Going Home

100 Human Paladin
11395
Pia was whole again. Or as whole as they could be under the circumstances. Rhudran was returned, but he was still in a coma.

Harmyone was back, but she was terrified and wept most of the time.

Faithe went through the motions, but she wandered the halls at night like a ghost.

They had to return Meshqa, in exchange for as many slaves as they could barter for. Desmend wanted them to buy the slaves outright, but if her information was correct, they would barely be able to buy one brothel slave let alone 151 of them. What if Meshqa's people had decided after all this time they could survive without him? Was the goblin of value to anyone else in the horde?
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41 Goblin Warlock
420
Too many plates spinning -- a human might have used that analogy. The Pia Presidium had triumphed against all that had been thrown at it so far.

That would need to be rectified. He needed them to change -- the Void circled them but the Light would not let it in. They had such potential for destruction and chaos. And yet at every turn, they remained..... valiant.

It was disgusting.

There was one tactic, one angle, that had yet to be fully examined. He would need to turn the attention of his, ahem, allies back to that target.

He would need to be closer to them. To keep track of even the actions he could not see through the Void.

Fear was such a powerful tool. But what did the Presidium fear? No threat they had not yet faced, clearly -- only one they had not quite overcome.

Meshqa.

He was the straw -- as a human might say -- that would break the camel's back.
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90 Blood Elf Warrior
7645
((*le me dashes in from stage right briefly* Just wanted to mention, really enjoying this thread. Brilliant work, from all involved...looking forward to reading more! *le me exits stage right*))
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100 Human Paladin
11395
((Thank you. I need to go back and finish filling in the blanks. I've just been preoccupied with other things. We've had some tremendous participation from the server. It's been awesome.))
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100 Human Paladin
11395
The old bull had sent a message to Gentyl, asking to meet her in Hearthglen. He looked the same as he had all those years ago when he led the peace walks. He had the same sense of peace and kindness. It was also like an aura, but she noticed something new.

Worry.

He handed her the stone that would allow them to talk to each other. "Old friend. It has been too long."

"Indeed," she answered. "Far too long."

"I have come to you about help."

She motioned to a grassy hummock near some flowers. "Let us sit. How can I help you?"

He laughed, a low, rumbling amused laugh that shook his shoulders.

"I have amused you."

"It is I who seek to help. I seek to help you."

"I will accept your help. But with what?"

"You are being lead by forces .., not worthy of the light"

"How so?"

"War is a part of your nature .... it has always been."

"It is who I am."

"But to kidnap ... hold for ransom These are the tactics of the less honorable."

"These are hard times."

"As are they all before and to come."

"You speak of Meshqa."

"And the forsaken mage."

Gods. First Orwyn, now Stargazer. How many times was she going to have to explain Tyrexus? "He has been freed."

He leaned over and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Your place is in battle ... the light and the dark."
"He attacked one of my men with a substance that was eating her flesh. Only he had the cure. Plus, the horde held one of my men. I was not going to let them die."

"Aye ... certainly worthy. The Modas, though, use it against you...against the light. Your strikes are worthy ... you do what I cannot."

She spat on the ground as if the mere mention of their name left a bad taste in her mouth. "The Modas are without honor."

"They are without reason also ... there is madness from the followers of Aziel."

"Meshqa would have Faithe back in his brothel if it were up to him. Dree'jin would have us all buried. All but me. I care not what they think. We do not torture. We honor our word. But, I am not letting them have a single man. I will stop them. It is our duty."

He rubbed his chin. "Meshqa is a criminal amongst us all."

She picked a bright blue bloom off a nearby plant and twirled the flower in her fingers, then lifted it up to smell. "Then you will not mourn his death."

"I would take his life ... for the sake of balance alone. The women he has taken ... can you not find them?"

"We are going to trade him for slaves in his brothels."

"Then...would you consider a cross faction raid first?"

"What kind of raid?"

"Let us free these women and let him pay for his crimes."

"He has seventeen brothels with 151 slaves that we know of."

