The Brotherhood
Chapter Eight
"The scythe," he mumbled, rocking backwards and forwards wildly. "The scythe, the scythe, the scythe, the scy-"
"Shut the hell up!" P-P backhanded the man who sat, shaking and blinking rapidly, in the dingy inn. "Come on, Paul, I'm not prepared to hear you raving madly. Just tell me where you put the piece of the scythe and I'll leave, nice an peaceful."
"I t-t-told y-you!" he howled. "St-st-stormwind! You went to f-f-find it!"
"And I couldn't find it in Stormwind and the side-mission was a failure now that Baros sent me back to the Defias! So you must have put it somewhere else!"
"I d-didn't…" he yelped as P-P kicked his shin. "O-o-oh-kkayy! It whu-whu… whu…"
"I don't have all day."
"I d-didn't know what it did! If I h-hh-had, I'd never have sold that fragment!"
Silence. Deadly silence.
"You sold a piece of the Scythe of Elune?" P-P asked incredulously, his eyes wide. "You sold a piece of the fucking Sycthe of Elune?" Jitters just nodded. P-P sucked in a big breath and ground his teeth together. "To whom, Paul?"
"A trader… it whu-whu-was years and years ago, Pa-pp-pa…"
"You should have told us you had it! You've been hiding here for nearly twenty years and it never crossed your mind?"
"It did! I sw-sw-swear it did… but, Pa-pp…"
"Sir."
"S-sir, I… I was hungry and dying… I n-needed to b-buy food…"
P-P banged his head against the wall of the derelict inn and growled, closing his eyes. He had taken anger management classes with Marzy when he was a boy, but he did tend to lose his cool in the face of idiots. "Whom did you sell it to?"
"I don't remember his n-name… a traveling salesman."
"You've got to remember his name, you… you…!"
"Maybe… t-t-tony, or something… he was foreign sounding." Jitters- Paul- looked at P-P, who was looking at him with death in his eyes. "P-p-please… Pa… Sir… don't-"
"Oh, I won't." he glowered. "I'm leaving you to rot here in this hole of a region that you destroyed with your bloody scythe!" And with that he stormed out of Raven Hill and jumped onto his horse, galloping along the road that led back into Westfall. He got to Sentinel Hill, where the Defias were basing their important overground operations now. In the shade of the lumber mill, the metal-men were being drilled and hammered, prepped for takeovers of smaller villages on the outskirts of Elwyn. There was one in particular that P-P wanted to talk with, the only one not being serviced at present, who was coolly sitting on a step perusing a copy of D.J. Silanger's newest novel, Pitcher in the Wheat, a heartfelt romance. He looked rather bored with it.
"Sir." P-P interrupted him, saluting as he approached. The metal-man turned lazily and regarded him.
"Paul tell you where he put the shard?"
"He sold it to a traveling salesman," P-P spat, brow wrinkling. "There aren't that many around, but this sale was perhaps even twenty odd years ago… they could be anywhere."
"Salesmen are like barnacles, boy," the metal-man drawled, flipping the page over. "Heldon, silly boy… don't refuse her…"
"Barnacles, sir?" he tried to stop the metal-man getting too absorbed. Sir looked up at him as though he hadn't been there to start with.
"Oh, once they find a place, they stick to it and extend their appendages," he finished his metaphor. "The salesman will still be around, I assure you. Find him."
"Yes, sir." He sighed as he went back to his novel, and then left, thinking to stop by the inn newly dubbed as Cookie's giant kitchen and grab a bite to eat. He picked up a steaming leg of chicken and a small loaf of bread and ate it on the way back to his horse, which had been brushed down by the surly groom in his absence.
The trip to Elwyn was nice, seeing as Westfall was now Defias operated, and as such they were making an effort to revamp the land. Giant sprinklers and harvest golems chugging out fertilizer covered the fields, preparing for the spring, when Westfall would be green again. He took off his bandana once he reached the river and crossed it in the shallowest part, where he was waist-deep. Being wet did not bother him; he was used to the cold. Quickly jumping back on the animal, he took to the road, where he encountered only a traveling baker with an unseasonably sunny disposition for someone walking around Elwyn in winter pulling a small cart behind her.
He skirted around Goldshire; one of the guards there knew his face, normal and forgettable as it was. It started raining as night fell, making his horse snort and shiver as the breath from its nostrils became visible. As the entrance to Duskwood from the north came up after he had passed through a small bit of Redridge, he spied a silhouette on the road. Thinking it was someone from the Night Watch, he tipped the hood of his cloak down and walked past him or her.
Something stopping him, he got off his horse and ran back to the man, who carried a heavy pack and a lantern. "Sir!" he said in his best innocent voice. "Sir, would you happen to be a trader?"
The man turned around, his soaking wet black hair sticking to his face. "That-a I would, young-a sir."
"Thank the Light! I've been looking along this road for one such as you. My bracers are terribly frayed and won't stand much longer, especially now I'm fighting on the Westfall Front…"
"Then you are-a in-a luck, my friend, for Antonio Perelli is-a vendor of-a the finest bracers this-a side of-a Stranglethorn!" He grinned, showing yellowed teeth. "A fine man like yourself… a rogue, per-a-haps?"
"Aye, sir, though even in the shadows I keep the Light close." He tipped his metaphorical hat and grinned at Antonio… who fit the description quite nicely. Tony, certainly a shortening of his name, and a traveling salesman who would go into Duskwood, perhaps as far as Raven Hill. "I'd like to see your stock, though perhaps in more shelter than here?"
"Yes, yes-a… a shelter back a-down the road, young rogue." He gestured and P-P followed him, horse in tow, down the road and further into the perpetual gloom that was Duskwood. The found a small shack, inside which Perelli set his goods up, his bag completely empty and the table completely full. P-P examined some sturdy-looking leather bracers, wondering if he could claim them on expenses, while his eyes flitted across the wares. Bits and bobs, some useful and most a little damp, but no scythe fragment.
"These, if you'd please- they're very well made," he gestured to the bracers. "Though not particularly pretty. So you sell any jewelry? I have a sweetheart…"
Perelli's eyes twinkled. "Not any more… there is-a not much call for pretty things in Duskwood no more, mister rogue. Once, a long time ago, I crafted the most beautiful amulet…" he said wistfully, his eyes faraway. "But I sold it."
"What kind of people would have to money to pay for something like that, in these times?" P-P wondered aloud, trying to keep the hidden question inferred. Perelli scratched his chin, dark with a couple of days' stubble.
