Straydog Saga
Flea 21: Don't Answer Me…
"Pass me another bit of bear meat will you?" Shandori softly spoke in the chilly night air. The rogue who shared the small fallen log for a seat complied. The pair sat just behind a modest and private winter home nestled deep in the northern mountains of Winterspring, tending to a large bonfire and a thirst best quenched with aged malt wine. Though the sound of the occasional saber making night meal of some poor creature occasionally came from the snowy trees, nothing specifically hunting them seemed to emerge. Christoffel tossed another crisp piece of wood on the bonfire and impaled a small hunk of bear meat on a long stick before passing it to Shandori who took a long swig from her wine bottle. He and Shandori held their dinner to the licking flames as juice began dripping onto the heated wood with a sizzling hiss.
"Smells great." Christoffel spoke while inhaling the aroma of cooking meat and burning wood.
"Glad to see you've got your appetite back."
"It never left. I just gagged on those horrible bowls of wood shaving-paste you call porridge." Christoffel softly laughed, pulling his loaned coat closer around his neck with one hand and holding his food over the fire with the other.
"So what now?" Shandori asked with a sniffle from the smoke. Christoffel reached for his own large bottle of red wine before replying.
"What do you mean?"
"We're in the shit is what I mean. We can't hide here forever with these people. What do you think we should do?" Shandori mused, slowly turning the bear meat laden stick in the flames. Chris gave a small smirk.
"What's all this 'we' stuff. I think the sentinels would be able to get over their prejudices just this once if it meant justice was done. I wonder how much I'd make if I turned in your purple ass." He looked to Shandori with a devious gaze before taking a large gulp of bitter wine causing a sour grimace to spread over his temporarily stained teeth.
"Oh Please, this from the guy who gets stabbed in the chest by his crazy stalker ex- girlfriend then nearly melts. You'd be a puddle of ooze without me carting your ass around…who WAS that crazy zombie elf anyway?" Her amused looked turned to one of concern as a small smile still lingered on Christoffel's lips but his eyes gazed at the bonfire with more than just flame within.
"She wasn't my ex-anything really. Just someone I had history with. A piece of work but you took care of her, or so I hear." Christoffel shrugged and pulled his semi-charred meal from its place in the fire. He let it hang in the air allowing the heat from its surface to climb to the star-dotted sky.
"Well I'm glad she ended up being the greasy smear on the landscape and not you. I mean if you weren't around I'd have to deal with all these crazies myself." She said, motioning to F-bomb's winter home.
"Yes well, as crazy as they are YOU are the one responsible for collecting them. Some debts you should just let go." He shook his head, poking the cooked food to see if it was cool enough to eat. "But at least they've been more than helpful and we'll be loosing a few of them soon I'd imagine. Ima has her plant and once she gets the seeds from it she'll be able to restore her gnome appearance and go back to school. F-Bomb is home for all intensive purposes. I'm sure we could shake the others if we really needed to."
"Yeah, especially since the latest edition to our little traveling circus showed up. I thought what's her name was supposed to go to town to meet up with her brother or something. Why the hell is she staying here?" Shandori snorted, pulling her own meal from the flames and holding it close to the snow. When the group arrived at F-bomb's winter home they found an extra addition happily marveling at F-bomb's old gem-cutting projects. The young draenei girl, who called herself 'Pashima', seemed pleasant enough, but overly childish in her mannerisms for a teenager. Her tone of voice was similar to a nail being driven into Shandori's ear and the warrior did not seem to have the years of female drown-out conditioning that Christoffel developed in his time with the night elf. Still, Ima seemed grateful for the light hearted company of a non- criminal and fellow young woman. The pair seemed to quickly forge a friendship of giggles and gossipy stories. While the rest of the group was content to dine on stores of beans and broiled meats, Christoffel and Shandori found the mountain air more comfortable after spending several days cooped up in a musky hospital.
"I don't know it's not really important at this point. We should just lay low, use the house offered to us, and then bolt for Everlook when things settle a bit. We can probably pull the slave act again and hitch a ride on a wyvern if you don't trust the alliance flight service." Christoffel nodded taking a big bite of his savory supper.