"I have brothers and sisters who would act to free them."

"We would welcome the help, she said. "However, ee were told if anyone tried to free them they would be killed."

"A joint venture would stop so much unnecessary bloodshed."

"You alone of the horde, I trust."

He smiled and squeezed her hand. "I shall always keep honor in that trust, my friend."

She shook her head. "It is sad. I used to have friends among the horde. Now, I know the truth. There is only war."
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100 Human Paladin
11395
He squeezed her hand again. "Not only. I have waited for this moment ... it is time to act. These women will be freed and Meshqa will stand for his crimes. I shall strike as swift as claw ... he will not draw breadth from freedom."

"He is too powerful. Too much money. We will trade him for as many women as we can. Then we will hunt him down again and kill him. I will not see peace in my lifetime."

"I shall not see it either except in the heart we carry. However, we will free the rest. Then I shall stand to strike him down myself. Let me know where this 'trade' will be."

"You will when we know. An ally holds the goblin. He has been unavailable to us, but we will set it up soon if Meshqa's men will still trade. He caters to all tastes, all flavors of women. He holds horde women also. The horde should wish to destroy him, but I wonder if they do."

"The undermarket is my target," Stargazer said. "It is trade in harm and torture. Modas was busy in their slumber, but to play at their game will have us all lose. Meshqa is the first example their plans must fail."

"I've heard of the Undermarket." She had heard. Far too much. The Modas had an answer for every appetite anyone could imagine and several she couldn't begin to fathom. Women trained to perform any act flawlessly and others fresh as the driven snow, wide-eyed with terror and dread. The young, fresh ones fetched the highest prices, of course, but every taste was catered to. Drugs, weapons, exotic foods and pets, slaves were all for sale. Modas must be amassing a wealth to rival even the world leaders. Meshqa had done the same, of course. He had every kind of pleasure slave, of every race. Some were only there for people who enjoyed the thrill of torture and death. It didn't matter what a person looked like or how old they were if the only thing the purchaser wanted was to hear the screams. "Do you think they will try to protect Meshqa? Or will they simply fill the vacuum he leaves."

"They will and the void can never be filled. Meshqa is a master at what he does. That is recognized."

"I had hoped he would have no allies. I knew it was a vain hope."

Stargazer shook his head, his mane waving in the faint breeze. "Fear has grown in the heart of the people. Only light will lift it. Do you remember when the plague filled these woods?"

She nodded.

"I knew there would be a chance to return the woods; that this plague could be overcome. And look--" He held up some soil, rich and dark and let it sift through his fingers. "It grows."

"Natue and time is the great healer," she responded. "This is a beautiful area. I love it here."

"Light will dispell the fear, yet there is work to do."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Keep faith old friend .... you are a warrioress ... the battlefield is where you can show light."

"I always have faith."

He nodded and smiled. "May I have time with Faithe, to help her heal?"

Gentyl sighed. Stargazer was a gentle healer, but not even he could heal some wounds. "Let me get her. She stays in the tower much these days, since our new neighbors have moved in."

Faithe was reluctant to leave the tower, but Gentyl finally coaxed her out with several assurances guards would be standing nearby in case something happened. Faithe bowed to Stargazer and sat down in front of him.

He reached out slowly, as if approaching a feral cat and took her hand "Some trouble has come to you."

She flinched when he touched her. "Yes." then she looked around. "His men still hunt me."

"Men are easily overcome, but shadows that touch the heart that is a hunter of fear. In my time I have face such shadows and lived to tell the tale."

"Time will heal the wounds," she replied simply.

"But what heals the heart?"

"Time I hope."

He smiled and patted her hand. "You have said it... hope."

"I don't know. Perhaps the heart never really heals."

He smiled with great warmth. "The heart never changes."

"It does. It can be broken and destroyed. It can shatter into a million pieces, never to mend"
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85 Human Priest
7365
"You are in a land where the heart never changed; it beat through the horrors of plague." He looked deeply into Faithe's eyes. "Your heart still beats."

