Jeremy Slater pondered the crest he had sketched on the first page of his journal.
He'd never liked that first page being blank, but every book he'd ever read had a blank front page. In the grand scheme of things, it didn't make a lot of sense. It was a waste of valuable paper in a time of shortage, and it implied that there was no urgency to anything that the book was meant to convey. Certes, a more languid approach in scholarly works gave a better impression of cool, detached analysis, but sometimes urgency suited better.
Slater paused, and then the right corner of his mouth curved upwards in a mocking half-smile. The joys of being alone even in a crowd.
And he was in something of a crowd. Stormwind Harbor was bustling with the rush to get ships loaded and provisioned before the tide fully turned. He went virtually unacknowledged by the busy dockworkers and sailors. His gaze fell on one thick-bodied fellow, who paused and ducked his head briefly in what probably was meant as a bow.
Slater remembered a time when his mere presence would have had people staring in awe. But too many paladins had done too many dishonorable things; too many clergymen had turned from the Light (or whatever magical forces people were worshiping nowadays); the Argent Crusade's leader sat in his cozy fortress and did nothing to defend even the lands of his own birth. Everything with which he was visibly associated was tarnished beyond his ability to repair.
He didn't mind being treated like an ordinary man, but he did mind that everything he'd come to represent to people was turning into garbage.
And thus, the new crest in his journal. A new cause. Something he could build for himself--like his own name, like his own life.
The approach of two adventurers and a large glowing wasp snapped him out of his reverie. One of the two was a youngish-looking fellow with blond hair, spectacles, and armor that looked a few sizes too large; the other was a saturnine man with a shaven head, shapeless cloth hat, and a rifle slung over his shoulder.
"The beauty of it," the armored one was saying, "is that even if we don't actually recover the artifacts in Ashenvale, our expenses are paid. It's a free ride with a bonus for completion."
"Great," the rifleman answered. "Now we just have to not get shot."
"Careful scouting should ensure whether the Horde are nearby. And I can string tripwires, if it comes down to it."
"I didn't mean the Horde. I meant the night elves."
The swordsman waved his hand. "Prospector Rockbreaker assures me that all of the diplomatic issues are taken care of."
"Well, if they aren't, we'll find out pretty quick."
"You're a fountain of positive energy, Wentworth." The swordsman rolled his eyes.
"Positive's what we do. We're the good guys."
"Good guys who get paid, for a change."
"Excuse me, good sirs." Slater closed his book, taking care not to smudge the charcoal drawing, and slipped it into his libram case before hopping up off of the barrel on which he'd been perched. When the men turned to him, he gave a half-bow. "I couldn't help but overhear that you're bound for Ashenvale?"
The rifleman leaned back against a piling and pushed the brim of his hat over his eyes nonchalantly, but the swordsman responded with a bow of similar depth. "That we are, Crusader."
"Slater, Jeremy Slater. I was wondering if you would be interested in adding another...job to your trip."
"Athanion Merrill, and the sullen fellow is Dannan Wentw--Excuse me, did you say 'Jeremy Slater'?" Athanion adjusted his glasses and peered at him more closely.
"I did."
"Not the fellow who burned down an entire saronite foundry in Icecrown single-handed?"
"I had help." Slater said this with a perfectly straight face. The incident hadn't quite happened like that, but there was no point in explaining it.
"Really? Well." Athanion looked a bit wrong-footed, so Slater decided to help him along.
"The job I have in mind is that you two would have a look into Blackfathom Deeps, see if there's any activity. No obligation to engage hostiles, no expectation that you'd do anything more than look around and report back on what you find."
"That's all?" The rifleman, Dannan Wentworth, tipped his hat brim back up. "Looks like you could do that yourself."
"I could, but it would add a day to my journey," Slater told him. "I'd rather pay someone trustworthy. And...you two seem that. I'll pay quite well."
He looked away casually as the two discussed it quietly. The price mattered little; this was just an introduction. They spoke of themselves as "good guys", which was rare to hear without sarcasm. They might be good material for his new Crusade.
They would take the job, he knew as they turned back to him with "business" writ large on their faces. It was just a matter of finding out what they were made of...
