World of Warcraft®

((I have always adored the way Zikky got involved in this story.))

The seige had gone perfectly.

As requested, Cyrus and accompanying Ocheliad forces had penetrated the Bildgewater Harbor from the west, drawing the brunt of enemy focus while the Presidium entered from the east to search for the target.

As the Ocheliad fought their way toward the center of the Harbor, the Presidium had cornered Meshqa on a boat on the northwest pier. The goblins had never been known for their physical prowess, but more for their technology. The sudden attack by combined Presidium and Ocheliad forces had been enough to keep them from preparing and bringing their technology to bear against the aggressive Alliance.

Haelolin, Valtherimas, Luna and Grennetta regrouped around Cyrus after Meshqa was securely in Presidium custody.

"Sabotage any nearby boats, throw any Horde anchoring equipment into the bay and kill off any technicians aboard. Make sure not so much as a rowboat is seaworthy when we leave."

All of them nodded, splitting up to do what damage they could before they all returned to Alliance territory.

The Seahawk had been docked at Raventusk Village for two days. The blood elven ship was alone at the dock. Raventusk is well known Captain Tulir. The Seahawk often did business here. Today it was a meeting with a client of some importance. Word had come just a couple of days ago, concerning this new client. Captain Tulir had decided to stay and give the crew some leave time ashore. The Trolls here are friendly and good hosts. The time also gave Tulir time to update his rudders and other paperwork. It was near to suns setting that his first mate knocked on his cabin door.

" The client has just arrived and is asking to see you Captain." he said.

Tulir made his way to the deck. There stood a fully armored Orc, a death knight. On the dock was a skeletal steed, confirming that this Orc was a death knight. Tulir bowed before the Orc, the Orc nodding back.

" It is good to meet you lord Grymm. I hope we may satisfy your wishes in our trade." Tulir said.

" I have no doubts. You have been named the best in the business in this matter." Lord Grymm answered. From within his cloak Grymm pulled out a piece of paper and held it out to the Captain, who took it. " This is what I seek. All females, I wish six of them. Is it fillable?" Grymm said.

Captain Tulir looked over the short list of details. " It is, I have seen such a request before. A Goblin has been purchasing from various sources, but I heard he was taken by an Alliance force just these past days. We had a shipment for him, but was unable to bring them to him. The docks of Bilgewater had been raided and ships set ablaze, mere hours before we where to set sail."

" So I understand. My client was set to be captured, but thoughtfully he became aware of this raid. You where chosen because your ship had not made its delivery. Understandably he hired me to take care of this business for him. The list contains the place of delivery. I have half payment now, the other half on delivery. From here forth I shall act as broker for Meshqa, our client in question." Grymm said.

Captain Tulir smiled and nodded. " This Goblin seems to have nine lives. The delivery will be made as the females are well taken care of. We have dubbed them as doves, in jest of his constant remarks. It will take us two weeks to make this location, if we set sail on first tide in the marrow."

Grymm nodded and bowed before the elf captain. " Then it is set. Two weeks Captain at the rendezvous." with that Grymm handed the first-mate a small chest and departed down to the skeletal griffin. With a blast of icy wind Grymm departed the docks of Raventusk and flew into the freshly night sky.

((Interesting twist.))

They had spent the day practicing parachuting to a target. Taelanas had been unrelenting in the training, but at last everyone was able to time their drops and hit their targets within a few feet. Pia would drop in over Bilgewater while Cyrus's party struck west to draw defenders away from the drop point.

At last they broke off and returned to Hearthglen to rest as much as they could before the battle. Gentyl was particularly tense. She took out the letter once more and read it. Did the courier have any idea how deadly the message was? Of course no. They only delivered, they didn't get involved with the contents of the packages or letters.

Her fingers traced over the thick, pink wax letters.

Eh dere chum

Coming from anyone else, she would have considered the threat to cut the heart out of anyone he caught wearing a Pia tabard the rantings of a madman. Madman or no, she would be a fool to discount the danger. Every single member of Pia was at risk. In the heat of a hectic battle, it would be easy for him to pick off stragglers who got separated. It was imperative they stay together.