She exhaled and stroked the velvet flower throat. "Faintly," she whispered.

"And soon it will fill again."

Her fingers closed on the bloom. "Mayhaps."

Stargazer pulled a small stone a pebble from a pouch and let it rest in the palm of his massive hand. "I took this from the very base of the world tree, so many years ago. Then the very bones of Archimonde tangled its roots, yet this stone was untouched." He placed the stone in Faithes hand and whispered, "It taught me how to let my heart beat again. I give it to you for the same reason."

Faithe closed her fingers around the pebble. "Thank you."

"Once there was a walk in the forests of Ashenvale. It is time for one again ... I would be honored if you would walk at my side."

"No," she responded without hesitation. "Meshqa's men hunt me. If they take me again, I will take my life. I won't go back."

He looked her into her eyes. "I can see you are still hurt, it was too soon for me to ask."

"I can't go back. You must understand. I can't."

"The shadows in your heart are long. I can help you to banish then so life may return."

"I wish you could. I don't think you can."

"You do not know me yet, but you can do this. The stone is the start. Listen to it then we will continue." He covered her hand with his in reassurance.

"I will because Sepha trusts you."

He smiled widely. "And she is no fool."

She fingered the rock. "Someone sent a plant to me that was supposed to heal me also. Then we found out it was evil."

"What does the stone feel to you?"

"I feel nothing."

He smiled. "Well then, no evil lurks with it. If you would honor me Faithe, I shall return again in the week to come. For the stone you hold has a magic to reveal."

"Thank you."

"It was written. I merely answer." He leaned in close.. "The trees tell me these things." He looked around. "It has been a pleasure to be here."

"You are very kind."

"Only because kindness has been given to me. The great mother you understand. Such gifts are to share."

"I once thought so."

"And so it was ... and will be again."

"I hope so."

"You are learning already. Hope is yours. As sure as the wind takes my feathers higher ... as sure as the sound of dirt ruffled by my clawed feet ... the wind will whisper to you again and that stone will show you strength."

"I will trust you are right."

He turned into a horned cat and then a bird. "The wind calls ... Kaw ... Kaw ... but it returns me soon."

And with that the druid was gone.
Edited by Faithe on 3/9/2012 10:08 AM PST
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70 Tauren Druid
760
(( Very nice Faithe. It is a pleasure to return for this story.))
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100 Human Paladin
11395
(Yikes i need to finish the part with finn))
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85 Human Priest
7365
Finnaeus seemed to appear from no where. She had been watching the Tauren too intently perhaps and just been unaware. A frown creased her brow. What was that sound? Not wise to be so lax to hear imaginary wings and an angry war drake, but not even notice a man near her, she chided herself.

He smiled and looked around. "Pleasant evening?"

"Aye, I thought I heard something."

"I hope I didn't startle you." He was frowning now also, "What did you hear?"

"A drake, I thought. My imagination no doubt. They are all quiet. It sounded angry. Like a war drake."

He looked up, scanning the sky. "Interesting...perhaps one of our new neighbors flew overhead."

"Perhaps. They frighten me." She shrugged. "Everything frightens me. What if they are here to take me back?"

"They'll have me to get through. No one is taking you anywhere."

She studied him for a moment. It was not the declaration of a braggart. It was simply a statement of fact to him. "I pray you are right."

"Cumbersome and nosy as our new Horde friends are, the Argent wouldn't let anything happen to you. And like I said - I'm always keeping my eye out."

She changed the unpleasant subject. The new neighbors had done nothing, but they still made her nervous. "You've been busy and you sleep little."

He laughed. "You've noticed?"

"I walk the halls at night. I see much. People don't think I do, but I do. The Guards are worried."

"Does that bother you?

"A bit."

He nodded. "I'm sure it can get much, all the fuss and concern. I feel the same way when people tell me to sleep."

"Sepha, worries, but she does so alone, or perhaps with the commander. The stress is telling, though."
He leaned against the half wall leading into the keep and looked around. "What you say is true - if it's been a long time since I've slept I sometimes have a hard time recognizing myself in the mirror. It's been better since..."