"Money is running low though. We lost a bit when I got jailed and spent a lot on your hospital bills. I hate to say it but we may need to suck it up and take another job soon." Shandori said, moving to take a bite of her meal, only to realize it was still too hot to chew. She opened her mouth, moving the bite of food and attempting to blow on it before continuing to eat.
"Well Everlook would be a good place to look for one if, you know, we don't get ram rodded by a bunch of sentinels. Are you ok?" Christoffel asked with a raised eyebrow at the warrior furiously waving her hand in front of her mouth. When the bit of food within was finally cool enough to work with, she finished chewing and swallowed.
"Y-Yeah. It was still hot. The sentinels know we're in the area and I guess they assume we're hiding out in Everlook but the good thing is the bitches don't know what Meryld looks like at least. She could head into town and get us some leads."
"I don't know. The bounty on your head is damn high; looking for work might not be doable at this point." Christoffel sighed.
"Well how else are we going to make money? It's not like I can just build a forge somewhere and just hammer out plate pieces without having to travel for materials and getting some attention."
"I…don't know." He sighed. The pair sat there in silence for a moment as the sounds of the night seemed more than happy to fill the auditory space. Shandori looked to the blinking stars, somewhat obscured by the small but illuminating fire, eyes not focused at any one in particular. She took a cooler bite of her dinner and idly chewed.
"We'll get by, we always seem to." Shandori shrugged, mind rolling over the events of the last few months as she took another swig of wine. The espionage, the slaughter of centaurs, fights against magical foes, and escaping a night elf prison would have seemed like interesting tales to tell little village children, had they not been so fresh in her mind and so dastardly in nature. The pair seemed content to let the conversation drop with the temperature. Just as the final embers from their bonfire made a soft, glowing goodbye, a scream echoed from the dimly lit cabin. Shandori unsheathed the sword she always kept at her hip, Christoffel's fingers finding their way to his well-worn daggers. Neither of them could have known what was waiting for them inside the cabin as they opened the door with looks of bewilderment and anger flaring up in their frigid features.
Ima hadn't laughed so hard in months. Pashima seemed to truly have a way with words as she spun story after story about her travels with her elder brother and his friends. The exaggerated yarns usually ended in hilarious missteps into the maw of a yawning dragon or tripping over the rocky toe of a dormant elemental giant. As silly or grandiose as the tales seemed to get, the smile never left Ima's tusked mouth. The sun was quickly setting over the small but well garnished cabin and while Meryld and F-Bomb prepared a nice meal of baked beans and broiled bear meat for the group, the others seemed to go about their own important business. Shandori and Christoffel left out the back door to fetch wood for a bonfire while Daggerfang, masked and fully cloaked, left for Everlook to retrieve some much needed supplies. If all went according to plan he would return with seasoned rations and his own favorite spirits. Potan decided he would explore the forests near the small cabin, examining the natural beauty as well as checking for any traps in the landscape. Maiev, far more exhausted from her encounter with the sentinels than anyone realized, took up residence in one of the cabin's soft, if excessively pillowed and lacey beds. Maiev's drowsy mind snorted in wonder at how such a richly decorated location was not plundered in the goblin's absence. But the treacherous sloping mountains, ferocious winter sabers, and sub-freezing winds just outside the bedroom window served as an ample security system as the slight howl of the night breeze seemed like a hollow threat within the warm walls.
After dinner F-Bomb showed the aching Meryld to a small hot spring fairly close by the cabin where the older woman and goblin with expensive tastes could relax in relative luxury. After cleaning up after their meal and changing into night clothes, the two youngest members of the group decided to continue their storytelling well after the sun went down. Clutching a pillow to her trembling chest, Pashima hung on every word of Ima's terrifying ghost tale. The troll even held a small fire spell beneath her chin for effect. The ghostly light flickered in the darkness as Ima spoke of terrifying entities cloaked in darkness only seen by mortals just as their life was to be snuffed out. Ima held back an amused laugh as the old troll tale, which was considered to be lame even by the youngest in her tribe. But each word seemed to heighten the mood and cause the moonlight that shown into the small windows to darken. Ima's voice diminished as she continued her tale, until all was silent. All that could be heard was the slight crackling of the fire spell and the chattering of a young tail trembling against the wooden floor. Then with a loud clap the fire spell lit up the room as Ima roared in her telling of the story, causing a loud, banshee-grade screech to erupt from Pashima, sending her behind one of the soft, green couches. The fire from Ima's spell ignited some of the extinguished candles as a pang of pity and guilt flowed through her.