"The father of a beautiful girl. They were-a on their way to-a settle in Stormwind… she saw it and he knew her heart would take nothing else." He frowned. "She is dead now, though."
"Oh…" he darkened his face. "Was it… natural?"
"She was a-murdered by her son, I think. Or daughter- I hear little news from Westfall now."
P-P furrowed his brows as a plethora of names sprung to mind- Defias who had murdered their parents, narrowed to Defias who had murdered their parents who had lived in Westfall… and a beautiful mother usually meant a beautiful daughter/ handsome son…
He was cut off from his chain of thought as lightning flashed from outside.
"The storms are-a getting-a worse, these days," Perelli mourned. "This-a winter is worse than all the winters I have-a had before."
"Bad things are coming, I guess." P-P shrugged, though a grin rose behind his eyes as he thought of the Defias Zeppelin. "Very bad things."
He handed over some silver for the bracers and wished the traveling trader farewell, his mind refusing to narrow the list down. He tried to concentrate, but only the rumbling storm and the harsh sheets of rain that drummed upon his shoulders filled his mind. Darkshire was closest, from here, but Lakeshire was safer. Anonymity was easier maintained there. He spurred his horse into a punishing canter and barely registered the change in scenery, on pausing once to consult a signpost. The guards by the Everstill Bridge were there, stalwart as always, but they saw he was human and let him by without questions, glum and soaking wet. The Inn in Lakeshire was warm and dry, and P-P paid his night's board quickly, not daring to shuck his heavy, water-saturated clothes for fear of being recognized. He had originally lived in Lakeshire until he was about thirteen, when raiding orcs had killed his parents. Destitute, he had fled to the Defias and become one of their youngest and most useful agents, due to his perpetually gangly, innocent and youthful demeanor that made most dismiss him as a threat.
As soon as he had reached the top of the stairs, he was alerted to a powerful presence. Darkness and guile, coming from a smallish room. He stealthed and snuck around the partially open door, trusting in his skills. Inside, a man merely stared straight through his invisibility and cocked an eyebrow. "Young rogue?"
"Sir," he left stealth, confused. "Who would you be?"
"That depends on who sent you here," he growled, but returned idly from where he was penning a letter on a small writing desk, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. "You stink of Westfall."
"I am sent merely by curiosity…" he tried to convey his feelings. "You… exude an aura…"
"Perceptive boy," he dipped his quill into the inkpot and signed the letter with a flourish. "I am Wiley."
"Wiley… the Black?" P-P's jaw dropped.
"The same, though now retired… all it appears I am useful for now is making sure that idiot Stoutmantle concentrates on the Deadmines as opposed to Camp RUTN or The Gulley."
P-P almost laughed. Poor, poor man, trapped in the Inn of Lakeshire. "Sir… Stoutmantle is dead, along with all others opposed to the Defias in Westfall. We own the state." Wiley dropped his quill and finally turned to face P-P, his one good eye wide.
"What?"
"We took Sentinel Hill and all the farmsteads. Westfall is ruled by the Defias."
"Pull the other one, it has bells on," Wiley snorted.
"No jokes, Sir." He affirmed, still quite dazed that he'd found Wiley the Black, Defias legend, at an Inn in Lakeshire purely out of co-incidence. "You can stop your undercover operation now."
"But…" he looked back at his desk, whereupon were stacked identical letters. "I've been doing it for five years, giving this false info to the peons Stoutmantle sends for my help…"
"There's a great deal more to be doing back in Westfall," P-P's eyes glinted. "So many projects you've missed… the Defias are no longer a small force, Sir."
Wiley nodded and sighed, again looking wistfully at his stack of envelopes. "I would quite like to see my son again… how is he?"
"Your son?" P-P asked. Wiley was by no means young, but he didn't seem like a family man. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with many people of the Defias, since I've been in Stormwind for a while."
"His name is Enides. Enides Farlcairn III." Wiley looked slightly embarrassed.
"Ah." P-P scratched the back of his neck. "Which would make you…"
"Yes. Don't say it. I'm just Wiley." He scowled. "Not like my father, the prick he was. He named my son, not I."
"Okay," P-P stopped snickering. "Tomorrow, then, will you be leaving back for Westfall?"
"I guess so," he thought deeply. "You're sure you don't know my son?"
"Positive…"
"Then he might be dead."
"Possibly."
Wiley chuckled slightly. "You're too honest."
"I've been serving Baros Alexton for the past couple of years, I'm allowed a little honesty."
"I suppose we should get some sleep, then, if you are to show me how great the Defias have become in my absence." Wiley smiled, and P-P immediately knew that he was not as nice as he appeared to be. Perhaps a triple agent, or something, but this man was not going to actively help the Defias. P-P considered it both his duty and hobby to act as the angel of death, and he had not had a great deal of killing to do in the last few years. Killing Wiley the Black, the traitor, was perhaps the most entertaining thing he'd get to do for a while. Until the zeppelin was completed, at least.
-
"Miss Ashcroft is looking awfy stiff ta'day." One of the maids said to Conyeri off-handedly while they were sweeping the courtyard at around sunset, after seeing Rebecca gingerly hobbling around. She had told the silly girl to rest, but she insisted on walking around the day after being stabbed. "Connor?"
"Hmm?"
"You ain't looking at Miss Ashcroft that-a-ways, are you?" the maid gave her sad eyes. Conyeri knew she was popular amongst the maidstaff, and that certainly irked her, especially since she was leaving Manor Ashcroft as soon as word came back from Dez that they had a safe place to stay. They had a plan all figured out.
"Of course not, she's way above my status." Conyeri told the maid, who brightened up and spent the rest of the morning eyeing her ass, which she found incredibly amusing. She didn't particularly enjoy being a boy, but it did have its moments.
She and Dez had concocted a plan. She was going to leave Manor Ashcroft on her food run, which was every two days, and never come back. They would arrange for a body suitably fitting her description to be found.
The body, of course, would have to be dead, the part that Conyeri didn't quite like. Yes, she wanted out. But she didn't think killing some poor unsuspecting boy to do it was particularly noble. Rebecca would be the only one who knew she actually survived.
Speaking of Rebecca…
"Connor," she managed, dumping herself on the nearest strategically placed bench. "Good morning."
"Good morning, Miss Ashcroft," he tipped her hat, going back to her sweeping. Rebecca was offended.
"Connor."