She waited for him to finish, but he didn't. He was lost in the faraway place he often went to. Perhaps he lived there and simply visited this world. His demons were, she felt, no less than hers, just different. And maybe that's what drew them together in some sort of unholy alliance cemented by memories that would die and hope that refused to live.

"Yes, well, you don't sleep nearly enough," she said at last. "You should let me fix you a draught."

He looked at her kindly. "A tempting offer - but I happen to feel that what keeps me up at night is a good thing. Sleep is the incentive for finally working things out."

"I can massage your neck. It will relax you. Also, if you drink something warm when you are getting ready to sleep. The same thing every night, it will trigger your mind to relax. Sometimes the solution comes in your sleep. Let the sleeping mind find the answers you seek."

He quirked an eyebrow. "For one who wanders the halls at night, you do know much about sleep. Do they bring you no rest as well?"

"I am afraid to sleep. I nap during the day. The dreams come at night. Meshqa comes at night and visits me. He is always waiting, just beyond the veil."

"Ah yes. Our goblin friend. But he's locked in the tower. He can't get you."

She laughed. "Of course he will. Sooner or later he will. He will either take my mind and I will live in madness with him forever or he will take my body and I will...not."

"You've forgotten an option, an important one. You come to realize you're stronger than him, better. And you defeat him, in one way or another." He shrugged slightly. "I watched him for quite some time when I hunted him. He's an interesting goblin. The way he demeans them, brings them down to his level...he is fascinated by you only because you've proven so resilient that you did not break."

"He loves me," she said simply.

"He does not know true love."

"The feeling he has for me is what he thinks is love."

He huffed. "More proof of his insanity. Well...I know you have the fortitude to rise above what he's done. Don't let him haunt you while he withers away in captivity."
She plucked a rose from a nearby bush and lifted the tightly closed bud to her nose. The blood roses always had the heaviest, most intoxicating scent. They were a favorite scent of Meshqa's as well. "He used to torture me and then have the slaves bring in hot water and perfumed soaps. he washed the blood out of my hair and brushed it out very tenderly. Afraid he would catch a snarl and hurt me." She paused. "I can't go back, Finn."

"My wife, Claire, used to let me brush her hair. I'd make a mess of it, but she'd let me. No torture involved, no blood. That is true love, intimacy." He looked squarely at her. "I will not let them take you back. If I had my way I'd sneak into the tower myself and kill him right now."
Edited by Faithe on 4/25/2012 9:05 AM PDT
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85 Human Priest
7365
She smiled. "Yes, well if they can trade him for the slaves, they need to do that. I told the women if I ever got out I would try to send help." A sigh escaped. "I've seen the commander stroke Sepha's hair. he does it unconsciously. I imagine he brushes it as well. I can see his face melt into tenderness when he touches her."

Finnaeus glanced up at the sky.

"I'm keeping you."

"I have nowhere to go today. I was just thinking..."

"Yes, sir?"

He cast a nervous glance at her. "Well, it is not my place to disagree with the Sepha. But if I were to decide...I'd execute Meshqa. And I'd let our ghosts hunt down the slaves and free as many as we could."

"I heard her tell Stargazer she has been warned if Meshqa comes to harm they will kill the slaves. If someone tries to free them they will kill them."

"So I've heard as well." He sighed. "I come from a different philosophy than Gentyl. Which is good, because her wisdom compliments my own compunctions. Sometimes sacifices must be made to protect the balance. She worries about those out there now, which is right and just. I worry about the ones that will replace them should we let the villains who started this go free. A valiant goal, true. But what of the slaves he accumulates while we track him down again?" He studied her for a long moment before continuing. "But you've mentioned what the Sepha thinks, and what Commander Turncutt believes. But what do you think? Of all people, perhaps you would know best of all what to do."

"I think we should free as many women as possible and then put him out of his misery. Another slaver will take his place, but it will take a while for them to become as powerful as he is. Modas is already trying to take his place."

