I'm getting back on my feet, creatively, after the most harrowing semester of my academic career. The bonus being, of course, that I am now officially a Bachelor of the Arts. I earned my BA in English last month.
This story effectively lives and dies by my subscription to "World of Warcraft," for reasons that are probably easily guessed. As I'm now contemplating renewing said subscription while I'm on break, I decided to resurrect this tale.
This chapter introduces a couple of new characters, because this story is something of a tapestry. Each of my characters in-game will make an appearance in one way or another as time goes on.
Let us begin.
"Am I ever going to learn this man's name? Or am I supposed to spend my entire career taking jobs from a stranger?"
Two figures sat in the tavern; not even a bartender shared the space with them. It was closed down for the night. One of the occupants was tall, lanky, swathed in dark, boiled leathers and a heavy fur-lined traveling cloak. One hand rested on the table between them, twirling a short knife through its fingers with deft practice. The other hand lay in the figure's lap, mangled and lame. Only two fingers remained on it, alongside a thumb that looked too small and twisted to be functional. The skin was dark, almost dusky; perhaps it was gangrenous? It was difficult to tell.
This figure's face was covered by a featureless mask.
The second figure was small, childlike, seated on the edge of the table, legs swinging absently. It was a gnome, young and female, leaning her head back and staring at her companion upside down. It should have looked ludicrous, but somehow it bespoke confidence rather than immaturity. The eyes, large and unassuming, were vibrant and bright with interest. They were eyes that missed nothing, eyes that could follow a dust mite on its journey across a carpet.
The gnome had slate-grey hair, and wore a dirty white tabard over leather armor.
The masked man rested his chin in one hand, leaning forward so that he was only an inch away from his companion. "…I am not at liberty to disclose that information."
The gnome scoffed, irritated, and straightened herself. She hopped down onto the hardwood floor and began to pace through tables. "Information is my business, Leolin. Do yourself a favor and stop acting like you have an edge over me."
The masked man stiffened. "You…!" He seemed to catch his mistake as the gnome turned sparkling eyes on him, cursed under his breath, and leaned back in his chair. "I don't know his name. Your guess is as good as mine. Better." Leolin gestured randomly; his demeanor was no longer mysterious and guarded. He looked irate, yet somehow bored. "He's shrouded in shrouds. Every time I think I've found him, another pawn is in his place. Never mind his name, we 'agents' don't even know what he looks like!"
The gnome seemed pleased with herself. She crossed her arms over her chest and grinned a lopsided little grin. "My, my. Seems someone has been trying to do a bit of background research on his own. You know, if you really want to know who the puppeteer pulling your strings is…" A sly wink. "You could always hire someone to find out. I'm never properly motivated until a bargain is struck, you know."
She could feel Leolin sneer. "You go from digging for information to dangling it in front of me? What level of stupid do you take me for? If you could have found his name and face by now, you would have."
Shrug. "Fine by me. Just reminding you of your options. You're young, inexperienced. You would do well to listen to the advice of your elders, especially in this business. When you find someone willing to divulge information—well, let's say you should take the gift."
"Young?" Leolin replied sharply.
"I'd say you're no older than fourteen."
"Regardless of whatever you think you know about me," Leolin snapped, and the gnome's grin widened, "you still haven't answered the question I came to you with: will you take the job or not?"
"Fine, fine. Spoil the fun, why don't you? That's the problem with you secretive types. You never seem to understand that the best way to keep secrets is to talk so damned much that everybody stops listening. White noise, Leolin, it's called white noise. When people get used to something, they get complacent about it. It stops having any kind of meaning in their numb, stupid little ears. And while we're on the subject of numb and stupid, put that knife back where it belongs before I sheathe it in your groin. I don't like it when boys try to threaten me."
Leolin flinched violently. He put his blade back into his belt and brooded. "Habit," he muttered. It was like his entire personality had been dismantled, now that he'd been found out. That was one reason that the gnome figured he was young. He didn't know how to think on his feet, and backpedal out of a lie before stumbling over the truth and falling on his ass. "I wasn't threatening any-damn-body." He stood up, tossing his robes about him moodily, and headed for the door. "Will you take the bloody job?" he snapped.
"Of course. Oh, and, ah…" She hesitated a moment. Then she said, "I don't like uneven playing fields. I'll just pretend you gave me your name, shall I? And in exchange, here is mine: Altaira. Remember it. This alias business bothers me. There's something shady about it."
"Shady? You're an assassin, for the love of—!"
Altaira held up a hand, waggling a finger. "I'm not an assassin. Just because I could kill you six times before you reached that door doesn't mean I will. I'm in the business of information. I told you. You want to know something, I can find it out for you. That's the end of it. I'll only kill in absolute necessary circumstances. I don't soil my hands with blood money. And yes, since you're so damned insistent, I'll track down the druid. What am I supposed to do when I find him, anyway? Your 'employer' has been particularly vague on that point so far. I don't like vague."
Leolin sighed. "Just keep an eye on him. That's the job. You'll be paid accordingly. My part in this business is over. Now if you'll excuse me—"
"Yes, yes, I know. You have to get back to your mother. She's worried about you, no?"
Leolin sniffed, turned on a heel, and threw himself out of the building.
Altaira chuckled to herself, hopped up onto the bar and sought out one of the good whiskies, wondering what sort of person this Sythius was, and why her nameless benefactor was so interested in him.
