World of Warcraft®

03/21/2012 06:20 PMPosted by Æthelgyth

((lol, I figured a rogue or feral saw us, it was fun though :D almost took Gentyl out in the surprise attack!))

((You almost did! I was furiously healing like crazy and I think you had her at 5% once before I got some healing landed.))

Cray blinked slowly at what Faithe was relaying to him.

"So....." he pondered aloud, "Abominus thinks he's going to marry the Sepha?"

He crinkled his nose. "I swear that's one of the signs of the end times." He smirked, holding in a laugh. "Thanks for letting me know, Faithe... I'll have to make sure the Commander does not travel without guards."

The two parted ways, Faithe undoubtedly to return to her room in the tower and Cray to draw up the orders. As he stepped down the curving stairs of the tower, he heard hooves coming towards him. Meriste came into view a moment later.

Cray chuckled, "Oh, Meriste, I have got to tell you about this..." He straightened his face. "I mean, it's a very serious matter."

The commander was already settled by the fire, drink in hand, bottle by his side and feet propped up on his favorite ottoman. The firelight reflected brightly on the polished brass domes, marching in true and sturdy line around the spotted cowhide top. It had been Gentyl's winterveil gift to him and he made as frequent use of it as he could when he resided at the tower, which wasn't near often enough for her...usually.

He smiled up at her. "And here's my darling wife."

"Don't darling wife me. I'd like a word with you...in private."

"Well, it's quite busy tonight. I'm positive I hear alarms." He offered her the glass, already poured on the table next to his chair.

"You're not going outside with me so we can talk?"

He shook his head and took another sip of whiskey. "No, I believe I'll stay right here."

"Seriously? You're going to make me discuss this in front of everyone?"

He nodded. "Aye. I believe I am. I'm quite comfortable here. I'm a bit fatigued. I require rest...and witnesses, lots of witnesses."

Gentyl narrowed her brows. "Indeed."

Turncutt watched in some dismay as three of the Guards slipped quietly out the door. "Cowards," he mumbled under his breath.

Magdelyn sat in quiet meditation, a needle and thread and a patchwork quilt in her lap.

"And, m'dear, you know the Basin is warm tonight, and you know how I love that ground, I may get the horn at any time." He muttered over his glass "...and war sounds a safer front, presently."

"Do you know what I found most attractive about you?" she asked, resigning herself to the fact she was not budging him out oh his chair with anything short of dynamite.

He raised the glass to his lips. "I have a good guess."

Morvian snickered but offered no guess.

"Not that," she responded, glaring at the druid.

A light blush spreads across Magdelyn's cheeks at this.

"Your winning smile is not the correct answer, sir."

Turncutt looked amazed. "'Tis not?"

"No."

He frowned in disappointment. "Cut of my jib?"

She sighed in exasperation. "You neither coddled me nor tried to own me. Though I do like the cut of your jib."

"I do little coddling, Lady."

"Your idea of helping me defend my honor is holding my drink while I thrash someone."

He shrugged and smiled. "Aye."

"So, exactly how drunk were you last night?"

Turncutt pondered this. "Last when?"

Magdelyn continued her simple sewing by firelight, her eyes downcast and a tune pursed against her lips in a hum.

Gentyl sighed. "Last night when we defended with Imperon."

"Was I not a'bed by nine last night? I'm sure I know that name, Imperon."

Gentyl glared at his feigned ignorance. "Yes, well, you should. He's the hedge mage who has been spying on my bed chambers for years."

Turncutt glanced at his wife and raised a brow as he also raised the glass. "He should chronicle all he's witnessed, it belongs in the poetry of our world." He seemed to think about this a bit and nodded.

Gentyl face flushed red in anger. "Enough!"

Magdelyn made no motion to stop her steady hands for sewing, minding herself by the fire, but her lips moved in a silent prayer for the Lord Commander.

"The one I have been desperately trying to convince I no longer need supervising since I am well wed to a man perfectly capable of keeping me safe." Gentyl lowered her voice. "I trust you are capable of keeping me safe?"

Turncutt nodded and tapped the blade by his side. "Right enough there!"

"Then, why after an exhaustive conversation with him not two days ago, once again telling him to leave off watching me, did you say after the fight. "Sepha, let the hat see you home."

"The hat?"

her frustration with her deliberately dense husband was showing. "Your name for Imperon."

"Ah, could the man not serve as a proper escort?"

"That's not the point!"

He poured another glass of whiskey and looked at her with genuine apology. "My Lady, I was deep in my cups. I've little excuse to offer, beyond that."

"Commander, when I am trying to convince someone he doesn't need to protect me, please do not encourage him to do just that."