Dree'jin. She thought he was dead. Hoped he was. One by one the dark ones had disappeared. Creator. Aziel. Dree'jin. Deprise. Now, Dree was back. What if this was the beginning of a resurgence?

She folded the letter back slowly and slipped it into the desk drawer. They would keep out a watch for a troll, but she knew Dree'jin. He was tough and fast. He might have someone down before they could even yell for help. She shook the thought off. One fight at a time. With luck they'd be in and out before the horde had a chance to respond.

It was a small farmhouse that, save for a few dashes of paint on the outside, barely looked different from the rolling tracks of Westfall land. It looked remarkably like the land – beaten, exhausted, and yet still barely alive. Finnaeus frowned as he landed on the outskirts of the property, shifting into his human form. He wore his best, the Pia Presidium tabard bright against the brown of his formal, druid robes. It was a rare occasion that Finnaeus sported the colors – most of his business demanded that he leave them behind, lest he be caught and expose the Holy Guard to scandal and dishonor. But today he wore it, because it was on official business that he attended to today. On most days it felt a immeasurable honor. Today, however, it weighed on him.

He clutched a necklace in his hand as he approached the home. Dust kicked up with every step – he could feel the weary land barely hanging on to its fertility. It was clear the owners did not maintain the property well, but it was less clear that the land would fare better with more capable or responsive owners. After all, the climate and conditions of Westfall as of late did not lend themselves to prosperity. Many of the residents came to mirror the land’s conditions. They were tired, they were hungry, and they were barely hanging on to their wills.

Finnaeus reached the home and spotted a faded sign, painted with the name “Harlowe” on it. His mouth went as dry as the land around him as he rapt his knuckles on the door. The wood creaked under the impact. Finnaeus suspected that a good shove would cave it in. Everything was in disrepair, walking the razor thin edge towards decrepitude. The door creaked open, and a woman with a weary disposition greeted him with a stone gaze.

“Hello,” she said, her words landing with a thud. “You are?”

“My name is Finnaeus Peverley, ma’am,” he said, polite and formal. “I’m with the Pia Presidium. Have you heard of them?”

“I’ve heard of the Holy Guard, yes,” she said, nodding.. “They’ve done some good work. They’re good people.”

“Sepha Gentyl tries to maintain a great reputation for benevolence and generosity,” Finnaeus said. “The rest of us try to live up to that standard.”

“If you’re here to give financial assistance, I’m afraid we can’t take charity,” the woman said, kind yet firm. “I understand you give to those in need, but I’m afraid gold wouldn’t help.”

A coldness gripped Finn’s heart. If only that was why he was here.

“Actually, ma’am, I came to speak to you about your daughter.”

The words hung in the air. The woman looked surprised, afraid. She gestured for Finnaeus to come in, and she made a dash to the kitchen. Finnaeus crossed the threshold. The room was dark, grim, lit only by thin beams of dusty sunlight coming in through the dirty windows.

“I’m sorry I don’t have anything but some hot tea,” she said in a hurry.

“Tea would be fine,” Finnaeus said kindly. He idly thought of the Pia’s strike against Bilgewater – he knew it was imminent, with a good chance that it took place while he was here in Westfall – but he left Avier and Murek in charge of making sure Meshqa was caught. A part of him wished he could have been there to take the goblin himself, but revenge wasn’t an impulse he could indulge. And he trusted the Sepha and the rest of the Presidium to execute the mission. It took a lot to give up that portion of things, having devoted himself so thoroughly into finding Meshqa, but it was a mission for the Holy Guard. He did his part, and he had to let the rest fall where it would.

Not that any of it would comfort this poor woman standing in front of him, offering him some tea.

“I’m sorry to be rude,” she said, speaking quickly now. “My name is Madeleine. My husband is out on family business, otherwise he’d be here.”

“Not a worry,” Finnaeus said, taking a sip of the tea. It was warm but it offered him no comfort. He guessed Madeleine felt the same.

“You said you were here because of Lily?” Madeleine asked. “My daughter, I mean.”

Finnaeus cleared his throat. He met Madeleine’s gaze, the hope and fear trembling in her eyes.

