World of Warcraft®

Shado-Pan Garrison, Townlong Steppes.

“Ha! Hahaha! Ahahahahahaha! You’re going on leave for a party?” The pandaren monk slapped his knee, round belly rolling with laughter. Aculeo gave a huff, occupied as he was with packing his bedroll, his belongings lined up next to the meager coil of cloth. “What Woozie, you don’t think I enjoy going to social gatherings?” At that response, the monk doubled over, hands clutched at his stomach, laughter coming out in strangled wheezes, the grey haired monk completely overcome. Eventually, he managed to straighten, a paw coming up to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye, his muzzle split into a broad grin of amusement. “No, Acu. I’m just wondering what madman invited you to a party. You have to be the most insufferable individual I know. How did you even manage that?”

The blood elf shoved his bedroll against his pack, quickly gathering field dressings and sundry blacksmithing supplies, a twinge of annoyance seen on his face. He muttered under his breath before he looked over his shoulder at the other Shado-Pan fighter. “You should get to know me better, old man. I’m actually capable of being quite sociable. Unlike certain raging alcoholics I know.” He turns back to his task, stacking more supplies within the quickly bulging backpack. The monk, as if to underline the blood elf’s words, had taken a flask from his belt, quickly draining the container, amber liquid dribbling in drops from his grey furred muzzle. He even managed to look somewhat offended. “Raging? You name the last time my drinking got me into trouble.” True to form, the flask had been returned to the pandaren’s belt, and was quickly replaced with an oversized gourd, which was then raised to the monk’s lips. He swallowed deeply, wiping his mouth on the back of his glove before gesturing at the warrior. “Compared to, say, bragging about killing three mogu with a fishing rod to the patrol filled with their friends when they have us surrounded.”

The blood elf turned from his packing and raised his index finger. “Four, it was four, Woozie. If you are going to insult me with the truth, at least get the number right. Besides, for the record, if we’re surrounded by mogu, we’re going to be fighting them anyways.” Honor satisfied, he turned back around, packing the last of his belongings. The monk shook his head, hands giving dismissive waves. “That wasn’t the point, Acu. My point being, there were other ways of getting out of that situation, other than antagonizing the enemy and then cutting through a sea of bodies to freedom.” The blood elf gave a sigh, and ceased his motions for a moment. His hands rested on the front of his thighs, fingers tapping impatiently, the noise of metal of metal surprisingly loud within the Shado-Pan tent. He doesn’t even give the monk the courtesy of looking in his direction. “What are you trying to say, Woozie? We were better. We lived, they died. That’s how things work.”

Woozie stared at the back of the elf’s head, downing the rest of the alcohol in his gourd, this time not even bothering to wipe his face. “What I’m trying to say, Aculeo, is that you are so damned bull headed. Fight first, ask questions later. You wonder why I laugh at the thought of you at a party. What will happen if someone insults you, or does something you don’t like? You can’t just fight your way out of every situation you find yourself in.” The clicking of plate encased fingers against armor grew more frequent, an audible sign of the warrior’s irritation. His head turns, watching the monk from the corner of one bright green eye. His tone was haughty. “No one would dare offer me insult. Apart from that, you let me worry about how I’ll respond.” His head turned back to the pack, body leaning forward to secure the bedroll to the side, before he took a quick inventory. Satisfied, he stood, facing the monk and crossing his arms over his chest. “And you would be surprised what I can fight my way clear of.”

Woozie shook his head again, and he walked past the elf, patting him on the shoulder as he passed him towards the tent flap. “Mark my words boy, your pride and your mouth are going to land you somewhere where your skill won’t be able to get you out one of these days. I don’t think I’ll want to see it happen, but it might just be the only way you will learn.” The blood elf didn’t turn as the monk stepped into the morning air of the Steppes. He actually considered the words of Woozie before shaking his head, ego reacting negatively to the prediction. He leaned down to pick up his pack and slung it over one shoulder, making his own way from the tent.

Eversong Woods, Bloodsheen Estate. Several days later.