"Yes, Miss Ashcroft?" she asked, trying to convey a sense of 'we'll talk later' in the three words, but failing.
"Sit with me."
The maid, who was only a metre away, gasped softly and gave Rebecca a famous maidstaff glare, guaranteed to melt iron in any was present. Since being stabbed, however, Rebecca had begun thinking herself a bit tougher, and shrugged it off. Conyeri obliged, setting her broom against the wall. "Becca, not now, not in public."
She pouted. "But I'll probably see nothing of you ever again after you leave tomorrow."
"Wait, you know I'm leaving tomorrow?"
"You just told me." She smirked. "I guessed, Connor… sorry, Conyeri."
"Please, I really don't want to draw attention to myself," she pleaded, looking around the courtyard.
"Then tell me what you're doing. I want to know that you'll be safe."
"I'm a wanted criminal of Stormwind, a member of the Defias Brotherhood and a girl- and worgen- magnet. I'll never be safe." She said somewhat sarcastically.
"Girl I can understand, but worgen?"
"Long story."
"…Worgen are evil, Connor."
Conyeri cocked an eyebrow. "Not to me, they aren't. They like me. They snuggle with me."
"You're sure it wasn't just a dwarf woman?"
"Yes," she laughed a bit, trying to imagine that. "Though it might have been two standing one each other's shoulders."
"Alterac is very wary of worgen." She explained. "Silverpine is closer than we like, and worgen sometimes even hop the border and prey on our livestock."
She flexed comically. "Not after I've had a word with them."
"Why do you think that is, though? That worgen like you?"
She shrugged. "Animals like me. Worgen like me. Girls like me. I'm attractive like that."
"Seriously."
"I have no idea, honestly."
"You should look into it. It could be useful or dangerous, you never know." Rebecca's hand inched dangerously near hers and she shifted position.
"I don't really care, Becca. My head is filled with a sense of… waiting. For something, I don't know…" she struggled to explain it. "It's maddening, but things are slotting into place and I'm the middle piece, and I don't like it, but I don't want you of all people to end up as a corner piece of the puzzle. You or Cefflan or anyone here."
Rebecca smiled sadly. "You're taking genuine interest in my wellbeing?"
"No, I just-"
"Save it, Connor- and I'll probably keep calling you Connor- for somebody who doesn't know any-" She stopped suddenly and her face became a mess of confusion. "The wind changed."
"And?"
"It stinks of black magic." Rebecca turned around wildly as if expecting to see someone standing next to the bench. Conyeri sent feelers out with her senses, finding nothing that shouldn't be there. "Someone is here, someone who abuses magic… ugh, they smell horrible… like they've become a mixing bowl for all kinds of power…" She flopped back against the bench, looking whiter than usual.
"Is it… nor very nice, for a mage to smell that?"
"It's like… throwing every herb on Azeroth together into a pool of tar and stirring rotten eggs in. Overpoweringly nasty."
Conyeri's stomach settled somewhere near her ankles. "Marisa is paying me a visit."
"Mar- oh, your 'mage-friend'." Rebecca's face went from disgusted to angry to pitiful and back to jealous mixed with indignation, all in a split second. "If I were stupid, I'd say that I'd fight her… but she's so strong. And practices black magic."
"I wouldn't let you, even if you wanted to."
"Ever the knight in shining armour, Connor." Rebecca smiled a bit, but her face quickly became sullen. "My mother and brother will notice this as soon as they step outside."
Conyeri's heart began to race and her mind started working on overdrive, metaphorical cogs spinning around wildly. She had very little chance of besting Marisa in battle, considering she could do practically no magic and her fighting skills were nowhere near as good as hers… but against four people, Marisa would have a harder time. But they would not fight her, she remembered- she was their senior officer within the Defias. She looked at Rebecca and remembered her getting tired from doing tricks for an hour, and how weak her frostbolts had been. She stood even less chance.
Making a split second decision, she grabbed Rebecca's wrist and started sprinting off the estate, stopping at the stables to grab the Thane. She rode him without a saddle, Rebecca clinging onto her waist in bewilderment. They rode north until they passed the Alterac boundary into Silverpine.
"Connor!" Rebecca cried from behind her. "Why are we going here?"
"Worgen like me. They'll fight for me." By the gods, she hoped she was right. They rode along the path until a howling from the thick wall of trees by the road broke the eerie silence. Conyeri dismounted and said a little to prayer to a nondescript deity that she could really do this. Through the tall trees she jogged, turning back occasionally to make sure that Rebecca was still puffing behind her. She had felt that Rebecca would be in danger from Marisa if she had left her, but she was unfit and more of a liability than an advantage right now.
They broke into a clearing and Conyeri was greeted by a pack, perhaps fifteen, of worgen, their white coats gleaming in the moonlight. They looked quite startled to see her, and turned from vicious hunters to children, wondering at a new toy. The Alpha, who had a black streak down his chest, bounded up to her. She stroked his coat affectionately and he smiled (as much a worgen could smile) and howled softly.
Confident and mystified at the same time, Conyeri turned to the treeline and collected a panting Rebecca, claiming her as not for lacerating. The terrified girl gripped Conyeri's sleeve until she had to let go and allow the blood to return to her white knuckles. They were now waiting for Marisa, who would no doubt be traveling twice as fast as they had with magic of some sort. This was why she had brought Rebecca, to tell her about mages so she could properly plan a counter-attack.
Conyeri felt old, not in body, but she wasn't herself four months or so ago- perhaps it was five, she had no idea- she was different. Harder, more world-weary, more powerful. She wouldn't be the abused and innocent little girl that Marisa had taken advantage of all those times- she would survive, she would escape, she would throw everything she had at that demon of a woman and she'd be damned if she didn't.
Conyeri DeHayersae was no longer a child.
The worgen came up behind her, ears pinned to their heads as the scent of black magic became stronger, according to Rebecca, who had spurted everything she knew about magic in less that two minutes, an impressive feat. Conyeri was now comfortable with the worgen around her, and had conveyed to them a sense of what the plan was (or so she hoped).
The trees seemed to sag and the air darkened with Marisa's approach. Conyeri upped her sight and nearly tripped over the grass. The woman she remembered as looking in perfect control of herself to the public eyes had not had an easy time. Her disguise magic had failed, somehow, and her clothes were blackened. She strode with a slight limp, so she must have had some kind of mount. Conyeri gulped as she approached, thinking this was not just a woman with a petty control complex.