Magdelyn: looked up from her sewing to the Commander, a brow raised. "Commander!"

Turncutt flinched. "Squarely taken, m'lady."

"Or you will be deep in your ship cabin all alone for a very long time."

He flinched again and grumbled at the prospect.

"Beyond the miller's company, you mean. We are hopeless in rats. A pie is due."

"Then get some cats, Commander. Believe me, we have cats."

Magdelyn shook her head at this turn of events. "May the Light see you forgiven for your misdeeds."

Turncutt took another sip of whiskey and turned his attention to Magdelyn. "Aye, Priestess, and many more... many more."

Thoroughly convinced the talk earlier in the week had an effect on her errant husband, Gentyl went on with other far more pressing business. The occasional perfect rose picked from the garden and left on her pillow brought a smile to her lips and her heart and she had soon forgotten his transgressions. In truth, if that's all he ever did wrong, she was indeed a fortunate woman. She knew full well he was the perfect match for her and her happiness most times was beyond compare.

It was with this in mind she received a message that went straight to her happiness. A warning. Abominus was serious. He had put a contract on Turncutt and was willing to take Gentyl anyway he could get her. Dead or alive...he had a plan.

She strode into the hall that night, not long after the messenger met with her. He was in his chair, wiggling his stocking toes to a tune someone was playing in a nearby room. The familiar whiskey glass in his hand and even more familiar smile of contentment on his lips.

"Evening, m'dear." he pour her a small glass and nodded to the chair next to him. "Join me. Fire's fine and crackling tonight." He closed his eyes and leaned back, not a care in the world.

"Commander, I've just received word about you."

He opened one eye. "Don't believe everything you hear."

"Abominus has put a reward on you. He wants you dead so he can marry me."

His eyes were both closed again and did not reopen. He smiled as if greatly amused. "Would not be the first time. Is it at least a respectable price?"

"I'm sure it's substantial if Abominus is offering it. Are you not at least concerned?"

He did open his eyes this time and looked at her with something akin to amazement. "Should I be?"

"Well, yes. He has set assassins on you."

"And you are worried?"

"Of course I am."

"Pay no attention to this rotter."

"He intends to kill you and marry me willing or no, dead or alive and he would probably prefer dead."

He shrugged and took another sip of whiskey. "I'll call him out if it bothers you. Man to man and none of this assassin business."

"And if you lose!?" She couldn't imagine the pain of losing Turncutt, and she certainly couldn't imagine just turning herself over to Abominus if the unthinkable happened.

"Me lose to Abominus? Are you serious?"

She blinked and yielded. "As you wish, Commander. However you see fit to handle this."

"Corpssse butter, yesss! CORPSSSE BUTTER, YESSS!!!" Why doesss it need thisss, yesss?"

Rodriguez chrrpled at Abominus, twirling his monocle and pointing with his diamond tipped toothpick at the flowchart.

The Maggot Lord eyesocketed the chart, a large and convoluted schematic with one goal: winning Redearth and Gentyl, maybe even at the same time!

"But, corpssse butter, yesss? We haven't had really good corpssse butter sssince the Lordaeron Cattle Yardsss finally ran out of fessstering flesssh, yesss. We could, maybe, add cow-thing flesssh to Abominationsss and milk them, yesss. That may work, yesss..."

The Maggot Lord drifted away with thoughts and schemes. Rodriguez looked after him, then turned at peered at the relevant section of the plan. Yes, right there after "Kill Baby Murlocs for their eye's" and before "Shave Durkas again", with a line leading out to " Drain a moonpool of it's waters" was the section labeled "Corpse Butter". There was, however, no indication as to how much was needed, and from which kind of corpse.

Rodriguez donned his fez, festooned with a Modas Insignia, and sipped some thistle tea from a silver thimble while studying the flow chart. Things were getting complicated, and Abominus had not even gotten to phase 4 of the chart.

Corpse Butter was phase 42.

((Damn it Abom, I was drinking my Morning Coffee when that happened...))

Abominus was informed that Tyrexus of the Modas had captured Gentyl! He eyesocketed this PLAN FLOWCHART. That was Phase 253, right after "Run in circles screaming" with a line from "Eat more Dwarf Liver" leading to it from subsection 3. His plan was thrown into chaos!

There was nothing for it but to store up on Draenai Jelly.

Rodriguez scurried off with instructions for the Hello Maggy office staff. There was a wedding to plan!

((dun dun dun This wasn't really planned, but Trex downed Gen so we're rolling with it.))

((Laughing...so...hard...))