“In the process of tracking a goblin that kidnapped one of my colleagues in the Presidium, I discovered that your daughter had been taken by the same people.”

“Kidnapped?” Madeleine repeated, her eyes darting in her sockets as if they chased some hidden meaning, turning the word over in the hopes that it would make more sense to her. “Why would she be kidnapped? We have no money for ransom, we have nothing to offer. Why her?”

Finnaeus remained steady. He couldn’t tell her everything – it would jeopardize the Pia’s operation of word got out how much they knew. But looking in her eyes, seeing the fear and growing exasperation in her expression, shook his resolve.

“We believe, and I cannot confirm this, that some of his accomplices mistook your daughter for my comrade.”

“Did you save her?”

I could have, Finnaeus thought to himself savagely. But I let her be the bait to find the monster behind it.

“Unfortunately I did not arrive in time to save her,” Finnaeus said. He waited for the catharsis of the woman’s grief, but it did not come. A tear slid from her eyes, escaping its prison, but an dispassionate shadow passed over her face. She wiped the tear away.

“Where is she now?”

“Currently her body is in Ashenvale. The current war climate in the area makes it difficult to get her here. I can make some arrangements if that is your desire.”

“No,” Madeleine said, her voice and attention floating further away. “She died there. I hear the forest is a beautiful place.”

“It is,” Finnaeus said, quietly. He held out his hand. “She wished for this to be returned to you.”

Madeleine looked at the necklace, and then back at Finnaeus. Another tear slid down her cheek.

“Please lay it with her body,” she said. “It was hers. She deserves to have it.”

“Is there anything I can –” Finnaeus started to ask, but the woman held up her hand.

“You did our family a kindness coming here to tell us. I appreciate that. But here in Westfall, if one dwells on what one has lost for too long, you lose yourself. We’re no strangers to misfortune. There’s nothing left to do but to pick up and move on.”

Finnaeus looked at her, watching as she struggled to stop more tears from flowing down her eyes. He wanted to say something more, something profound. But in the end, all he could do was nod. He knew what it was to lose a child. Nothing a stranger said would have made a difference.

((Finn, this was outstanding. Thank you for all you do and thank you for sharing your writing with us.))

She crouched to one side of the doorway leading into the darkened cottage, a stack of bowls by her hooves and a steaming pot of stew next to her. She held out a bowl of stew temptingly.
"C-come on l-little s-sister. Y-you n-need t-to eat."
The girl in question watched the shaman with haunted eyes, before scurrying forward to snatch at the bowl and backing up, the bowl cradled protectively. That signalled the rest of the girls to crowd forward, eager for sustenance. Afterwards, the shaman sat outside on a tree stump, staring blindly into the trees. Her goggles rested beside her, revealing the scarred mass that used to be her eyes.
"I g-guess I d-don't h-have it s-so b-bad,"
she said conversationally to a squirrel.
"I c-can t-talk, and I'm n-not h-hiding in t-the d-dark."

The attack had been swift and efficient. Pia parachuted into Bilgewater without incident. The LO had already drawn defenders to the opposite area, but there was still a stiff resistance.

"Find him!" Gentyl shouted. "Stay together."

She hadn't told them about Dree'jin threat. They had enough to worry about now. They swept through the pleasure palace systematically combing the area for the goblin. each goblin body was examined to make sure Meshqa hadn't taken work clothes to blend in with the other goblins. He was no where to be found. She strode across the walks littered with dead and wounded, anger and frustration urging her on. Had he slipped the net once again?

She grunted when a goblin rogue struck her in the back, then wheeled to strike. He was surprised by the fury behind the attacks. His eyes opened in fear and she correctly guessed he was about to vanish. The ground glittered with golden magic, thwarting the rogue's move. He was dead the next moment.

"Sepha!"

Gentyl ran down the dock toward a boat where several Pia were gathered. They were pulling some surviving women out of a pile of scorched bodies. Their eyes were darting and terrified as if they expected to be struck down at any moment. One ducked as Lahkin pulled off his cloak to cover her.