Eyes bloodshot from days without sleep stared listlessly at her, and a mouth with chapped lips smiled cruelly. There was a deep gouge on her exposed stomach, and her irises coruscated different characters, manic. Marisa Du'Paige had most likely succumbed to her insanity
"Hello, Cony." She greeted her with a jaunty wave. "You've caused me no end of trouble."
"That was partly the intention." She said hesitantly, giving Rebecca time to accurately profile her aura. A whisper in her ear confirmed her fears.
"She'd maxed out."
"Who's the new girl, Cony?" Marisa pouted. "You're going at it behind my back."
"She's a friend, Marisa. Of course, you have none, so it's beyond your understanding."
"You're mocking me because you're confident." She smiled and regarded Rebecca. "I'm prettier and more powerful. Oh, of course… the worgen fight for you."
"They do."
"Do you know why?" Marisa's eyes lit up a radiant yellow with glee. "You don't. I know you don't, and I do. How smart I am." She put her hand down her shirt and produced a small amulet, which Cony remembered as being pressed into the mold of clay that Marisa had sent her via Dez. It shone a disturbing silver in the moonlight, and the worgen behind Cony wailed, their eyes wild. "This is a pendant made from the last fragment of the Scythe of Elune, which brought the worgen into Azeroth. You've been sleeping next to it for seventeen years. I hold it in my hands. They listen to me."
The realization hit Conyeri like a two-handed mace in the stomach, which she had once experienced, making her jaw drop slightly. The Scythe of Elune?
"You don't like me." She said to the pendant, sighing. "You like Cony, because she's descended from night elves, and Elune is the night elf goddess, and you come from Elune." Conyeri felt the insanity on her, palpable. The thing had addled her mind, wanting to be free of a human. "You will. You'll do what I tell you because I can get you what you want."
She cradled the amulet, whispering to it quietly. Abruptly, the worgen behind Conyeri stopped being passive and sprang into action. She barreled out of the way of the leader and onto Rebecca, stopped her from being taken down. Marisa shouted at them angrily, telling them not to attack Cony. They could have Rebecca, but not Cony, so she lay on top of the girl, preventing them from getting to her.
"Come back with me, Cony. We'll have such fun in Stormwind. And you…" she lost her balance suddenly and plummeted to the ground, grunting softly. "You could do it. You could summon them through the scythe fragment. We could destroy Stormwind. The whole Alliance, make our oppressors taste their own medicine."
"Why would I?" she spat, conscious of Rebecca trembling beneath her, tighter than one of Marzy's smiles. "I have few bones to pick with them."
"That is not the question." Marisa grinned, getting shakily back to her feet. "You will do it, whether or not you want to. This is too good to miss. I've been waiting for this ever since I killed the fat noble at the gates, ten years ago." She threw her arms out wide, eyes fervent and mad. The worgen howled with her. "We're going to raze Stormwind to the ground, Cony! You and me, we will. We'll sit back and watch as our enemies are devoured, piece by piece, until there's nothing of import left!" she turned to purr to the scythe fragment. "Isn't that right?"
"Connor," Rebecca breathed from underneath her, her voice strained. "Do something…"
"I can't, she has the amulet thing. The worgen obey her."
"Then pull your dagger out and do what you did to that man last night!" Rebecca implored her; eyes fixed on the drooling worgen not a metre away.
"She's a lot better at swordcraft than him, as well as a mage- I'd not stand a chance." Conyeri racked her brains for something to do. "I can't think of anything."
"You're giving in?"
"Perhaps I could kill myself, or you could kill me. Here, now, so she can't summon the worgen using me. That would only prevent it for a while, until she finds another night elf who can wield the scythe thing."
"No!" Rebecca said immediately. "No suicide."
"Then what would you suggest?" she asked irritably as Marisa was absorbed in stroking the amulet, eyelids heavy. "We can't outrun the worgen, and whatever she came on. The horses are on the road, and the road is through Marisa. We can't kill Marisa, thus we cannot reach the horses."
"There has to be something…" Rebecca thought desperately. "I could… I could make a portal…"
"One that works?"
"It might take us anywhere in the world…"
"Even the middle of the ocean would be better than here," Conyeri kept glancing around, making sure nobody was about to attack them. "How quickly can you make it?"
"Maybe… two minutes?"
"Start now."
Rebecca obliged and started muttering, her brow beaded with sweat. Her hands shook as she drew little runes in the air, absorbed in spellcasting. Marisa's head snapped around to look at her, eyes narrowed. Gods, Conyeri thought, they were dead or worse.
"A portal?" she asked incredulously. "Cony, do you give me that little credit?"
"Desperate times." She returned. Inexplicably, she felt a physical tug on her from Marisa, or perhaps the amulet. She dug her fingers into the earth to prevent her rolling off Rebecca and leaving her for worgen-fodder. "Marisa, please. Think for yourself, not for that thing."
"My wish is to destroy Stormwind. The scythe's wish is to bring the worgen into Azeroth. We're doing a deal."
"One it will break, you know better than that! You'll be their first meal."
"No. I have it carefully planned out." Conyeri was tugged again. "And all I need," tug, "is a little help," harder tug, "from you!"
At last her meager anchorage came free and Conyeri could only just cling to Rebecca's dress before she magically leapt the eight or so metres to Marisa's feat. The worgen lunged but stopped at the last minute as Conyeri recovered.
This is not how it will end! Conyeri thought, gripping at Rebecca's sleeve as Marisa crouched down to look at her, so close they were almost nose-to-nose. She wished Geylan was here, and Dez and Harrman. Or and Jack, or Alt, or just anyone who cared about her, not a pack of worgen and a girl who she'd practically used and was about to get killed. Marisa's eyes, now their normal green, were uncharacteristically worried. "Cony…"
Conyeri spat in her face and scowled at her, wanting to show defiance before she lost her battle. Rebecca, under her, was still chanting, and around her, on the floor, a faint rim of purple was beginning to show. She felt better, thinking that actually, the portal was working.
With a last, gasped word, they fell through the portal, leaving Silverpine behind, landing hard on something wooden. Marisa looked down through the portal at them and grinned one last time before the window in space and time closed.
"Rebecca," Conyeri said finally, after what seemed like several years of silence. "There are not words to describe how awesome you are."
"Thanks," she said softly. "But I'd like to know where we are before you say that." Conyeri hopped off her and offered her a hand, which she took and stood, a little shaky. The floorboards were wooden, and the walls of the room were an odd metallic material, and rounded, which worried Cony. There was a single door, which they took with trepidation, peeking around. Conyeri saw goblins, lots of them, and felt relieved. She could handle goblins. They walked out into open air and found that they really were in open air- in the air, with no ground. They were above the ground. They were flying.