"Pashima, are you ok? It was just a stupid old story!" Ima spoke in a comforting tone as she helped a cowering and whimpering Pashima off the floor. It was then that the weapon wielding elves burst in through the back door, looks of concern and fear quickly shifting to ones of anger and annoyance.
"What the hell is going on in here?" Shandori asked, looking around to see if there were truly any hidden monsters in the night.
"J-Just telling ghost stories, Master Dori…"
"Don't "Master Dori" me! In case you didn't get the damn memo we're supposed to be lying low, not attracting attention? Where do you two get off screaming and messing around like that! Did you leave your brains back at Nighthaven?" Shandori growled, careful not to raise her voice too much in hypocrisy. The harsh words only made Ima's shoulder's cringe and eyes wet in apology. She turned to see Pashima trembling as large, wet tears came streaming down her pouting face. A grimace and a hiccup later, the teenager was in a full on sob, clutching her eyes and leaning into Ima for a protective hug. The kindly troll obliged, stroking the draenei's back and speaking words of reassurance, causing Shandori to blush and go wide eyed in confusion. Ima shot her a scolding look.
"You didn't need to be so harsh…"
"W-What? You're the ones screaming and shit. And I'm the asshole here? J-Just keep it down from now on, alright? Damn…" Shandori hissed, retreating to a set of steps leading to the upstairs bedrooms. Christoffel rolled his eyes and shook his head at the scene and begrudgingly followed his constant companion. When he came up the steps Christoffel found one of the four bedroom doors ajar. He gave a small knock before entering to find Shandori pacing around the room like an angry panther.
"You alright?" He quietly asked, closing the door before crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe.
"They scared the shit out of me, playing games. I call them out on it and I'M the bad guy?"
"They're just children, Dori. Children do that. Question is why do you care?" He shrugged, eyes focusing on the floor.
"I…don't know. I think all of this is just getting to me. Fuck. It was so much easier when it was just the two of us." Shandori sighed, plopping onto a small bed whose plush-ness threatened to swallow her whole. "What the hell? Damn goblin beds…" Shandori lightly laughed as she continued to sink in the mire of pillows and sheets.
"Hold on." Christoffel smiled, offering his hand. He pulled her back onto her feet and looked to the orange, yellow, and bright pink monstrosity with a snort. "If it weren't so small I'd say that's something you'd have found in a magister's chambers back in Silvermoon." He shook his head with a nostalgic smile.
"Bleh, no wonder your kind was kicked out of Kalimor. I would have executed the pansy-elf who designed that thing." Shandori laughed, turning to check and make sure her comment didn't rile her companion too badly. But his sad green eyes entered their usual distant state, blankly focusing on the colorful mess that resembled the hues he remembered as a young child. "Oh come on, it was a joke."
"I know." He sighed, carefully sinking into the colorful abyss. "Its not so bad if you take it easy. Maybe you're night elf butt's just too fat for it."
"Ok, you know I was going to be nice to you and share, but you're ass is sleeping on the floor tonight if a couch isn't free." Shandori said as she once again sank into the bed, trying her best to eject her companion from its soft clutches. Christoffel extended his legs and planted his feet on the floor. Shandori pushed harder, but found little traction. Her actions caused Chris's eyes to joyfully return to the present as a small amused chuckle escaped his smiling mouth.
"You're not going to win."
"Yes I will!" She asserted, shifting on the bed until she knelt behind him. With her full weight to aid her she managed to push Chris onto the floor, nearly falling forward onto its wooden surface herself. The pair snickered but did their best to keep quiet in their laughter. The red blush of wine finally came into full affect on both their faces. "I told you I'd win."
"Congratulations, now…" He smirked, nimbly rising to his feet and reclaiming a spot in the colorful bed. Shandori rolled away as he attempted to mount a counter attack. Shandori put up a brave fight and did her best not to squeal as the under handed rogue used dishonorable hand grabs to try and eject her. She quickly blocked and placed her hand in a strategic place in hopes of a guaranteed surrender.