Ronnad tried to comfort one who sat numb to the world. The dwarf's words crooned like a softly whispered lullaby, but they fell on deaf ears. The woman's eyes were blank, staring, unseeing. She was the walking dead. It might have been a kindness if her body had died in the blast as it was plain her mind was already gone.

Gentyl's attention shifted when she heard something moaning from within the circle of guards. A flash of green and gold. She pushed through them and started down at the cowering goblin who was holding his hand over a deep gash in his scalp.

Meshqa. She recognized him from Faithe's description. She started to say something to him, but he slumped over unconscious. "Tie him up tightly. Full escort back to Hearthglen. Gather the women. We'll give them sanctuary until we can find their families."

She looked around the mass of destruction. So many dead. If only they'd found him sooner.

"What about the dead women?" Ronnad asked.

"Nothing more we can do for them. Put their bodies on the boat and burn it. At least they won't be raised again. Let them rest."

Gentyl swept down the stairs to the cells where Meshqa was being held. Her cloak billowed behind her, dusting the damp gray granite steps. She paused before the gridded door. This place was old and solid. It smelled of age, and mold and despair. Pia held a code of honor forbidding torture, but others held no such restraints and these cells had known pain, suffering and death. She inhaled deeply and then nodded to Taelanas who unlocked the cell.

Meshqa had revived. His gold earrings glittered in the torchlight. He had afforded himself the water crock nearby and washed up as best he could. Even with the smudges from the fire at the barge and the rents, it was obvious his clothes were of the highest quality. He and the Regent Tenwit shared the same taste in exquisite tailoring.

"That's a lovely vest," she said as he brushed a few crumbs from his chest and stood up to greet her. It was an inane thing to say to a murderer, but she was struggling to maintain her composure.

He bowed slightly. "I see you recognize quality even if you don't afford yourself of it."

"I only care that my armor is the strongest, not the prettiest."

"I'd wager you'd look good out of that armor. You could make a fortune in some circles. Gold, jewels, lands. I could--"

Taelanas raised his hand. "Shut your vile mouth. This is the Sepha Lady Gentyl D'Amond Turncutt Knight of the Argent Rose, keeper of the Holy Blade leader of the Pia Presidium."

The goblin snorted. "I know who she is. I have a painting of her wearing a lovely pale blue silk in my office. It amuses me to think--"

"Quiet," Gentyl said. "I'm not interested in your perverted fantasies. Besides, you're enthralled with Faithe, remember?"

"Dove? Of course I am. She is the holder of my heart. She is never out of my thoughts. She rules my dreams with a velvet touch and chains my mind with her memory." He dabbed at a bit of drool. "That doesn't keep me from enjoying other women until she returns, however."

Gentyl glanced up at the cracked beams. The reconstruction was still too far from complete to guarantee he might not escape with the help of others and she had no doubt his minions would search for him. They had to transfer him soon.

"She will not be returning. I'm going to transfer you to the Tenth Legion for safekeeping until your trial. After your execution, she will be free from your threat."

He hopped up on the cot and patted it in invitation. "Come, sit beside me, Sepha. We'll discuss my release. If you're very nice, I will tell my men not to harm you."

Taelanas growled and stepped forward.

Gentyl held up her hand, refusing to rise to the bait. "I've agreed to let Cyrus visit with you. He needs to know the location of Rua. If I were you, I would cooperate. He's a dangerous man with a vile temper in his best mood and I assure you, he's seldom in a good mood. Tell me where Rua is and save yourself some problems."

"I have nothing to tell you or him."

"Suit yourself, goblin."

"That's Mister Meshqa to you, Sepha. You would do well to learn a bit of respect. Faithe knows what happens when people disrespect me."

Gentyl's gaze drifted to the rusted chains on the wall. Dark, rusty stains discolored the stone, but she knew they weren't from the chains. Much blood had been spilt here and she had all she could do to keep from adding to them.

"Faithe knows what you are. Soon the whole world will know and then we will move on with our lives while you moulder in the ground."

His laugh was still echoing through the halls when she reached the top of the stairs.

Kaellar sighed, watching quietly as the young women he was housing timidly ate the stew he'd made. He may not eat much himself these days, but he remembered how it was done, and fel if they didn't need as much food as they could get.