Conyeri seemed nothing notable to the goblins that pushed her out of the way as they carried bags of spare parts or complicated blueprints around, conversing in whatever language goblins spoke.
"We're in the air, Connor," Rebecca said, clutching her hand out of nothing but fright. "I've never been above the ground before."
"Me neither." She admitted, thinking to look over the edge and find out where they were. She was shocked to see Westfall below, reddish and yellowy, the fields filled with black specs. From a door further along the side of the ship walked two men, wearing red bandanas. Conyeri immediately lost all of the relief she had. They were on some sort of Defias zeppelin.
"Take this," she dug around in her pockets, taking out her original Defias bandana, which she had kept for purely practical reasons, say if she needed to pass through a group of them or something. From her back pocket, she pulled, with dismay, the one that Marisa had sent her, along with the mold. She turned it inside out and tied it deftly, helping Rebecca with hers. Though, in her dress, she didn't look the part, so she ducked into a room marked storage and rummaged around in some crates until she found some trousers. No shirts, so she lent her waistcoat to Rebecca. She looked quite like a pirate, Conyeri thought, in trousers far too large and nothing but a vest and a waistcoat, but it was better than fine lace and frills.
They walked outside and Conyeri was very conscious of the constant danger she faced just being here. This was a Defias boat. They needed to find a way off, and then… then, she could go to her house. Her old house, where nobody would think of bothering to look, and she would think of what to do next. How she wished she had Harrman's skill at planning and Geylan's foresight, or Dez's kind comments. From around the corner came a man, or a boy, looking troubled. He regarded the two of them and seemed to recognize Conyeri, but didn't cry out.
"Conyeri DeHayersae," he greeted her. "Baros would be livid."
"Uh," she wasn't sure what to do. "Good… evening?"
He regarded her with some interest. "I was present when he signed your death warrant, you know. He really hates your guts- though I haven't had the honour of meeting you in person." He held out a hand. "Patrick Darkleigh, affectionately referred to as P-P for most of my life, because Baros Alexton is an ass."
"Nice to meet you." She shook his hand. He'd been in Stormwind, then, which was why he didn't know she'd run away. She looked at him, and then something seemed to click in his head.
"You! It's you… the scythe fragment!"
Behind her, Rebecca hiccupped at the very mention of the artifact. "How do you…?"
"Have you got it? Gods, please say you have, or I'll go insane!"
"No, I don't. I did sleep with it for seventeen years, though." She felt nothing wrong with telling this boy about it. She didn't care, she just needed to hurry up the conversation and get off the zeppelin. "Marisa has it."
"Marisa Du'Paige?" his jaw dropped. "And where is she?"
"Stark raving mad and somewhere in Silverpine, where we left her." She replied dryly. "The amulet- scythe thing- drove her insane. She wants to summon a giant army of worgen and set them on Stormwind."
"That was kind of what we wanted to her to do," he said. "We're going to invade Stormwind. Well, we're going to try, anyway, now that the zeppelin is complete. These goblins, I tell you… it's only been a month and the thing is sky-worthy. Amazing."
"Ah." Conyeri said blankly "Stormwind takeover."
"Why don't you sound so happy?"
"I haven't been back here recently," she lied. "Didn't think things would… progress so fast."
"I honestly don't know how they did it… I'm guessing you only just got the message that all hearthstones had been reset to return to the zeppelin?"
Cony's mouth went dry. Hearthstones? She didn't own one, as she never trained in a class, and had no need to go anywhere but around Westfall.
"Shit."
"What is it?" Rebecca spoke for the first time, a mere whisper in here ear.
"Marisa will have a hearthstone, and it'll be set here." She panicked. "We have to get off the boat- zeppelin- thing."
P-P, or Patrick, smiled in a knowing way. "Miss Du'Paige was always… tenacious. I grew up with her, though there is a three-year age gap. Never one to let correctness stop her, eh?"
P-P was thinking that Marisa was still after her like she had been when Cony had first joined the Defias. She still was, of course, but now… now she had an ancient night elf artifact, limited sanity and Cony was the only person she knew who could properly use it. She would be here at any moment. "Uh, Patrick, we have to get going."
"Right you are, Miss." He saluted her. Why? She was still a trainee. Then, she realized it was her bandana, visibly shining slightly with the magical properties of mageweave. Bandana material was used as the first indicator for rank in the Defias, and wearing this, she was pretty much the top dog. He walked past her and fleetingly glanced at Rebecca, who had the uncanny ability to cease existing when Conyeri was in front of her. The night was cold and she was wearing very little, and Conyeri could see her shivering slightly, and decided that they needed to get off the ship and somewhere warm, fast. A smile formed on her lips and she started walking, her new plan amusing her.
That was, of course, until she found a small transporter of goblin engineering. The goblin told her it was currently out of use and that there were more than enough supplies on board for her to stay until it was fixed. Jumping off was not an option, and Marisa would be on board soon. Frantic, she descended into the bowels of the ship, looking for somewhere to hide out. She found, instead, Isobella, reading a dog-eared book and drinking a cup of tea.
"Conyeri?" she asked incredulously, standing up. "What the hell-" A hand over her mouth stopped her loud questions.
"Shut up." Conyeri warned. "Nobody can know I'm here, understood?" with one hand over the girl's mouth, she pulled her dagger out and held it to her throat. "Talk, and I cut." She released the girl's mouth but kept her hold, the dagger glinting mercilessly in the lantern-light. "Tell me where the hearthstones return people to."
Isobella remained silent. "You can talk, duh, but quietly."
"They go to about… three metres left of where we're standing now." She said. "Why-"
Conyeri swore and turned to the left, where, on time, Marisa was returning to the zeppelin. "Rebecca, behind me again, please."
She obliged, and still holding Isobella at dagger-point, Conyeri faced Marisa as she returned, her face a vision of smugness. "I see you again, so soon? What a coincidence that your portal happened to bring you here!"
Rebecca groaned behind her and cursed her inadequacy. Conyeri had bigger problems. "Marisa, I don't want to destroy Stormwind."
"Want is such a… useless word. You either get or you don't, and you'll never get if you just want things." She sighed and Isobella vanished and re-appeared out of Cony's grip, crashing into a hammock. "Since we have no worgen here, the girl behind you can live."