It was a routine defense call, but one they needed to make sure to respond to. Someone was hitting Darkshire and the Cabal and Nith Watch had already complained to high heaven because Ragefang had dared to call a war council meeting about defense in their town. They weren't welcome in the public inn. After listening to the griping, whining and complaining about all the people in "their" inn, Gentyl had suggested they move the meeting to the town hall. Sure no one would drink too much or not enough ale their, order too much food, take someone's favorite seat or speak too much there. But, no, the residents followed them tot he town hall and resumed the whining. What id the horde hit the town because they learned a meeting had been held there.

For a group of people who had complained Orwyn had no right to be in their town to investigate or help uphold the law and had boldly stated they could defend themselves, they seemed little more than frightened old men afraid someone was going to eat too much oatmeal, set the honey too close to their bowl or read their favorite magazine from two years ago.

Finally, tired of the whining, Gentyl spoke up. "I rather doubt the horde is monitoring Darkshire with nefarious plans to strike if someone meets in your town hall. However, if they do we will defend."

And with that, the meeting had more or less proceeded. Ragefang had opened the floor to her on the best ways to defend. She went over the history of how they used to organize, how to scout and get reports and to go in prepared. Since he Cabal and the Night Watch based out of Darkshire, it was only logical they would field scouting parties for the area. Report who was attacking, how many and if hey needed help. Simple enough

"Reports?" Gentyl asked over the hearthstone.

Nothing.

"Pia, let's go check it out."

Gentyl was one of the first to arrive. Her darling husband had already chewed her butt twice or as much as he ever chewed but, which amount to a deep sigh and, "M'lady. What have I told you about rushing in before you have support?"

Support was there and on the way so she engaged Y, Tyrexus' favorite shadow priest. Twice she almost had him and twice the wretch slipped away. Only a bit more and she'd drop the bag of bones and focus on Trex the Terrible.

Gentyl rounded the corner, intent on dropping him when and arcane blast hit her and knocked her into the side of the house. Her neck snapped back so hard she heard it pop and wondered if it had been broken.

Trex walked up to her and looked down at her for a moment and glint of hatred in his eyes before he kicked her, then bashed her head with his staff. "Not today, my dear."

She felt, or dreamed she had been carried to a mount and lashed on, but it was dark and swirling. She couldn't see. Her head was exploding and then there was nothing.

The next thing she knew she was on an island with a lighthouse. Trex stood above her, looking down at her with a mixture of amusement and disdain. She staggered up to her feet, unwilling to have him standing over her gloating. Her ribs hurt. It hurt to breathe. Her head felt like someone had it in a vice and her vision...what there was of it seemed to come and go like the sea ebbing on the rocks below. Right now, she was nearly blind. She shook her head to clear it again. She must know where she was at.

To what avail? She felt the emptiness where her hearthstone should be.

((Bear with me, trying to cram several days of RP into one or two posts -- with no chatlog!))

Cray cursed himself. He'd been slow responding to the Darkshire defense call -- after all, he'd been prompt the last time and it had seemed the people of the town had sounded their alarm because of mere shadows. Better to be certain there was a threat.

If only he'd realized how great a threat.

The Sepha was gone. Taelanas was gravely wounded. And Bojan was still attempting to catch up on paperwork after his long absence.

That left Cray in charge. His first priority had to be finding the Sepha. He'd realized it as soon as Izmila had informed him she'd been the first to Darkshire. She'd been taken before Cray had ever arrived.

"Which way did they take her?" he demanded. Almost instantly, Pia was assembled ready to retaliate -- though he insisted Magdelyn, exhausted and ill as she seemed to be, return to Hearthglen with Mira. He couldn't afford to lose anyone else.

By the time the rest of the Holy Guard reached Stonard without seeing any trace of them, he was beginning to lose hope. He was about to order them to make camp and call for an AAMS translator when an arrow was loosed and cry arose -- the guards had seen them.

"Defend yourselves!" he cried, with just enough time for everyone to draw their weapons before the fray began. His eyes met Belpha's as he slammed his hammer into the stomach of one of the attacking guards. For once, the two of them were thinking the same thing. They pushed through the fight and, forcing their way into the town and immediately began to search the buildings.

Nothing. Just as he left the last building he thought she could be hidden in, he saw Sara take a slash in the arm. "She's not here," he shouted, "Pull out!" He couldn't afford to have anyone else wounded.

"Fall back!" Belpha seconded the command.

They regrouped in Hearthglen -- Cray commanding over his hearthstone that the rest of the Presidium meet them there. Time was of the essence. And he needed to think.

Lunaeis suggested that, in his lupine form, he could scout out more clues in Deadwind Pass. Though he was not particularly pleased to be told he could not go alone, he ultimately submitted to the order and was sent off with Helhammer to find some semblance of a lead. It was not an easy day to be joining the Presidium, but Launaeis was performing most admirably. When.... if Taelanas or Gentyl were back in action, he would have to tell them. Commendations were surely in order.