Mataa and Luminarrah were by far the healthiest, and seemed the least traumatized, but even they flinched and cowered when the large man got too close. His son helped somewhat, and his nearly grown daughter more-so, but the beaten and battered girls were afraid of him... and with good reason, considering where they had come from.

Still, they were eating... even if that was largely due to Mataa's help, bless the poor girl.

One of the girls, a young human hardly old enough to be away from her parents, suffered a brief coughing fit, and tucked the blanket she'd been given closer about her. Just seeing her shivering made the Death Knight's blood boil, as it rarely did.

He sighed, the message from Mataa still troubling him. He needed to speak to Gentyl, and soon.

Vusin stood alert outside the Ziggurat. He held his bow with a notched arrow should one of the ghouls or skeletal warriors decide to wander too close. Behind him he felt the approach of Lord Grymm. Other lords would demand that a show of servitude would be in order, a bowing to one or both knee's. That had been Vusins first response at meeting Grymm. Lord Grymm had pulled out his runesword and held it at his neck. " Offer me your life like this again, and I shall take it. You never bend knee to me, do you understand?" Vusin had understood and the more time he spent with Lord Grymm the more he understood. Subservience was against this Knights very existence.

" We are secured here." Lord Grymm said as he stood beside Vusin. " It is time for you to make flight to the rendezvous with Captain Tulir. Secure the shipment at the place we talked of. Find the best candidate from the six and return here."

" What of Meshqa, and his location?" Vusin asked.

" It is assured we will have a hand in Meshqa's release. When that occurs he will have a lavish gift, tailored to his need, waiting." Grymm said. Both walked down towards the wyrven mounts, and Grymms own skeleton steed." Take my steed, it is the only one can make the flight across the north sea. In the bag you will find a Wintercrystal plant. Before you return with the female, see to it that Faithe receives this."

Vusin nodded. As the skeletal steed took flight, he wondered what purpose this rare and exotic plant would have in the plans ahead. The Wintercrystal plant is semi-etheral, and had properties of an arcane nature. Its worth is tremendous. Lord Grymm held many secrets, proving to be a mentor of strength and guile.

"It has properties to heal the spirit, cleanse it." Vusin was explaining to one of the Holy Guard on duty at the Hearthglen tower. Wearing the tabard of the Argent Crusade, earned during his time working for them, he stood speaking with the guard. " If Faithe meditates with it nearby, she will heal from within."

" It will be checked out. Who sent this gift?" The Guard said.

" A gnome mage, she explained she is known to Faithe. The plant can only be found by mages, at the peaks far to the North. So rare is this plant that it can take years to find one. I believe she sent a note on it." Vusin said.

The Guard looked over the note attached.

Dear Faithe

Take this Wintercrystal plant and use it to help in your troubled time. Find within it the path of healing and refreshment of your spirit. Keep it in your room and meditate with it a few moments a day.

Astaraa Wintercrystal
Order of Wanderlust

The Guard did recognize the name, for Astaraa was sister to Foxria of the Holy Guard. Easy enough to verify with her the authentic nature of this gift. He took the plant and thanked the courier. Vusin bowed and set off from the tower to travel for his next appointment.

"At the end of the day, who are you loyal to, Cyrus? The Ocheliad or the Horde you fled from?" Commander Paden had asked near the Cathedral.

That scene was replaying over and over in his mind as he looked down upon his target. In a canyon in the Barrens, Rua sat against one of the clay-red walls, a shawl pulled tightly over his broad shoulders as he kept warm in the cold night. Only the small fire he'd built in front of himself offered any light, so Cyrus was well out of sight on the canyon wall.

He'd been standing there for a few minutes now, the strange feeling creeping upon him that Rua knew he was being watched. It didn't matter, though. Cyrus had no intention of attacking an unaware orc. It would be less fulfilling.

Cyrus braced a hoof against the edge of the canyon wall and hopped over, jabbing his axe into the wall to slow his descent to the ground. He stood at the bottom of the canyon, not ten yards from Rua, who had not reacted to Cyrus' presence. Pulling his axe out of the wall with one hand, Cyrus looked to the sitting orc. "Do you know who I am?"