"Damn straight."
"Not quite so." Marisa smiled and Conyeri felt as though her body was being turned inside out. The world faded and within a second reappeared, but different. They were on an upper deck of the zeppelin, devoid of goblins. Around the edges, purple magic sprang up, a barrier, stopping Conyeri from escaping. "Now, we'll have fun."
Conyeri ducked a frostbolt designed to keep her in place and gripped her dagger, springing onto Marisa, who let her push her down easily. Why wasn;t she fighting back?
The answer soon hit Conyeri hard- the scythe fragment wanted its new, more able owner. It had come free of Marisa's shirt and lay there, on her rising and falling chest, glowing in the natural light. Conyeri dragged her eyes from it, but they were pulled there again. She wanted to touch it, to let it do what it wanted… what did she really care for Stormwind, anyway? Let it be destroyed. The worgen wouldn't kill her- she would be their queen, their ruler.
Marisa smirked. "Touch it. You want to, so you can. Get, don't want." Conyeri growled and tried to move, but the sheer power in that thing was forcing her down, further and further. "Our positions are reversed."
"I'm not going to." She said, to convince herself. It didn't work. "I'm not going to. I don't want, and I won't get. I'm not…"
"Not what?" Marisa asked slyly. "You're a murderer, you're a cheat, and you're a liar. Your good and evil are all mixed up, but you don't get, like I do. You want, and you torment yourself with it."
"Untrue."
"See? You lie, even to yourself. You like the Defias, you like power. You liked it when you could use your power to save that girl from the worgen, and you liked it when you took Isobella hostage. You liked flirting with the gossiping girls in Stormwind- they spoke very fondly to me of you." Her voice was reasonable. "Face yourself, Conyeri DeHayersae, you're as bad as me."
"Fuck you!" she screamed, the swearword now not so foreign on her tongue. "I didn't get to choose!"
"You chose to kill Sarah Saldean, you chose to kill Nightly. You chose to flirt and now, you're choosing to try and kill me. There is no such thing as not being able to choose."
Cony looked at her, suddenly fearful. Marisa would lie, Marisa would cheat- and Marisa would certainly murder innocents. Marisa would flirt. Marisa could choose. A pain, something otherworldly, rippled around her as the scythe fragment began to get annoyed at her resolve.
"I had hoped it would not come to this," Marisa sighed, and the world sighed with her. Disappointment filled the air, and Conyeri felt embarrassed, even though she knew it was merely a play of her emotions, black magery. "I invoke the right of magical possession."
"The what?"
"You're property of Marisa Du'Paige, remember?" she said, smug, he hand stroking the mageweave bandana gently. "You chose to put that on. If you're wearing something that clearly states possession… I can invoke the right."
Conyeri's eyes widened as she fumbled for the knot at the back of the bandana. She cursed Marzy's lessons as she tried to remember how to quickly undo the secure knot. Marisa laughed as her freezing fingers failed, time and time again, to pull the thing free.
"Cony, would you stand up for me?" she asked. Conyeri stood up. It wasn't like being possessed or compelled to do something, like the scythe fragment had… it was like she wanted to do it. She had given away her own wishes and now wanted only to fulfill Marisa's. There was no despair in her, no anger at her foolishness, because Marisa did not feel these things. "Take the fragment."
The metal was hot in her cold hands, and as soon as she grasped it, power thundered through her, her weak night elf blood rejoicing as it sung for Elune, fulfilling what it thought was her wish, but was really the twisted worgen's. The object itself disappeared from her hand, relinquishing its fragile physical form and taking Conyeri as its host. She, however, felt no different, because Marisa felt no different.
"I revoke the right of magical possession."
Then she felt violently sick. Throwing up repeatedly, Conyeri fell to the deck and groaned. She felt… odd. Not quite… real.
"Good morning, sunshine." Marisa crouched down and patted her patronizingly on the shoulder. "I wished you'd taken it yourself. I'd have felt a great deal more satisfied… but now that I'm not holding that thing, I feel a great deal clearer. Though I probably don't look it… my, it's been a wild ride."
Conyeri just looked at her. Here she was, making banter, after what had just happened. Perhaps she had finally lost all her sanity.
"I can invoke that right of possession whenever you're wearing that, you know. And you can't take it off because it's enchanted. You thought you'd win; you thought you were your own person, that you had the resolve to be 'good'. Why make yourself? You're rotten at the core, Cony, but you torture yourself to fit the stereotype you grew up in. Your father was bad, and as are you. Insanity may run in my family, but evil runs in yours. How does it feel?"
Conyeri slapped her. Marisa touched her cheek and laughed gleefully, standing up and letting the magical shield fall. Wind buffeted them, freezing cold and damp, in the barrier's absence, but neither was particularly bothered. Conyeri stood up, finding something slightly off about everything she did. It was disconcerting, like she had been seeing everything in one shade and it had been tweaked a bit. The feeling conspired to make her throw up again, but she swallowed the bile, looking at Marisa. "You own me."
"Yes." She blinked a couple of times as her hair flew into her eyes. Marisa quickly charmed the sick off the bandana, cleaning it in a mere instant. "And I'd much prefer if, when the time comes, you'd call the worgen down yourself."
"I don't have a choice."
"You do! I just said all this! Dear gods, are you deaf? There is always a choice. You always make the selfish one. You could kill yourself and stop everything, but you constantly let yourself be used. It's just how you're made."
Conyeri glared at her and looked at the sky. The zeppelin was over Westfall now, but she knew soon it would cast a giant shadow over Stormwind. And then, everyone would die. What most upset her was that she'd be the one to make it happen. It was something she supposed, glumly, that she'd have to accept. After all, running never works. She'd built up a glut of shit that was supposed to be happening to her, and now it was falling down on her, crashing like spring tides on the rocks. A part of her, the part that was Connor the groom, the handsome, flirty boy, the charismatic girl that had first made friends with Geylan, then with Dez and Harrman and Jack and Rebecca and Cefflan… that part wanted to rebel against the fragment, her fate, the inescapable cycle of degeneration and evil that she had apparently been born into.
Perhaps that was why her father had moved to Westfall. There, she could have lived out her life never knowing any of this, never having to confront herself or the part that was not charismatic or generous, that Marisa had said came from Harrigan. The little things that added up. She accepted it, then and there, hundreds of metres above Westfall, where she had once lived in peace. Somehow, somewhere along the line, she had gone wrong. She had made the wrong choices and was paying for it. She was not Conyeri, a smiling child, innocent and naturally good. She had been born to do despicable things, and now she was, as was pre-ordained, doing them. She was killing, hurting people, about to try and wipe out the capital city.