"AH, Ok, ok. I give up!" Christoffel yelped, doing his best to distance a very sensitive area from a wine-drunk and determined hand. There was a brief moment, a tangible aura that surrounded them that seemed to beacon their childish actions into something a bit more adult. But both foolish elves blamed the strange sensation on the amount of wine they drank and in the end the pair found an uneasy truce, allowing the wine and travel fatigue to overtake them as they sank deep into the sun-touched and plush-bound depths of sleep.
Hanariel stood in what looked like the frozen wastes of Icecrown. He could not feel the freezing air despite his thin garb whipping around him but the sights and sounds of the scene were far more colored than his previous visions. He heard the crunch of the snow beneath his cloth-shoed feet as he walked through the bloodied field of mangled flesh. Hanariel kept his eyes forward, passing the corpses of his fellow priests, soldiers, and light-workers. He nearly tripped over a sharp corner buried in the snow. The action caused him to look down and uncover the thick, semi-frozen artifact. Brushing away the snow from its outer bindings, Hanariel's eyes filled with cool tears. The holy book was the very tome his mother gave him the day he became a full priest. It was the book that had helped him heal hundreds of sick and wounded soldiers and always brought a blanket of comfort on a shivering, lonely heart. He heard faint voices but the injured version of himself was no where to be found. There was a blackened and bloodied smear where his intuition mentioned his body should be. But that pull in his stomach suggested that the branches had their own agenda, despite his earnest wish to investigate his survival. A small spark of light managed to pierce through the wet and stuck-together pages of his battered book. Han tried to look through the swaths of blonde hair whipping about his face in the terrible storm. He picked the snow-wet book and concentrated on the tome, remembering a time when it still had the fresh smell of printed paper and newly laid ink. More than a thought or an imagining, Hanariel's very will demanded such a tome be rendered in his grasp. He could feel the very essence of the object shift, as if thick threads that were woven around it were quickly ripped away. When the last of the threads were stripped from the holy book Hanariel gasped at the majestic tome, as new as the day it was given to him. He loosened his grip, allowing the blessed and bound cover to fall open. The golden pages began to turn of their own accord until they rested on a blank page. At once golden letters began to elegantly scrawl along the surface until a story lay before his hungry eyes. He began to read.
"The Stingblade?" he softly spoke as the scene around him began to shift. As he read the scenes began to play out around him. The sight of a bloodied and battered paladin, one he had known as his youngest brother Narlyn, came to his vision and as he read, Han felt his heart sink. His eyes began to withdraw from the pages but the scene carried on, whether he had the want to see them or not. His critically injured brother lay there, desperately reaching for a distant father who stood at his youngest son's side with cold, emotionless eyes. Hanariel remembered when his brother was born and the devastation the illegitimate child caused. There were no more smiles, no more happy stories, no more trust, only a mother whose resentment and spite kept the family fragmented and a father too proud to allow any truth into his ears. Her transgression was always thought to be deliberate by the straight and narrow-minded Larion Dawnblade, despite her insistence that foul magic was involved. When the battles were at their fiercest, the five young men were often the losers no matter the outcome. Han slowly shook his head as the elder man, turned from the young paladin with hate and spite in his teary blue eyes and gave the call of "None live" to those who continued to search for those who survived the brutal battle. Hanariel could feel his throat begin to close in anguish and his whole body shutter at Narlyn's desperate cries as his once beloved father's back disappeared into the frigid landscape. Han's eyes reluctantly made their way back to the golden pages.
"..H-His heart still beat, though bled in hurt and betrayal as the clouds above offered no comfort, no golden sun to warm his chilling body…"
The scene shifted only so much as to allow the sun to quickly sink over the ice-bathed mountains. The shadow of Horde dragonhawks wafted over them like dreadful clouds. Hanariel saw one great creature swoop down like a violet colored vulture over his brother's broken frame. The dragonhawk's rider, a green eyed she-elf, dismounted and moved to seek signs of life from the Quel'Dorei paladin. Her wicked lips formed a grin when a pulse weakly trembled beneath her fingers. She blew a whistle that hung around her neck as several other creatures made their descent.
