought humanly possible.
She gasped at the elf's body. His chest was arranged in jagged slats of steel plate that fused with the flesh of his neck. His arms were augmented with lines and bunches of multicoloured cables that stuck out of his body and sent electric currents whizzing down metal plates that were arranged to armour him better. His left eye was a mire of wires and a shine metal globe, and cables ate up the whole side of his face. Goblin engineering could be easily seen, the hallmarks of their assembly techniques evident.
"You're a bit lost," He said in a hoarse voice, like something was constantly grinding in his throat. "God back and take the second left, not the first."
"T-thank you," she shied away from the metal man. He frowned, an odd look of disappointment in his eyes. She kept her eyes on his as she maneuvered out of the passageway and took the correct route, stopping only once to catch her breath as she ran as fast as she could away from the hideous metal man.
Just when she'd become comfortable to a degree with the Defias, they had taken it up a whole notch on the inhumane scale.
-
A/N: That was a beast to write. Stop/Start FTL. Meh. Sorry for the loooooong wait .
Alt is my 53 Druid, Silvermoon EU server. Drop me a line in-game!