She began to cry.
-
"Well, I'm going. I don't care what you say."
"Shaw, please-"
Geylan took his hearthstone out and glanced at Dez threateningly. "It's all gone wrong now, Dez. I felt it. Something's changed, and I have to go back. She's back there and she's in trouble."
"Shaw…"
Geylan activated his hearthstone and felt himself be pulled through the air, in split seconds, giddily returning to the zeppelin. If Harrman and Dez wanted, they could follow him. They had hearthstones, and, he presumed, consciences. When Dez had told him about Cony… how angry he'd been. He'd slashed his bed and the walls and shouted and screamed at him, and now he was doing something more productive. They had known Marisa was here, and they had known when she and Cony had left.
He found his feet and looked around. Isobella was back to reading her book, a small bandage over her temple. She glanced up at him and saluted before returning to her reading.
The zeppelin wasn't so busy now that night was in its middle, so he had no trouble maneuvering around. He could not find Cony, but he knew she was here. After a while, he decided to go to Marisa's quarters, assuming the worst. It was empty. Next, the refectory. Empty, except for a couple of older Defias with cups of cocoa and wooly hats on, talking in low voices. He didn't like this.
His search eventually brought him to the top deck, where he found her, curled up in a blanketed ball, sobbing. Next to her sat Marisa, who was crooning to her, tucking her wet hair behind her ears and holding her close. Conyeri didn't seem to care; he eyes were glassy and vacant, as though she had given up on seeing things. She still wore a bandana, though Marisa had turned around the right way, her ownership proudly displayed.
"Evening, Master Shaw," she greeted him, but softly, not filled with malice. "What brings you back so early?" he gestured to Conyeri, and Marisa, who has suspected such, merely nodded and stood up. "Baby-sit for me, would you? I haven't eaten yet and the other girl is still somewhere around."
"Oh-okay…" Why on earth was Marisa Du'Paige being reasonable? Allowing him to be with Conyeri. He shivered, thinking that she must have already done something so massive as to even incur a little guilt, and emotion that Marisa never felt, so that had to be something big. As she left, he sat down beside her. She didn't register his presence, just cried and stared in front of her, shivering occasionally.
"Cony…" he sighed and put an arm around her. "It's so long since I've properly talked to you last- maybe a month, but it seems so much longer…" he took in a big breath of cold air. "I gather things down your street aren't so good?"
No answer. Geylan sighed. "I hate Marisa. She's… everything you're not. She doesn't deserve to even know you, let alone be all over you. She just fucks you up and expects you to deal with it…
"You're seventeen years old. I'm twenty. Harrman is… I don't know, maybe between the two. Dez is twenty-seven. Marisa is twenty-four. Why am I listing our ages… oh, we're just so young, and I feel ancient. My youth is a far memory. I hardly had one, training to be a rogue so hard to please my father, but when I think of what, in ten years, you'll remember about your childhood… Gods, no, I mustn't cry."
She seemed to hear him, but her face moved without her eyes, that remained passive. She looked nice, well fed and strong, her skin had a healthy glow, but nevertheless, Geylan got the impression that something inside her had died. A spirit, her flame of life, had finally burnt out, leaving her a jumble of negativity and doubts. "Cony… you know we all love you, right? Me, Dez, Harrman… We'll stick by you. Whatever she did, we'll never hate you… to us you're important."
He moved so he was staring directly into her eyes. "You're important to me, Cony."
She cried harder, and he shushed her, letting the broken girl bask in his warmth, his spirit, holding her close until the sky became light and she stopped weeping, her breathing rhythmic and deep, fast asleep. He thought to himself that she must feel horrible, but she looked beautiful in the light of dawn, like a sleeping angel.
The ship began to get busier as the day wore on, but they didn't move, even when Geylan knew Conyeri had woken up and was just enjoying not having to run away from anything. At around midday, she stirred from under his arm, and looked at him. Her deep, brown eyes weren't glassy, but scarred, filled with unimaginable horrors.
"Geylan…" she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder. "I-"
"Shhh." He silenced her. "Don't talk. Don't tell me about it; don't make excuses for anyone's behavior. Don't think about anything. Just… exist."
"I can't, Geylan. It's too big… I…" she hiccupped. "Thank you."
"Any time. It's so good to see you, I can't express it in words."
"Same."
Silence.
Goblins looked at the two of them occasionally, but for the most part, they were left alone, without need for words. It was a cold day, but they were warm. The wind was harsh, but they were sheltered. They had not eaten, but they were full, simply content in each other's presence.
It was of course ruined by Marisa, who came in carrying an unconscious Rebecca, bridal-style, and dumped her unceremoniously next to them. "Tried to kill herself."
"What?" Geylan asked, confused. "Whose is she?"
"Cony's plus-one." Marisa looked at his face and saw the fleeting jealously. Men were never perfect (unlike her). "Luckily, Isobella knew some technique thing. She'll live."
Conyeri looked at Rebecca and moved out of Geylan's protection, feeling cold and miserable, her little sanctuary broken. She sat by Rebecca and felt her heartbeat, slow and rhythmic, as she recovered. Marisa left, obviously not interested in the emotion.
"How did you come to know her?" Geylan asked, moving beside her.
"I was employed by her family as a stableboy. She was friendly to me, and because of it, she ended up like this…" Conyeri sniffed, holding back tears again. "And now…"
"Are you…?" he let the question go unasked, but she knew anyway.
"She wanted it… she thought I was a boy, but when she found out I wasn't… I guess she still does."
"Do you want it?"
"I don't know," she answered honestly. "I don't know which of my emotions are mine, or lies, from the fragment." She shivered. "It's horrible, Geylan."
"The fragment?" he asked, so she told him her story, from start to finish, leaving nothing out. Rebecca would wake up when her time came, and meanwhile, they had some catching up to do anyway. His face went from confused to distressed, all the way to amused and back to murderously angry.
"And I thought I'd had it bad," he said afterwards. "I think Dez and Harr are on their way, though. They wouldn't stay in Southshore long."
"But… what is going to happen? We're going to invade Stormwind… the fragment makes me want to, and me doesn't want to. Marisa owns me… she'll make me do it… I just…"
"In the end, everything will… even out. Somehow."