Sara's arm would not stop bleeding, and even fully bandaged Cray did not want her in any possibly dangerous situations -- so he ordered her to join Magdelyn in her bed rest. It was temporary, he was sure they'd be back in action soon enough, but he did not want to take the risk of losing anyone else tonight.

"Where is Finnaeus?" he demanded, of no one in particular. No one seemed to know. He was likely on a mission for the Sepha, and inaccessible to anyone save her. Fel. "Talk to Light's Shadow, or anyone," he ordered the rest of the Guard, "Keep the situation quiet, but we need to learn the whereabouts of Abominus. Or we need to find out where Modas operates. Anything will help, but time is of the essence."

It was then he noticed Izmila was had already left the room. With a heavy sigh, he stalked off to find the wayward Paladin. Not far outside, he found her -- pounding her frustrations out on a rock. It looked as though the rock was losing the fight -- for there was blood upon it. It took a moment for Cray to realize the blood was from Izmila's knuckles. "Hey, hey. Stop," he said -- his tone as gentle as he could manage in his current fervor, "This isn't your fault. And right now, the best thing you can do to help is be not bleeding." She seemed unconvinced, but she followed him back inside all the same.

And then he heard word from Lunaeis and Helhammer. The trail they'd found went cold in Westfall.

"This must be her," he thought, running the red tangles through his decrepit fingertips.
After a long intake through his dripping nostrils, he was sure.

The flight from Darkshire to the coast of Westfall had sobered him enough to remind him of where he actually was. Coming out of unconsciousness, he had caught Tyrexus at the edge of the wood with the body bound.
-"This way, brother!"
He reared his shaded dragon from beneath him to bang a left.

When he had coughed up a lung of viscous black slime, he was on the walking-edge of a light house in Westfall on the coast with the waves banging violently against the dried rocks below.
Looking to his right and immediately down below, he caught the gleam of Tyrexus' bald head.
He floated down, blood pumping and head banging.

With a film coating his eyes, he stumbled his way toward the tall, flesh-pillar that would prove itself to be Gentyl. He could tell by the scent of those red tangles he caught in his claws and whiffed through his nose and throat.

Tyrexus piped in with gutteral velvet tones that brought Yrykh back to surface-level, and with an exhausted exhale, "Keep her weapons from her and keep her safe until the Maggot-Lord recieves it."

Cray returned wearily to the camp that he'd established in Westfall. It had been two days since he'd slept -- his mind would not stop whirling. The Presidium had managed to find... some sort of clue on the shore, between the lighthouse and Moonbrook. Though Cray lacked the tracking skills to understand how scent could be definitive of a location, he took the word of the Worgen amongst them for it. Bojan had been briefed, and left Cray in charge of the Presidium from the field.

Light's Shadow had returned what they knew to Thora -- despite their best efforts it was hardly helpful. Seeking answers from the Conclave, or from the often surprising insightful Narnicka, had been similarly useless, though it was no one's fault. Narnicka, indisposed because of some attack and Genevra understandably shaken by it. Though her nearly fatal.... greeting of Arlston had been startingly, Cray could hardly blame her given what had just happened to Narnicka.

Arlston had -- in his own way -- inspired a new thought in Cray. He'd forgotten about the friendship with Sprocketeer that had been forced upon him. He'd managed to avoid the rabbit for the better part of a week -- a record -- and there was enough else going on that it had slipped his mind. Though the impish little gnome had explained that the rabbit was mechanical, Cray couldn't help but feel as though there was some fel darkness in it. And yet, the evening light found Cray and Arlston kneeling on the grass behind the Cathedral and talking to the bunny. To any onlookers, they would have looked quite mad -- until the rabbit answered: "I am between here and there."

"A boat?" Cray wondered, "The tram?" Arlston nodded at the second guess, and the duo took off. Arlston sought the gnome for his own reasons, but that hardly bothered Cray. Despite how quiet and mysterious he was, Cray trusted Arlston with his life. And, presently, with the Sepha's.

They spotted Sprocketeer staring through the glass at the water from the walkway beside the track as the tram sped past. Arlston leapt off the moving vehicle -- disappearing into the shadows with the grace of wild cat. Cray's leap had more the grace of a hippo adorned with enormous boulders. He clanged into piping, ricocheted into the wall and fell noisily to his knees. That would leave several vibrant bruises, he was certain.