Finnaeus narrowed his eyes at the mention of Modas. "Indeed. But that slaver will come knowing the price to be paid for their transgressions. Wise choice of action. Then we will take down the next one. Will you be a part of it then? When we go into the field? Into battle?"

She inhaled sharply. "...I don't know. I pray so. I can't escape them."

"But you can fight them, should the time come.
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85 Human Priest
7365
Everything was pretty much back to normal, or as normal as it ever gets in the Pia tower. Meriste was cooking for the wedding and kept running people out of the kitchen. Of course, Gentyl was never allowed in the kitchen to begin with.

The honeymoon had lasted about two days before the Commander locked her in their chambers.

The men were still talking excitedly about the bachelor party, while the women discussed their "tea."

Faithe wandered outside. The grand wedding with Abominus had forced her to leave the tower. Much to her chagrin, she had to talk to people and assume some authority. Now that she had been forced out of her shell, she had to re-examine her life. She could still find happiness in a convent. Life would be peaceful and quiet. There was some appeal to that. More than she cared to admit. However, there was a spark also and she wasn't quite sure what it was. Perhaps the spark of life or hope. It might even be just a smouldering ember of revenge.

She had a small desire to go see the goblin before they traded him for the slaves.

Perhaps tomorrow.

It was always easier to face something tomorrow.
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100 Human Paladin
11395
((Written by Tenwit and posted for him. Special thanks to him for taking out time to do this.))

A room in the tower of the Tenth Legion, far underground. Little furnished, a cold flagstone floor, well lit by braziers and an enormous hearth. A deep niche in the far wall holds a portrait of a draenai woman of noble bearing, lit by small tapers. It reads: Lady M, The Beauty of the World. Opposite, in another niche, lit by a shallow dish burning a red liquid, there is a magnificent doll, the light gives the subject a ghastly aspect. In the center of the room, seated in a rough wooden chair is a goblin; he is bound tightly by a dozen straps, the bindings serve not to forbid his escape, but to hold his frame in perfect posture; for it is apparent he is either dead or in some state of silent stupor. Upon his head a winter festival hat. Arrayed on a table by the goblin, upon a clean black fabric, are instruments of surgery, shining clean in the firelight. Present in attendance: the draenai Marico; the elf Lurella (asleep on the hearthrug); several attendees from the underground Society of Somatic Science; the peevish Mr. Lamb, editor of the Journal Esoterica; two elf women, often introduced as the nieces of Saldor Tenwit, languishing on a settee in the back of the room, both are long and gainly, their eyes marked with black paintstick, lips colored dark violet. They demonstrate the fashion of Stormwind thespians. There is, not to be overlooked, a great spotted hound that lies in the corner, the dog is known simply as “the bastard” by everyone in the house. Quietly standing behind a small banquet table are several house attendants, hands behind their backs, poised for direction.

A bell rings from above, and the hulking draenai Marico moves to a small wooden doorway at the far side of the room. The breach accesses a dumbwaiter that carries the Regent Saldor Tenwit high and low in the Tenth tower. Marico flashes a gamesome smile to the expectant company and places his heavy boot on the base of the door, forbidding it to lift from within. There is the sound of effort in the small chamber, futile effort, followed by a litany of muffled curses from the gnome.

His amusement spent, Marico finds a respectful tone, “Regent. I believe it’s stuck again, do allow me.”

Saldor Tenwit emerges, cuts Marico a glance, and straightens his robes. He moves about the room making introductions, pressing palms, infecting with his smile a general good humor. He then produces from his breast pocket a small rod, and with a practiced flip of his hand, snaps it into a pointing device of twice the gnome’s length.

“You know me well enough, friends. I deal only in the recondite, the obscure, the unpredictable!--the deepest mysteries of our time. So it is, I bring you here to present my most remarkable findings concerning the nature of goblin mind. And to provide for you all the secrets of the infamous slaver and profiteer, Meshqua.”