"You're not very good a reassurances." She smiled minimally, brushing some of Rebecca's auburn hair from her mouth. "She was good to me, Geylan. All I did was hurt her."
"That's life for you." He wanted to ask a question he knew was vastly inappropriate in the current circumstances, and though most of his brain told him not to, curiosity got the better of him. "Did you and her…?"
"What?" he gestured and her face went red with embarrassment. "No, Geylan! We kissed, once!"
"Sorry… I just wondered."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did you wonder?" she asked him, perplexed. "Why do you care whom I kiss?"
"I…" he went pink. "Cony, I know what Marisa did to you… I don't know. I just wondered if you were ready."
Conyeri smiled sadly and looked at the clear sky. The breeze, however, told her that a storm was coming. A big storm, like the one that had frightened Rebecca in Thesalmar, but worse, a storm that would shake the foundations of Stormwind castle. "I am, Geylan. I know it sounds odd, but… after yesterday, I'm not scared any more. I want to live outside Marisa's shadow, not constantly stop myself from doing things I want to do purely because I think she wouldn't like me to do it."
"She owns you."
"She owns me, but only when she wants. I can't help that… I'm stupid. But I'm going to live, not just exist."
"Tha's pretty deep shit, Miss DeHayerrrsay." Cony flung her arms around Dez's beefy shoulders as he reached them, happy to see him again. Harrman was a bit too frail for a full flinging, but he hugged her warmly all the same. Seeing them brought tears to her eyes; the gang was together again. Then, she saw that the man from yesterday, P-P, was with them. He meekly greeted them.
"Oh, Dez, Harr, I thought you might not come!" Geylan hopped over Rebecca's comatose form and also hugged the both of them. Friendship was palpable in the air.
"Dez?" P-P asked, remembering something. "What is that short for?"
"Nuthin'." Dez said rather quickly. P-P noticed this and smiled.
"You wouldn't happen to be Enides Farlcairn III, would you?"
"Whut?" Dez roared, his bald head going the same colour as Cony's bandana. "How did ye find that out?"
"Your father."
"Oh, dad. He'll be in big trouble next I see 'im."
"He's dead." P-P said, guilt pushed out of his voice. "I spoke with him the night before he was assassinated."
"Oh." Dez subdued, playing with the silver ring on his finger. "Well, people don' live forever, an' he had a good run, considerin' 'is job."
"You're not upset?" P-P asked incredulously.
"I'd rather honour his memory than mourn his loss. A person's life is better remembered that way." Dez smiled at P-P who shrugged and slinked off, uncomfortable with not being part of the tight friendship group.
"Enides Farlcairn III?" Harrman asked, very, very slowly, a huge smile spreading across his face. Dez groaned and nodded, causing Harrman to explode into hoots of laughter, and they all ended up snickering at the silly name.
"Tha' 'minds me- since dad's dead, I got me a shitload of inheritance."
"You're rich?" Geylan asked. "I've never heard of the Farlcairn family."
"Lakeshire nobles. Me dad went bad, so did I, but we got our old money saved, see? Tho' the Stormwind moneygrubbers will take somethin' like forty per-bloody-cent if I want it legally."
"Then take it illegally, duh." Harrman rolled his eyes. "Have we all forgotten we're Defias?"
"When ye grow up, Harr, yeh'll find that not everything works our 'ow ye want ter." Dez patted his head, and then ruffled his hair. Harrman indignantly started shouting at him, and Cony and Geylan left them to playfully fight it out on the deck.
Rebecca woke up at sunset, the first thing she saw being Cony and Geylan leaning over her, looking bored. Once Cony noticed she was up, her face quickly became disapproving. Rebecca groaned and sat up, accepting the blanket that was offered to her, as it was cold and she was still not wearing very much, a fact that Harrman had quickly noticed.
"Conyeri is not happy," Cony said in the third person. "Becca, really, suicide?"
"I thought she was going to kill you," Rebecca replied sheepishly. "And then they'd find me and… I was desperate."
"Still…"
"Cony, you can't really talk," Geylan scolded her. Rebecca looked at him, confused. "She doesn't know who I am, Cony."
"This is Geylan… Mathias Shaw's son."
Rebecca regarded him and then Cony, shrugging and holding out a hand, which he took and shook gently. There was an immediate tension between the two and Conyeri cursed herself. She realized that she'd become the object of affection to a group of rather dangerous people. An insane, addiction-addled Defias leader, a trained assassin, and a trainee mage with less tact in her body than blood elves had testosterone. She sighed to herself and thanked the powers that be, instead of complaining, that at least some people loved her. She was, honestly, cursed with a shitty life but blessed with excellent friends to live it with.
Hurry up.
She ignored the fragment's demands. They had been plaguing her all day, also when she slept. And she definitely understood how Marisa had been driven insane. The fragment was demanding, constantly badgering her in a deep, booming voice, blocking out other conversation. She stretched and realized she was rather hungry.
"Let's get something to eat. You haven't eaten anything made by Cookie yet, Becca- it'll make the chocolate butterbuns from the Gilded Rose seem like stale bread."
"I don't mind, the company is good, anything would be wonderful."
Conyeri groaned again, but was glad that she was distracted. With the fragment constantly telling her to summon the worgen and destroy Stormwind, and with Marisa waiting to make her do just that, she was glad. Glad that, for once, she was back to the good days, like when Marisa had been away on business. Like carnie.
However, Marisa was here. The fragment was demanding, and the invasion of Stormwind was impending. She couldn't stop it, short of killing herself. And she didn't want to. She had Geylan and Rebecca and Dez and Harrman, and she wouldn't do that to them. They'd survive; they'd live through it.
Hurry up, Conyeri DeHayersae.
-
A/N W00t! Lots happened. Some nice firendshippy scenes. Some plot. I didn't originally plan for it to go this fast, but w/e.
BTW, everyone knows about the expansion cataclysm, rite? Well, how psychic was I that I had the worgen in this, and as good guys? Also, weird thing. In one of my songs on my YT (I write shitty WoW parodies. Well, mostly shitty), called 'A Song for Outland', there is one line that goes:
"Blizzard, in their infinite wisdom, caused a Cataclysm."
OMG. I wrote that even before WotLK was released. How weird is that, that I guessed the name of the expansion?
And I'm totally making a worgen called Tavalan or Talavan (cant remember, not bothered to scroll up) , first thing. Look them up, THEYRE ALLY! W00t, we get the cool race, horde get shitty goblins~!
Ok, OMGness over.
~Emmy