The orc, eyes still closed, nodded. "And why you're here, Goat. I recognize you," He replied, leaving Cyrus wondering how he did so without looking at him. Had he let himself be found?

Cyrus rolled a shoulder, stretching out a bit of tightness as he waited forwhat he thought would be the orc standing up and readying himself. This was not the case, as Rua kicked a still-burning log straight in Cyrus' direction. Not having much of a choice, Cyrus swatted the log away with the back of his right gauntlet.

Through the ashes left from the impact, Rua's sword stabbed cleanly through toward Cyrus' neck. He craned his head off to the right, then ducked as Rua swiped his sword across to try and remove it, missing.

As the sword passed clear of Cyrus, he tried to bring his axe down with one hand onto Rua, but the orc stepped into the swing, shouldering Cyrus in the chest and knocking him clear off his hooves into the canyon wall behind him. Rua tried to follow up with a left hook to the jaw, but Cyrus caught it with his right.

This had been the leverage Cyrus needed, and he immediately wrenched the captured fist back with strength that seemed to surprise Rua. The orc took a knee as several small bones in his fist and wrist shattered like glass under the pressure. Cyrus seemed sure he had the upper hand when Rua pushed through the pain, standing and embedding his sword into Cyrus' side, his aim landing the weapon precisely between his breastplate and waistguard.

Cyrus roared out, a searing pain erupting only a couple inches south of his ribcage. He responded by leaning back and headbutting Rua, releasing his hand. The orc took a step backward, dazed momentarily. Cyrus reached out, adrenaline temporarily numbing the pain in his side, and struck Rua across the jawline. The orc lost his footing and fell to the ground, turning onto his hands midfall so he'd be able to quickly recover.

The moment the orc's back was turn, a chain of dry ice was around his neck, constricting his airway. Cyrus pulled Rua back by the chains, taking a couple weak punches to the temple from the struggling orc who couldn't seem to find any leverage. Cyrus was starting to feel the effects of blood loss, but persisted, leaning back enough to pull Rua off his feet.

It only took a couple moments for Rua to stop struggling. Cyrus took firm hold of the orc, throwing him several feet off to his right. As the body was falling, Cyrus jerked the chain back, and a sharp snap signaled that the fight was over. The injured Draenei took a knee, immediately pressing a hand down to the wound at his side and cursing under his breath. He stood after a moment to catch his breath, walking to Rua's corpse to stand over him. The eyes were unfocussed and he was still as stone.

Satisfied Rua wouldn't be getting up, Cyrus crossed over to what remained of the fire, retrieving a staff from its resting place against the the narrow canyon wall. Proof of what he'd done. Cyrus started his walk toward the mouth of the canyon, but as he passed Rua, stabbed the staff down through the orc's throat, coating the bottom few inches of the staff in blood.

Cyrus' final goodbye to the orc who had made a fool of him when he took Faithe.

(( Great write up Cyrus. ))

((Thank you, Kaellar for all you're doing with this story and for adding to it.))

((Vusin, even I am wondering where this is going. Good job and nice writing.))

Ribbons of smoke drifted through the tavern, filling the air with an assortment of scents from fruity to wood and under all the anchoring fragrance of roasting ham. Gentyl closed her eyes briefly and inhaled. Someone was smoking the same tobacco the commander did, but he was still at sea and wouldn't be home for at least two more days.

"Is it really wise to sleep in the tavern with Pang about?" asked a familiar voice.

She opened her eyes and smiled at the man standing next to her. "Verogoth, join me. I wasn't really sleeping, just enjoying the smells of life." Her stomach grumbled. "And that ham."

He pulled out a chair and sat down. "It does smell good. I have a delivery for Faithe. Do you know where she is?"

Gentyl frowned. "A delivery? From who?"

"Zikky, one of our couriers." He set out a wheel of hardened cheese on the table. "She said Faithe would understand."

A smile erased the frown. "Yes, Faithe told me about her and the cheese she used to sneak to her." Gentyl covered the cheese back up with the cloth. "Do you mind if I take it to her? She isn't leaving her room much these days."