With a flourish, he snaps a curtain from a slate board behind the subject. Here, illustrated with a careful hand, are drawings of brains, their functioning regions mapped. All the gnome’s notations in laborious capitals.

Tenwit’s Map of the Goblin Brain

“. . . Oft we find, the elemental or Light born talents do nothing to replace pragmatic investigation, the distinguished troll physician Manina err’d often, but not when she proclaimed, 'to study the brain, it is best to lay magic aside and prod away' So it is, we have laid magic aside and exhausted all that phrenology will reveal. We have also put aside the upper hemisphere of the goblin’s skull. Our subject lives under the paralysis of my own tincture and will not stir, giving us the rare opportunity to observe his thinking parts at our leisure and better comprehend the procedure I have performed. What have I done, you ask?
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100 Human Paladin
11395
((Written by Tenwit and posted for him.))

The goblin mind was mapped by the gnome Lucierro a half century ago, indeed, and Lucierro was a creditable anatomical theorist, we owe him a good deal--but his work, like so many others of our field, was ruined by assumptions. This day we go further, this day we take sounding of the mnemomic abyss of our subject, we negotiate his keen deceptive faculty by simply disabling his ability to deceive! Allow me to elucidate . . .

. . . Beyond the regions of sensorium, there is little in common between the goblin brain and any other race. I have confirmed with my predecessors that the somatosensory facility is unremarkable, temporal activity is wanting, occipital ability is commonplace; however, two regions, erroneously mapped by Lucierro and others, give our subject a singularity. The goblin possesses no facility for emotional memory. The apparatus beneath the temporal lobe, falsely assigned to an emotion bank by my predecessors, is actually the distinction of the race; it is a black organ situated at the base of the brain, but only attached to the medulla. If viewed laterally, it is remarkably shaped like a woman’s shoe--a woman of fashion I should add, as the medulla, when attached, forms a magnificent stiletto heel. I have called this I’lea’s Slipper.”
Here, Saldor winked at one of the elves in the back, to which I’lea herself replied with a kiss in the air.

“The slipper is markedly dark, nearly black, as it is bathed in dark humors. This magnificent apparatus is the source of the goblins prodigious arithmetical powers, and in turn, his divisive acuity. From this organ is born all manner of sordid behavior; from impish acts to legendary malice. Understand this creature does not hate, as it does not love, as it does not care; indifferent as the wind to the suffering it causes, its purpose is one of monomaniacal self-gain, it measures such gain in the fleeting excitations of pecuniary fortune and lascivious habits.

There is commonly found in the record of malicious creatures, a quality of redemption. The blood elf, in form, lovely--but a she-devil who sows both heartbreak and ecstasy alike, but who of sensibility can not appreciate the latter? It should be considered before we malign this creature that it must also endure the gender-ambiguity of its counter-sex, the utter absence of masculinity. The revenant: unsightly, malodorous, piteous, can demonstrate a certain charm in its brain-ruined madness, and we delight in its perversity of character. I recently observed, with great pleasure, an undead by the name of Abominus acquit himself admirably in a social gathering among the gentler races, going as far as to dance a creditable jig, in better measure than most living men. The orc, you will know to be a favorite subject of mine, is the exemplary somatotonial construct; it can demonstrate acumen in battle, a prodigious physical strength, and even a laudable paternal sentiment.

. . . prolixity ensued. I should like very much to convey even an abridgement of the gnome’s treatise on the goblin mind and other racial observances, but I fear, by the end of it, we would all desire to trade places with the goblin in question; so it is, the gnome spoke at length, his wit may be justly called into question, but certainly not his erudition. By the coming, some hours later, of his meandering summary remarks, only Mr. Lamb’s patience held, his pen working ceaselessly as the gnome spoke. I have little doubt, for those unsatisfied, that a review of the narrative could be found in a forthcoming issue of the Journal Esoterica. Nevertheless, it was welcome to all when the great voice of Marico sounded, “Secundium is served!”