There were few pleasantries exchanged when the two men finally came face to face with the gnome. Cray swore Arlston and Sprocketeer to secrecy, before explaining -- in brief -- that the Sepha was missing and he required the whereabouts and activities of Abominus as well as any information that could be found about where the operations of Modas took place. Cray was nervous about what Sprocketeer's price might be -- for he knew there would be one -- but she only demanded half of the bounty Abominus had promised for Gentyl. The Paladin tossed her a bag of coins and promised the rest after she had brought him helpful information.

And now he and Gust, exhausted, anxious, stressed, collapsed together beside the roaring campfire. There would be no sleep tonight, there was too much thought in his head for that. But perhaps he could, at least, rest a bit knowing he had put in motion the wheels of progress. The wheels of victory.

And before long, he prayed, Light willing... the Sepha would be in charge again.

Sprocketeer had not seen Auchtin in some time, but the pet did as it was bidden and that often served her purpose. That is to say that while he believed it to be running loose in Stormwind, it was, more often than not assisting the gnome with some errand or another, but that was besides the point.

Wait there was a point to this? Oh yes, helping Cray. Of course she would help him. She'd spent plenty of her time wandering Orgrimmar with her companions that they've made a game of it. Finding the whereabouts of one singular human in amongst all those other tall ones and the small ones shouldn't be too hard. Or so she imagined when suggested the price.

The gnome left the tram, heading towards Ironforge, muttering off lists of things she would need.

Then came the notices, posted about the cities, this changed things certainly, as it would put a crunch on her timetable, "Damned Maggots, this is going to cost me I can see it already." She tore one of the signs from the board and handed it to the mechanical chicken that happened to be following her.

"Eat up Clucky, there's more where that came from."

Tyrexus showed her into the tower and smiled as if he we escorting her to a grand restaurant. He waved his hand around the small, bare room save one old chair that leaned suspiciously forward as if it were listening in on the conversation. The ruins of a lighthouse was still solid, built to withstand everything an angry mistress could throw at it. She, the mistress of all seamen, was calm today. Gentyl could still hear the gentle lapping at the shores through the open door. Gulls squawked to each other. Somewhere a piece of driftwood tapped at the pier, almost is if it were knocking to be let in. A rat skittered across the floor and squeaked angrily at them for invading his home.

There was a thumping somewhere distant and solid. It was hurried, insistent as if some foreman anxious to return home wanted the hammers to rush to day's end. Who would be building something so close? her mind pondered this, wondering where she was and if the workers were friendly. Perhaps they would hear her shouts for help.

Tyrexus smiled again, the perfect host in her dusty prison and handed her a small communication stone. "You're familiar with this. It will allow you to speak to me." He waved around the small room. "All the comforts of home."

The dull thudding increased. Now she could feel it pounding in her ears. It was not workers, it was her heart.

He didn't plan to kill her.

"You can't keep me."

He smiled again and ran a long, claw-like finger across her cheek in an almost caress. "No?"

"No. My men will come."

Yrykh sniffed her hair and then grinned wickedly at her. Apparently he liked the scent of humans or wysteria.

Gentyl frowned and jerked her head away from him.

Trex the Terrible Foxria had named him and it was appropriate. He smiled at the antics of his partner. "By then, Abominus will have bought you. It will no longer matter."

Yrykh looked around and said something Gentyl didn't understand.

"My men will pay more."

Yrykh spoke again, but it was gibberish to her. "Zug moguna Gul'rok."

"You should know better, dearest," Trex said He tsked and rubbed his chest where a hammer smashed it. "You should have had that brute with you."

Yrykh nodded to Gentyl and spoke again.

Trex nodded to her axe. "And yes, I'll be taking your weapon if you don't mind."

Gentyl growled and lifted it. I'll give you my weapon.

He grinned as if he could read her mind. His look taunted her and almost dared her to do exactly what she was thinking. She knew if she swung, she would be writing in agony like a maggot on a hot griddle within seconds. He would enjoy it and it would only weaken her. She needed her strength if she were to escape.

Yrykh pointed at the water elemental as if warning it to be on guard.

Gentyl handed over the axe. Trex raised a brow. "Oh, I'll be having that pretty little dagger you slice your lemons with also."

((sorry this is out of order))

He studied her for a moment, apparently thinking about something serious requiring great concentration. "Hmmm. I wonder if Abominus will still pay full price if your liver is missing?"

She looked him in the eye, never flinching. He fed on fear. She couldn't keep him from eating her liver, but she could keep from feeding his addiction to fear. "Probably not."

"That, love, is certainly a shame. It might be worth the loss, though." He smiled in contemplation. :Well. Although I truly enjoy your company. I have places to be and fees to collect. Can I get you anything before I leave?"

Yrykh smiled at her.

"My freedom."

"Ahhh. Yes. Well, the definition of freedom can be fuzzy at times. Perhaps by the end of this, you will know true freedom."