The warrior peered around the doorway. The study was empty, even the fireplace dim and cold. Not that it mattered much during the very height of midday, but the room lacked a certain spirit to it. There were no shadows being thrown over the rows of books lining the walls, no warmth covering the ancient desk that took place of pride just in front of an open air balcony. Aculeo shifted himself, walking through the door frame. His eyes traveled over each row of literature, over the desk, allowing himself a slight smile of memory. Here, much family history was made, and more than his share of personal history. So many lectures after youthful mischief. He walked to the desk, his boots thumping dully on the floor. He circled it, a hand running over the carved majesty of the piece of furniture.

Lectures, but also long hours spent listening to old stories of war, glory, sacrifice. His smile only grew wider. Not for him the burying of one’s nose within the books. No, his memories were filled with the tales of elves who bestrode battlefields like gods of war, of lines of companions holding off many more of the foe than their number should have counted for. Even now, the Lord Bloodsheen’s reminiscences still echoed in the young warrior’s thoughts, causing a thrill up his spine that raised the hairs on his neck. Few, if any of his siblings had shared Aculeo’s enthusiasm for the stories, and rarely was it more than the future fighter and Molochia who would sit in the study into the wee hours of the morning, listening to the musings of old soldiers. As if summoned by his thoughts, there was a light disturbance in the air. A familiar voice broke the silence. “Brother?”

The warrior turned. In the doorway stood Molochia, the priest’s expression passive, the question hanging in the noiseless void that had overtaken the room. The blood elf was young, and indeed, could have passed for the warrior down to the exact detail, from the sunny golden hair to the regal features that prevailed in the Bloodsheen line. The only difference being the short topknot that perched atop the priest’s head and twin braids that draped down the sides of the caster’s chest. Aculeo didn’t speak for a moment before he pointed at the priest’s hairstyle. “Mol. I see your sense of style still hasn’t improved.” Molochia walked forward, crossing the distance between the two, his features still neutral. His retort was soft spoken. “Acu. Neither have your manners.” The two surveyed each other for a long ten seconds.

Aculeo was the first to break the stalemate. He laughed, and embraced the priest. “It’s good to see you again, Mol.” The priest smiled gently, his expression soft but doing little to conceal the genuine warmth of his return embrace. They parted after a moment. “I can only say the same, brother. I scarce believed it when I heard that you had returned.” Aculeo took a step back, eyes meeting the priest’s before he looked up around the room, hand gesturing wide. “I had to at some point. I completed my tours, and I wanted to see my family again before I moved on to my next duty.” The priest nodded patiently, his eyes holding a softer glow than the warrior’s, his existence radiating absolute peace. His eyes glanced around the room as well. “An odd choice, the study. Are you waiting for Father?”

The warrior nodded. Spot on as usual, Molochia was. “I was told he was conducting business. I decided to take a walk through some memories before he was done. Before you came in, I was thinking about all of the old stories he used to tell us when we were growing up.” The warrior blinked, another shiver going up his spine at the thought. Mol gave a single nod, the movement reserved, but enough to show acknowledgement. His words remained quiet, subdued. “The Lord knew how to tell a tale, that is for certain. He still does, for that matter.” Aculeo gave a light laugh before he turned to look over the priest. “I’m sure his skill will never falter. Enough about the old days though, Mol, how have you been since…?”

Molochia’s expression went back to passive neutrality. Only the slightest tightening around his eyes would indicate his inner unrest on the subject. “My dismissal? I’ve been keeping myself occupied. Since the Kirin Tor have no use for me now, I’ve taken to tutoring in between studies and meditation. At least having my education isn’t completely meaningless.” Aculeo gave a sympathetic nod. “How about the nightmares?” His words weren’t prickling, but rather filled with genuine concern. “ The priest laughed softly, the amused noise barely a murmur of sound. “They have improved. I can at least sleep a few hours at a time now. At some point though, I see it every time I get comfortable, and truly asleep. It’s a maw, no, hundreds of them, and they have such jagged teeth, and they open at once and it is this…otherworldly laughter…and…and then…”

To be continued.

The warrior reached out a hand to lightly touch on the priest’s arm. While he had been recounting the story, a look of absolute horror had befallen the priest’s features, his fingers unconsciously clenching into fists. Molochia jumped at the expected touch, his eyes blinking rapidly. They had become inexplicably darker and only now lightened as he was pulled from the reverie. He shook his head, his body trembling near uncontrollably at the vividness, even now, of the visions that plagued him. Aculeo had a shocked expression on his face. “I apologize, Mol. I didn’t mean to…” Molochia gave an idle wave of his hand. “No, think nothing of it, it is something that I have to endure until I recover. I let my guard down is all.” He gave the warrior a weak smile before noticing that Aculeo had straightened to military stiff posture, his eyes focused on the doorway. Molochia turned as well, his own body straightening instinctually.