He'd never liked that first page being blank, but every book he'd ever read had a blank front page. In the grand scheme of things, it didn't make a lot of sense. It was a waste of valuable paper in a time of shortage, and it implied that there was no urgency to anything that the book was meant to convey. Certes, a more languid approach in scholarly works gave a better impression of cool, detached analysis, but sometimes urgency suited better.
Slater paused, and then the right corner of his mouth curved upwards in a mocking half-smile. The joys of being alone even in a crowd.
And he was in something of a crowd. Stormwind Harbor was bustling with the rush to get ships loaded and provisioned before the tide fully turned. He went virtually unacknowledged by the busy dockworkers and sailors. His gaze fell on one thick-bodied fellow, who paused and ducked his head briefly in what probably was meant as a bow.
Slater remembered a time when his mere presence would have had people staring in awe. But too many paladins had done too many dishonorable things; too many clergymen had turned from the Light (or whatever magical forces people were worshiping nowadays); the Argent Crusade's leader sat in his cozy fortress and did nothing to defend even the lands of his own birth. Everything with which he was visibly associated was tarnished beyond his ability to repair.
He didn't mind being treated like an ordinary man, but he did mind that everything he'd come to represent to people was turning into garbage.
And thus, the new crest in his journal. A new cause. Something he could build for himself--like his own name, like his own life.
The approach of two adventurers and a large glowing wasp snapped him out of his reverie. One of the two was a youngish-looking fellow with blond hair, spectacles, and armor that looked a few sizes too large; the other was a saturnine man with a shaven head, shapeless cloth hat, and a rifle slung over his shoulder.
"The beauty of it," the armored one was saying, "is that even if we don't actually recover the artifacts in Ashenvale, our expenses are paid. It's a free ride with a bonus for completion."
"Great," the rifleman answered. "Now we just have to not get shot."
"Careful scouting should ensure whether the Horde are nearby. And I can string tripwires, if it comes down to it."
"I didn't mean the Horde. I meant the night elves."
The swordsman waved his hand. "Prospector Rockbreaker assures me that all of the diplomatic issues are taken care of."
"Well, if they aren't, we'll find out pretty quick."
"You're a fountain of positive energy, Wentworth." The swordsman rolled his eyes.
"Positive's what we do. We're the good guys."
"Good guys who get paid, for a change."
"Excuse me, good sirs." Slater closed his book, taking care not to smudge the charcoal drawing, and slipped it into his libram case before hopping up off of the barrel on which he'd been perched. When the men turned to him, he gave a half-bow. "I couldn't help but overhear that you're bound for Ashenvale?"
The rifleman leaned back against a piling and pushed the brim of his hat over his eyes nonchalantly, but the swordsman responded with a bow of similar depth. "That we are, Crusader."
"Slater, Jeremy Slater. I was wondering if you would be interested in adding another...job to your trip."
"Athanion Merrill, and the sullen fellow is Dannan Wentw--Excuse me, did you say 'Jeremy Slater'?" Athanion adjusted his glasses and peered at him more closely.
"I did."
"Not the fellow who burned down an entire saronite foundry in Icecrown single-handed?"
"I had help." Slater said this with a perfectly straight face. The incident hadn't quite happened like that, but there was no point in explaining it.
"Really? Well." Athanion looked a bit wrong-footed, so Slater decided to help him along.
"The job I have in mind is that you two would have a look into Blackfathom Deeps, see if there's any activity. No obligation to engage hostiles, no expectation that you'd do anything more than look around and report back on what you find."
"That's all?" The rifleman, Dannan Wentworth, tipped his hat brim back up. "Looks like you could do that yourself."
"I could, but it would add a day to my journey," Slater told him. "I'd rather pay someone trustworthy. And...you two seem that. I'll pay quite well."
He looked away casually as the two discussed it quietly. The price mattered little; this was just an introduction. They spoke of themselves as "good guys", which was rare to hear without sarcasm. They might be good material for his new Crusade.
They would take the job, he knew as they turned back to him with "business" writ large on their faces. It was just a matter of finding out what they were made of...