"The blood elves claimed their prize. A betrayer to their blood, a member of the alliance, a valuable resource, if they could keep him alive long enough…" Hanariel looked up from the book to see one of the blood elves, a medic of some sort, reach into a small sack and pull out a green shard. Han's eyes went wide as the blood elves turned Narlyn to his side and managed to remove his chest plate. They moved some of the chainmail between his neck and chest as he weakly made attempts to fight against the action. The blood elf medic raised the shard and plunged it into Narlyn's flesh. The female wickedly soothed the then screaming paladin as her two male counterparts held him down. The poison fed into his blood, stopping his injuries from getting worse and provided enough of rush to keep his failing heart beating. Hanariel read on.
"They took their prize to a small camp deep within the Crystalsong forest, where he surely awaited a long and p-painful ordeal." Hanariel shook his head and closed his eyes but the scene around him changed. He was no longer in the frozen wastes of Icecrown, but a lavish looking camp site. He was surrounded by ones he used to call friends and allies. But their green eyes and red garb marked them as members of the Horde, and no kin of his. That was when he saw a bright pair of green eyes that used to resemble his own. He nearly dropped the book.
"No, it can't be…" He blinked and ran towards the woman. She was tall, with a pixie cut of soft blonde hair. A few wrinkles formed around her eyes and lips but aside from that age didn't seem to touch her slender frame. A voice called to the elder ranger and Hanariel felt the cold hand of sorrow grip his chest.
"Lady Keenkeris, mam! We have the paladin in stable condition. You may interrogate him at your leisure." The young woman, who found his brother and wickedly partook in his poisoning, reported with obvious pleasure in her words. Lady Cadaria Keenkeris was a name the ranger had not been called since the day she took Hanariel's father's name. Han followed the women to an out of the way tent which seemed draped in the colors of suffering. Hanariel moved into the dark space to find his brother within, alive but intoxicated. The shard that he had been injected with was all but disintegrated into his system as a green tint began showing through he previously pristine blue vision. This wheat-colored hair seemed to darken in places, as his full features slowly began to erode.
"You are certain of the authenticity of his documents, Highraven?" Cadaria asked, not fully recognizing the young elf through the blood, bruises, and swelling. Her subordinate affirmed that the documents were not false. Cadaria paused for a moment before excusing Highraven and all others within the tent. Soon only the Dawnblade family members remained within. Hanariel's eyes were fixed on the scene as the golden pages turned of their own accord. Cadaria took a few steps towards her youngest. He winced in fear and pain as she moved to stroke his bruised cheek.
"You're safe now. I will not let them hurt you anymore." She spoke soothing words to the child she seemingly abandoned. But as her explanation came, Hanariel felt himself choke on his own disbelief and denial. It had been so easy to believe the woman who stood before him had simply left the terrible situation that had come of her tragic run in with a demon-possessed magus. Narlyn shook his head, hoping to block the words that irritated wounds far deeper than what was shown. When the sunwell was destroyed, the ranger had sided with her divine Sun King, her shattered people. She believed in his wisdom and blamed humanity for her world's destruction. While Larion dwelled in relative safety with his alliance allies, she and those left to deal with the devastation no longer knew what security was. Cadaria blamed the Sun King's betrayal and madness on the human's abandonment of her people as well. Her voice shook more in desperation than conviction, trying to get her son to see the error in his ways. Her words held no malice or blame for her youngest, but all her spite and ire seemed reserved for the husband that abandoned her in her darkest time and, in her mind's perception, deliberately led her sons astray. When Narlyn weakly told her of what his previously revered father did in Icecrown, Cadaria nearly snapped every bone in her clinched fist. She pledged that her son would have his revenge if he sought it in return for one mother's request.
"N-Name it." He grunted, as his mother gently smiled.
"When you were born, I had a name I wished to call you. Larion always hated my taste in names and, even before things went the way they did, he never forgave me for 'Hanariel.' He would complain the name made him soft." She rolled her eyes and shook her head with a spiteful tick. "But the rumors were already circulating by then and your father insisted on the name you have now to try and quell any doubts. Not only did he rob you of your true name but Larion forced you to endure magical disfigurements, to appear more like his son. Soon through the healing power of fel energy those disfigurements will be erased. I hold no love for your blood father, but I hold less love for your life long abuser. You 'father' has left you to die, when you've done little else but show utter devotion. If you will be reborn in the glory of your mother's people, the true elves of the sun, will you use the name I wished for you?" She asked. Narlyn seemed to think for a moment, a son's love for a noble father twisting with the cold glare and heartless words he endured. With a weak resolve and a battered soul, Narlyn nodded, allowing his mind and heart to endure his body's own transformation.