The Lord Bloodsheen stood within the doorway, arms folded over his chest. He inclined his head in greeting. The two brothers bowed from their waists at once, their words spoken in unison. “My Lord.” Solthis Bloodsheen surveyed the two of them before making a gesture. “Rise. Molochia, your mother requests your presence in the courtyard. I will join you when Aculeo and I are finished in here.” Both blood elves resumed their standing stance before the priest nodded hurriedly. “Yes, sir.” He walked from the room quickly, Solthis having stepped in to take his place. The Lord watched the priest make his escape before he glanced over the warrior. “My son, let us talk.”

To be continued.

Aculeo gave a single curt nod, arms stiffly at his sides. He didn’t turn until the Lord Bloodsheen had passed him to take his place at the desk. He sank into the chair before motioning to the warrior. “Take a seat.” Aculeo moved to obey the order, sitting into a chair opposite the Lord. He surveyed his father. Even now, the Lord Bloodsheen was a majestic man. Years of conflict may have claimed his right eye and left him with scars that formed a history of violence across his body, but he still was strong, sturdy, his hair just as golden as it had been decades ago. His good eye practically blazed with an unbreakable will as he eyed his son back. His features were set in a stern expression before he chuckled deeply, relaxing into a smile. “So you have returned. I’m guessing you wanted to speak to me about leaving the service?”

The warrior gave a start before he groaned internally. There went the element of surprise. Once again, the Lord was a step ahead of him. He spoke cautiously. “Yes, my Lord. I completed my tour of duty with the Sunreavers and with the Shado-Pan. I took my leave several days ago, and I used the opportunity to put in my resignation.” The Lord leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, hands folding together. “Is there a particular reason you did so? From what my sources tell me, you did your duty well and you brought honor to our house. Why quit now?” The warrior took in a deep breath. “My Lord, my tours were at an end and I felt my duty was adequately completed. I’ve since then taken up a position as a bodyguard.”

The Lord Bloodsheen leaned back into his chair, fingers forming a steeple over his chest, considering that. “That’s an extremely odd choice for you, my son. Not at all a profession I’d expect you to enter, considering you have to place someone else at a higher value than yourself.” The words were halfway between teasing and serious. The Lord looks pensive. “Who have you sworn to protect?” Aculeo hesitated, before his answer came, resolute. “I’m not at liberty to divulge that, my Lord.” The Lord Bloodsheen shook his head, standing from his chair to turn and look out towards the balcony. He spokewithout turning back around. “Oh, my son. A mysterious charge, a sudden change in habits. This concerns me.” The Lord’s head turned far enough to survey his son from the corner of his eye. “And if I ordered you to give up that identity?”

Aculeo fixed his father with a look of steel in turn. “I…would still have to decline, my Lord. I
would accept the consequences for disobeying a direct order from a superior, but I swore an oath. Sir.” The Lord looked back forward, his head shaking in near disbelief, though a smile threatened to break out across his face. He murmured something that sounded suspiciously like ‘headstrong boy’, before he turned back to the desk. “I will not force the issue, my son. Keep your secret.” He shook his index finger in the warrior’s direction. “But do not come back to me bemoaning a poor decision. Return with glory or not at all.”

Aculeo breathed a sigh of relief, before he nodded in affirmation of the Lord’s words. “Yes, my Lord. I will not fail you or our house.” The Lord gave a grin. “You become more and more like your grandfather and myself by the day it seems.” He glanced over his shoulder, back out the balcony, heaving his own bored sigh. “You are dismissed, for now. I’ve yet more riveting deals to conclude. But, Aculeo.” The warrior had begun to rise, before he froze. “My Lord?” The Lord Bloodsheen had walked to the edge of the balcony. “My words. Do not forget them.” Aculeo bowed low before he stood erect again. “No sir, I will not.” With those final words, the warrior gave another bow and withdrew from the room, disappearing into the estate, rushing headlong towards his fate.