She nodded. "In lieu of that your rotting head on a platter."

He ignored her. "Now, as for the furry brute. I'll see if I can bring him along to keep you company. My hearth certainly needs a new rug. Without their leader, I have a feeling that Pia will be crumbling."

Yrykh turned to Trex and asked a question and then nodded.

"And, what was his name? Finny or something. I want him as well."

Gentyl flinched. "Pia will do fine without me."

The two forsaken held a long conversation about something she couldn't fathom from their expression and tone.

Trex turned to her again and smiled. Whatever question had arisen. The decision had been made.

"You underestimate Pia," she said. "If I die tomorrow they won't even slow down."

"I think you think too much of them."

Yrykh cackled maniacally.

"You think too little, sir."

"I certainly know a few who will fold under the pressure."

Yrykh smiled knowingly at her.

"Just know, dear lady, that I'll be cutting down your men whilst you wait for your honeymoon with Abominus. Be well." He bowed grandly before her.

They locked the door behind them and then she heard the faint crackle of arcane energy. He was sealing the door. She recognized the sound and the smell. It was the same magic they had used to keep Trex confined. The room was quiet now. The sounds she had tried to record in her mind earlier were completely blocked. She might as well have been in a tomb. There was a window. A chance of breaking through that perhaps and jumping to...what her death? Slim as it was, it was a chance.

The chance died as blue magic frosted over the yellowed panes dull from years of dirt and sea spray. He had fortified the window also.

He left her with one last sound. The muffled scream of the hermit dying in a blast of magic. It was as if it were far away in a distant valley, but she knew the man was directly below the tower. Or what was left of him, if anything.

If there was a blessing in all of this, it was that Trex had not tortured the hermit. He could have sent him to his death begging and slobbering for mercy.

Night descended. She kept her ear pressed to the warded window, hoping for some sound. Once she imagined she heard someone yelling her name, but it was her imagination. There was no sound here. No one would hear her if she screamed. Only the rats now scampering about bravely with the fall of night. Their nails made faint little scritching noises on the stone floor. The rat dance was in full sway with excited little conversations and occasional disagreements judging from the angry squeals. Perhaps they were squeals of passion.

She shuddered. A honeymoon with Abominus.

Determined to try and get some sleep she sat down near the window. She could at least pretend she was free. She tried to force her mind into that quiet corner, but like and errant child it kept running away, skipping through the memories, the what ifs and the should haves.

If only she had her lute.

Blocks of stone with well-mossed crack
Midnight's gown of blue and black
Above a tranquil moonlit sea
Though body bound, my mind is free

She laughed, frightening a rat who had crept close to investigate the newcomer or dinner, depending on how the night's hunt went. How long would her mind be free? The spy had already warned her. They were working on potions and elixirs. She would be well drugged for the wedding or dead and reanimated. Abominus wanted a loving wife. She had to focus her mind. There had to be something she could hold onto that would survive whatever they did. Some kernel that would trigger her memories and who she was.

Her eyes closed and she saw his face. Felt his lips on her throat. His caress as he brushed her hair. The Commander would save her, one way or the other. And so she fell asleep dreaming of him. Fixing him in her mind. Fading into her arms where she was safe.

She awoke slightly before dawn. A rat had decided the woman wrapped in her cloak was near enough to dead to be considered breakfast. She jerked awake and curse when he bit her wrist, then popped her hand against the wall, knocking him loose. His teeth, still clamped tightly through her flesh, ripped through, leaving a small but painful and freely bleeding gash. She took the handkerchief from her pocket, spit on it, wiped he blood away and noticed a ragged little strip of skin hanging. It would probably get more infected if she tried to get it to grow back together. Then she laughed. She was worried about an infection. She pushed it back into place and wrapped the blood-stained cloth around her wrist, then pulled her sleeve down over it.

Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn't eaten since midday the day before. She pulled a crumbled cookie from her pocket she had hurriedly grabbed as she ran out the door for the fight. It was mostly crumbs now but she relished every one.

The tower was still chilled as a sunken tomb. She took off her cloak, spit on the corner and began cleaning the window panes. Perhaps she could get enough sunlight in to warm it up a bit. It wasn't clean when she was done, but at least some of the grime was gone from the inside. She stood, her fingernails digging into the glazing and looking out over the island. Freedom was so close. She pushed her hands flat against the panes and closed her eyes, feeling the warmth seeping through the glass. It was such a tiny separation between her and...what? Even if she broke the window it must be thirty feet below. It was better than waiting. She leaned back and threw her shoulder into the window, ducking her head.

Instead of falling headfirst through like she had hoped there was only the loud clang of metal on what sounded like metal. What kind of magic was that? Her shoulder throbbed from the hit. She pushed her hands against it, but there was no yielding. It was exactly like a transparent metal.