"Christoffel." Hanariel's mother sighed, tears of relief falling from her pain filled eyes as she wiped the tried blood from his forehead. The rustling pages ripped Hanariel from the scene and called his full attention to their words. His eyes quickly scanned their meaning. The book told him of Christoffel's life in the blood elf camp. They told of his full transformation from paladin of his father's people to a vengeful weapon of his mother's bitter hand. As time passed, his hair grew coal black, his skin a tanner shade of pale, his chin more pointed, and his eyes a sinister green. When the time came and his adoptive father met his vision again, he was completely unrecognizable. Christoffel lost both of his parents in the bloody battle that day, his mother at his father's hand and his father at his own blade. The area around his shifted so quickly that most would be unable to render the actions within. But through his deep connection to the tree, Hanariel was able to see all of the flashes in their entirety in the time it took to take a single breath. The book was nearly at its back cover when the scenes finally settled. Hanariel watched the final pages give their golden words as his body dwelled in a greenly-lit forest. He recognized the nighttime trees of Ashenvale, the same ones he traveled through to reach Mydrassil. Along the road, he saw his brother, laying in wait for any unsuspecting traveler. Hanariel's keen vision could see the tattered rags that draped his brother's starved and withdraw-aching frame. The fel poison forced on him had created a terrible hunger that overtook all else within the tragic elf. He had spent all of his resources to keep up with his unwilling habit, and in time his finances and resources were as dry as his thirsty veins. A figure came up the road. She was of female build and seemed to be nursing some vicious wounds on her face, neck and stomach. Hanariel instantly recognized the figure but before his mind could process the thought, Christoffel sprung from his spot in the bushes. His attempt to sap the night elf failed, earning him a quick strike to the stomach and nose. The night elf's counter attack sent him to his back. He struggled to stand again but a plated boot to his chest easily kept him down.
"Bad move, demon sucker." Shandori scoffed as she held the tip of her blade to his throat. "I'm not in the mood."
"D-Do it then." Christoffel rasped. The river water and few berries that kept him awake did little to provide the effort to care about his fate. He closed his eyes and prepared for the fatal strike. But as the seconds ticked by, the metal at his throat didn't move. Shandori could see how thin he looked, the bags under his eyes and the tremor that wracked his ravaged frame. Her keen hearing even picked up the not to faint sound of a hollow stomach crying.
"I'm not in the business of putting animals down. What the hell are you doing here anyway? This ain't your forest, Hordie."
"N-Not Horde, not horde…" Christoffel sighed, struggling to speak. The words caused Shandori to raise a brow and slowly move her canteen to his lips. He tasted the fruity hint of pomegranate, honey, strawberry, and blueberry in the mixture.
"This should perk you up. It's stolen from the snobbiest of the night elf nobility."
"T-Thank-"
"Oh no need to thank me. My mother would kill herself if she knew her favorite drink was going down the throat of an arcane junkie like yourself." She smugly spoke with a flash of glee in her eyes. Christoffel sat up and did his best not to suck the canteen dry. "Name's Shandori. Who are you Mr. 'not-a-horde'?"
"Ch-Christoffel Stingblade." He confessed the name his mother and his roguish teacher, Highraven, gave him.
"Well kuh-Christoffel, I'll make you a deal. It's not often people get the drop on me, especially at night. I'm… wandering around at the moment and could use some talented company. I'll get you fed and clothed if you agree to get me to Tanaris in once piece. Plus you sort of owe me for the juice. Sound good?" She offered. His dire situation and weakness left him no other alternative other than starving in the street. Just as his lips parted to answer, the book slammed shut with a pop. The scene melted away, leaving Hanariel where he began his journey: in the safety and comfort of his bedroom at Mydrassil. Hanariel's eyes went wide as he lifted his arm to find the book in the vision still clutched in his shaking hand. The bright glow within dimmed as the pages once again went blank. But the artifact, the glowing runes and the bright golden light that pierced through the blue-ness of his vision seemed muffled in the acute feeling in his chest. All of the visions, from the beginning were preparing him for that moment. Small tears of joy and relief came flowing down the outer corner of his eyes. He gave a soft husky laugh and quietly spoke.
"He's alive. He's alive…"