The scullery help ushered everyone in a line by the expressionless goblin, and to the banquet table, where trenchers and a great cauldron of broadbean and bacon soup awaited; its agreeable odor causing more than a few stomachs to lament the tardy victual.
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100 Human Paladin
11395
((Written by Tenwit and posted for him.))

Under the spell of wine and gluttony, the overall disposition of the company rose to a pleasant pitch. The nieces, with practiced wit and uncommon grace, performed all their subtle social arts to perfection, accomplishing, artfully, the directive of the Regent to “charm Mr. Lamb into hopeless subjectivity.” And it seemed they were well on their way, as the ordinarily peevish Mr. Lamb greeted Saldor as he passed through the line with these welcome words,

“Neuromancy, Saldor, nothing short of it. If this proves you will have a chair on the Society. And I daresay the Presidium is paying a pretty sum for the secrets of this villain.”

Yes, what could go wrong? The entire event seemed charmed, and at last it appeared Saldor would achieve a chair on the venerable society and begin to restore the honor of the mouldering Tenth. Not bad for an orphan gnome of Westfall. Indeed, all the parts were coming together . . . except one. The final act remained, the simple procedure of replacing the cop of the goblins head, and bringing him back among the living to share all of his valuable secrets.

But, Tenwit could not find the skull. He enlisted Marico and a few other confidants and tried with all his heart to keep a good countenance, but time, as it does in a pinch, quickened. And the whisper carried throughout the crowd, until at last Marico presented one of the waiters before the regent. The man hung his head like a beaten dog.

“I thought it was a trencher, my lord. I filled it with soup. We were short on bowls, sir. It looked just like a bread bowl, sir. . .It’s honest folly, sir, I promise . . .”

Tenwit stared at the man a long, heavy moment, his beetling red brow twitched.

“You filled my goblin’s head with soup?” And, pray, what did you do with it? Who did you serve?”

“Gave it to him, sir—lord.” He stammered, and slowly pointed across the room to Mr. Lamb, all eyes followed his direction. More than a few had to choke their amusement with a hand, as
Mr. Lamb plied his spoon unaware, digging at the bottom of the goblin’s skull for the last dregs of celery.

Of course, thought Tenwit, It would be him. Of all people, it would be Mr. Lamb.

Now it is said that Mr. Lamb is kinder to hounds than humankind, so as he finished his repast, he turned his back to the crowd and covertly handed the goblin’s head to the great hound, who with pleasure, trotted his gangling form across the hall to the corner by the hearth, his jaws crunching all the way. The party was generally amused, all but Tenwit himself, who stood arrested, watching all his good fortune crushed in the jaws of the bastard.

At last, Mr. Lamb, patting his belly, announced to his host, “Master Tenwit, may your science be as good as your soup! Let us behold the final act.”
Edited by Gentyl on 4/25/2012 1:06 PM PDT
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100 Draenei Shaman
11890
((Tell him that I loved that! And ... is "Lady M" a shaman, by any chance? ;) ))
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100 Human Paladin
11395
((Probably Marico relative.))
Edited by Gentyl on 4/25/2012 4:06 PM PDT
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100 Human Paladin
11395
It was a beautiful spring day. Perfect for a ride and some time alone, with just her thoughts...and two very protective Guards.

"Gentlemen, I'm just going to Westfall, I'm perfectly safe."

Helhammer huffed and cast a very annoyed look at her. "The Commander would have us strung up if we lose you again."

Broodin was off chasing a rabbit and paid no attention.

Resigned to the company, Gentyl simply enjoyed the ride. They'd check in on Meshqa, arrange payment to the Regent Tenwit and make the exchange. Time to get this mess over with. Then they would hunt him down like a rabid dog.

Four rabbits and five lectures later, they were at the Tenth Legion tower. They tied their mounts to a rail and were ushered inside where they waited for an audience with the Regent. A rather imposing draenei waited in the foyer with them until the Regent made his grand entrance.

The Regent offered to give them a tour of the grounds, which she declined. That was followed by an offer to tour the tower and would they perhaps like dinner after their long ride.