Then the madness consumed her and she started beating against it. Screaming and cursing. At last she leaned back and kicked it. She might as well have been beating on the stone walls.

The rage spent, she leaned the side of her face against the window and let the tears quietly slip down her cheeks. The tears on the right side occasionally made their way to the glass like furtive lovers slipping through the dark for a secret rendezvous. They puddled where the flesh met the pane and eventually the reservoir broke and they continued their journey.

She sighed. Two minutes to cry. It had been a rule of hers for many years. Cry for a short time, get it out of your system and then get back to work. Get back to work doing what?

The window as enchanted, but what if the glazing in the panes wasn't somehow? Or the sill under it? She started looking for something sharp to gouge with. At last she found a nail, large and bent, coated with course, crumbling flakes of rust like a ship too long at sea covered with barnacles, but it had a relatively sharp end and it was solid enough to hold up to some serious digging.

She pulled the rickety chair over to the window and slammed it down to try and settle the legs in the seat of the chair. It was les flimsy, but still a balancing act to sit on. She scratched the nail through the glazing, and was amazed when some dust drifted away. Was it possible the magic didn't penetrate that? She dug more, scratch the nail carefully along the edge, over and over. Tiny chunks of the ancient gray compound flaked away. She kept at her chore steadily, even humming a bit as she did. She'd have to take her armor off, but if she could get the bottom three panes loose, she might squeeze through. Then she had to hope the ward he had put up wouldn't counter her magic. An arcane shield would keep her from dying in the fall. If she did, well, chances were she would anyway. It would just make it on her terms not theirs.

She dragged the nail along the deepening gouge. It would go no further. The magic might have left a small portion susceptible, but the window was fully protected. She leaned back in the chair, overcome with fatigue and disappointment. The back of the chair cracked and she almost tumbled tail over teakettle. She stood up at last, drained and limp as a noodle left too long in the pot. She chair screeched a protest as she gently pushed it out of the sunlight. If it had thoughts, it would have condemned her for her selfish, inconsiderate ways as she sat on the floor soaking up every bit of sunlight streaming through the window. It seemed to mock her with its seeming frailty and then take pity by allowing her light and warmth. Resigned to her present fate, Gentyl reached inside her tunic and took out a packet of letters she always carried with her. Tyrexus had either not noticed them or not cared when he searched her.

She carefully untied the green ribbon and set it aside. Turncutt had given it to her for her hair once. She had reassigned it to keeping her letters from him in order. Without looking to see the content, she plucked the top one from the pile and began to read.

Lady Gentyl,

A more agreeable evening is not easy to recall. Aside from that business about the Modas and their dark-doings.

I spent the night in a little lodging overlooking the Mage square and the citron grove. It was, as you remarked, uncommonly warm last night so I took my lamp out on the balcony to read a few lines. The air was pleasant, sweet with the scent of the gardens. A few lamps burning behind parti-colored windows, and pale blue pools of fire in the wayside braziers...

I could hear a few night-birds, restless in their leafy bowers. And then I saw a fellow, very odd looking. He was in his night-clothes, his hair unkempt, his pants roll'd up to his calves, barefoot in the yard between the hedges, walking about with no particular destination. I thought him merely a drunk from the Recluse at first, but I noticed that behind his back he held a small violin by the neck, or, upon a closer look, it was what a seaman would have called a rebec, that bawdy cousin of the violin. I watched, for a time, until the fellow at last sat upon the ground, took up his bow, and played the most beautiful, lovelorn measures I have ever heard. The man's pain was indeed my fortune, for certain some great love was lost last night, the flame of one those candles set adrift was snuf'd untimely. And this artful fellow was the casualty.

So, dear Gentyl, I did have my music after all, my only regret was that you missed it.

As ever,
Turncutt

She pressed the letter to her face, the faint scent of whiskey still held and an even fainter scent of him. Imagined or not, it comforted her and she fell asleep in the shaft of sunlight like a cat fat and ripe with age, no care in the world.

The entire guild was exhausted. Search parties had combed Darksshire and the surrounding areas. One of the druids had caught a scent of her in Westfall and they had combed that area also. The pompous law enforcement there refused to give aid. He was too busy, pulling his sunglasses off and on and standing around looking pretty.

Stormwind City Watch might help, but Masser had already said their forces were stretched thin and they had no available men when Sepha had asked them to protect Genevra.

As much as Faithe didn't want to ask for more help from the Ocheliad it was time. They had helped rescue her and shown her great kindness afterwards. "Sir Cray, we must speak to the Ocheliad."