Verogoth shook his head. "Of course not, Sepha."

Gentyl tipped the courier and flew back to Hearthglen. She set a small rat trap and came back later to find a rather large one running around the small cage frantically. With a small, jeweled dagger, she sliced off a bit of the cheese and dropped it in the cage. She trusted the goblin who had tried to help Faithe, but what if she had been tricked?

The rat ate the cheese in small, greedy nibbles and Gentyl settled in for the wait, convinced she was becoming entirely too paranoid.

The Commander hadn't been pleased to find his wife in the midst of a snowball fight outside Ironforge in tall black boots, a winter veil outfit and a tuxedo shirt. He didn't even comment on the cute little red hat.

"Methinks mi'lady is a bit under-dressed for these snowy hills," he grumbled.

"Do you really think so, Commander?" she shouted back at him as she pelted Ronnad again.

He disappeared shortly thereafter while she continued to hammer anyone within range with the huge stack of snowballs she'd been patiently packing all morning. Kaellar, the grumpy old Dreanei with one eye, one game leg and one very shocked look on his face kept hobbling after Gentyl, trying to throw his cloak over her.

Turncutt reined his gryphon down beside her sometime later and tossed a bundle of clothes on the ground. "I killed a blood elf who was playing with the guards and brought you her clothes."

Gentyl lobbed another snowball at Kaellar who was now completely white after Erelyn, Celandine, Calendar and Ronnad had called in a focused attack on him. She glanced down at the pile of bloody clothes on the ground. "And what do you want me to do with those?"

He raised an eyebrow as if the answer should be obvious even to his giggling, snowball-firing wife who had apparently lost her mind as well as her armor.

"Get him!" Calendar yelled and they turned and fired at Kaellar again just as he had finished brushing the snow off.

A gaggle of gnomes ran by, firing snowballs from little hand held cannons. Their target, a boisterous dwarf warrior who had made some comment about them never hitting him, raised a small white flag from under the mound of snow and waved it feebly.

Most nights when the commander was in port Gentyl slept on the ship with him in their cabin, however, she had to receive a shipment of cattle tonight and they decided to stay in Hearthglen. She was still drying her hair when she walked into the bed chamber where Turncutt sat with his pup, smoking his pipe. The pup looked up expectantly and then dropped his head again when he saw no treats in her hand.

She d%#!*d the towel over a bar and pulled her comb from a drawer. "Did you ever find my brush?"

"No. Turned the ship upside down looking for mi'lady's brush. Tis not to be found."

She sat down on a stool near him and started combing out her hair. "That is so odd. Why would anyone steal a used brush full of my hair. Now I'm embarrassed I didn't clean it."

He snorted. "You want to clean your brush so the thief would have something shiny?

"Not really. It's just puzzling" She caught a glimpse of the soaked winter veil suit laying in a heap and laughed. "You really didn't like the outfit?"

He looked at her steadily and drew on the pipe. "It looked like a two copper trollop outfit."

An eyebrow raised. "Indeed? Well, I hope you have two coppers so you can buy some companionship for a while." She threw on her robe over her sleeping gown and went to the library. The book had reached out, grabbed her by the throat and drawn her into another world two nights ago. Tonight she had read the same page over and over and still didn't know what it said.

The plaintive notes wafted up from a rebek she knew well. She closed her eyes and listened. The Maiden's Lament.

Oh, will you know how much I loved you
Will you know my heart was true
Will you know the tears I shed, dear

Why was he at the stables? She cocked her head to listen. Yes, he was at the stables. Turrick looked up from his spot under the table where he'd dragged some blankets and formed a sort of nest when she clumped into the great room. "Am unhappy?'

She frowned. "Why would you ask that?'

Taliea glanced at Turrick and then back at the bridle she was working on. "The Commander picked up some blankets and his fiddle thing then said 'Fair dreams, Pia and left."

Gentyl padded out to the stables where she found him leaning against one of he outer walls. The pipe bowl glowed brighter as he drew. The notes from the odd sailor's fiddle continued their mournful story.

She walked over and sat down beside him, drawing in the scent of the cherry and brandy laced tobacco he smoked. "What are you doing out here?'