At last, a smirking Marico winked at the Regent who adjusted his vest and led them to the lower levels of the tower. It was lavishly furnished as was the rest of the tower.

In a small velvet chair was a doll in a dark maroon silk gown similar to the one Gentyl owned. It had light auburn hair piled up in curls and the very oddest blue eyes that seemed to follow them. Helhammer looked between Gentyl and the doll and frowned. "There's a remarkable resemblance."

Gentyl walked to one side and stared at the eyes that were staring back at her.

Tenwit waved his hand. "Fie, a mere coincidence."

Broodin growled at it.

"Broodin, don't touch the Regent's things."

Gentyl backed around in a slow circle to see if the eyes followed her and almost fell over a dining table. At the table was a chair and in the chair was a goblin with a winter veil hat on. He was feeding himself, not very successfully, some split pea soup. Fortunately, it was about the same color as his skin so the mess was somewhat camouflaged.

"Oh, excuse me," Gentyl said, afraid she had bumped into him. "I'm so clumsy."

He looked up and smiled at her. "Yes, you are."

The Regent adjusted his perfectly tied cravat again.

Gentyl blinked and looked between Marico who still had that chicken killing grin on his face, the Regent who was trying very hard to direct her attention to a painting on the far wall, and the goblin who had turned his attention back to the soup.

"Where is Meshqa?" she asked at last.

Marico folded his hands in front of him and smiled sweetly at the Regent.

"Why right in front of you, my dear Miss Gen," the Regent said, seemingly surprised she didn't recognize the goblin.

She stared at the goblin who looked back up at her. "It's not polite to stare and your hair is a mess."

"The fel?"

"Isn't it marvelous?" the Regent exclaimed. "It's impossible for him to tell a lie. Ask him anything you want. You will hear only words of truth from him. A remarkable scientific breakthrough, if I do say so myself. Why I'm quite sure institutions shall be named after me. Perhaps universities!"

"The fel did you do to him? You need to be in an institution...as does he."

Marico "accidentally" knocked the hat off the goblin's head. There, under the scalp was a ridge all the way around the top of his head.

She leaned closer.

"You've been eating garlic. Your breath stinks," Meshqa said.

She blinked and straightened. "What's wrong with his head?

And that's when the entire story spilled out of a more than happy to help Marico. How the servant had used the skull for a trencher and the Regent's nieces had entertained Mr. Lamb into a stupor while Tenwit raced frantically about looking for a replacement skullcap. At last they had found a suitable turtle shell, stitched the goblin back together and now had a remarkably truthful, if idiotic crime lord.

"Who's going to trade anything for him?" Gentyl finally sputtered.

The Regent looked insulted. "You never said anything about trading. You said keep him safe and get information. I have done both."

He then flipped out a scroll that rolled the length of the floor and presented her with the bill. "We did not charge for the turtle shell."
Edited by Gentyl on 4/26/2012 10:01 AM PDT
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100 Human Paladin
11395
((My thanks to Tenwit's player for this addition. He's been remarkably busy, so it was a real joy to receive this story from him. It definitely changes what I had planned to do to wrap this story up. *frowns* However, as with all good role play, in my opinion, the story is always fluid.

I'll be adding in the reserved spots as soon as I finish the A Plan story, which was another outstanding CC story. I'm sure most people have forgotten this story by now, but there was some lovely role play on both sides and I want to chronicle the efforts as accurately as I can of those who played a part in this. Your participation and creativity always amaze me and it's forever been one thing I love about CC.

And so, once again, thank you Tenwit, and thank you CC.))
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85 Draenei Shaman
2115
(( You know, if he would just use the stairs like everyone else I wouldn't have to play with the lil runt so much. But then, that would take away my fun as well.

And by the way, I do not enjoy killing chickens, but the sound does make me giggle a little inside. No, I reserve that pleasure for Rinhold whenever he decides to pay the tower a visit for those "other" cooking supplies.

That paladin and his blasted eggs...))
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