He looked half dead. The circles under his eyes testified to the lack of sleep in days. He stopped running the whetstone down the blade and looked over at her across the great room. "No. I refuse to talk to them." He resumed his sharpening as if the subject were now closed.

"We need their help. We have few people we can trust, and unfortunately they are among the ones we can."

"I'm not talking to them. Besides, they won't help."

"Then give me permission to."

He nodded, too irritated with the subject to voice his agreement.

She sent a page looking for Imperon and quickly received word back he would meet with her. He was at the Recluse, as usual, surrounded by his bodyguards. Cyrus sat slumped back in his chair, folded across his chest glaring at her. She stopped, unsure she had the heart to continue.

"Miss Faithe," Imperon said. "You wished to speak?"

She bowed. "Lord Imperon, may I join you?"

He nodded to the chair in front of him. "You've heard the news?"

"I hear lots of news. What news are you referring to?"

"Sepha has been taken by he Modas. The undead mage we had captured now has her. Our intelligence says he plans to sell her to Abominus who in turn plans to kill her and raise her forsaken then marry her."

Most of the others at the table only chuckled, but Cyrus broke out laughing. "And there's a down side to this?"

Faithe blinked. "I'm glad you're amused. It's not quite so amusing to us."

"Well, it might bring her arrogant !@# down to earth if she were married to the maggot lord for a while."
Faithe looked around the table to see the reactions and, aside from Alexethima, they all seemed to be grinning

"I have to say, Miss Faithe, I'm a bit disappointed one of your officers hasn't contacted me earlier."

Zaiun asked her if he could get a drink.

"Tea, please. Do you have any lime?"

He looked around under the counter, "Lemon, lime, limon..."

"Lime, but not limeade." She had already been warned about that.

The teapot, cup and lime floated over to the table and set down gently in front of her. She poured a cup calmly and deliberately, then squeezed a wedge of lime into her tea. It was a habit she picked up from Sepha, but she preferred limes when she could get them. She added a bit of honey and stirred it then sipped it slowly, closing her eyes.

It really was very good tea. It was also time to leave. She laid some coins on the table. Her gaze swept around the smirking faces. Imperon grinned, but it was not the mocking look of the others. Alex remained quiet. Faithe knew she was fond of Gentyl and Alex, even for being in Ocheliad, had a gentle heart.

"I see Sir Cray was right. You will not help. I'm sorry I wasted your time." She nodded to Zaium and turned to leave.

Imperon waited until she had risen and taken a few steps before asking her to return. "Miss Faithe, you came here to talk to me about Gentyl. Sit back down and let's talk. You'll have to forgive Cyrus, but Gentyl and your order did ruin any chance he had to raise his friend."

Faithe returned to her seat. "We need help. That's why I came here." She turned to Cyrus. "Sir, please believe me when I say we never intended to harm your friend. We were just afraid of the weapon and what it might do."

He glared at her. "Shut your mouth, woman. Don't you ever speak of him again or Unben or no I will come across this table and shut it for you."

Faithe raised an eyebrow. "And Pia is the one who has no control over its men? I'm glad to see such a shining example of how it's done."

Imperon turned to look at Cyrus. "Is that so? You've had your fun, Captain. Now be quiet."

The dreanei lowered his gaze.

Imperon turned back to Faithe. "How can we help you?"

"We need to get her back. We need information on Modas movements and where they may have taken her. Our people are searching, but we need more. Whatever you can do for us."

Imperon nodded. "We will see what we can do. I have always offered to protect the Lady Gentyl as you well know."

She waited for the speech about how there was a reason he tried to watch over Gentyl, but was thankfully spared. She had watched enough of their bantering over the subject and the Commander's recent stint in the dog house had been due to the very same subject.

"Now, about payment?" She took another sip of tea and waited. Haelolin wiggled one of her propped up boots at Faithe and then winked at her.

The fel? Why was she winking?

Alexithima chuckled slightly at Haelolin.

Faithe turned back to look at Imperon. "We have gold. We can raise what you need."

Imperon waved his hand. "I have no need of gold."

Cyrus rolled his eyes. "Oh brother, here we go again."

There was a silence as Imperon rubbed his chin and thought. "I have it. I'll accept a kiss."

Faithe choked on her tea. "A what?"

"A kiss."

"A kiss?"

He nodded. "Yes, there are many tales of heroes slaying dragons and rescuing damsels in distress in return for a kiss."

"A kiss? Surely you can't be serious."

"I'm quite serious. You shall have the services of the Ocheliad in exchange for a kiss."

"A kiss. That's all?"

"A single kiss. A chaste kiss, as the heroes would do. There would be no tongue involved."

She could feel her cheeks burning as everyone in earshot busted out laughing.