World of Warcraft®

Kezrin leaned back in the chair, heels propped up on the desk, book in hand. A rather large pan from the kitchens sat nearby. The Caer Darrow offices were rather quiet; in fact, Kezrin was pretty sure she was the only person in the building.

The whole town was quiet, actually. Not many people had been willing to set up shop with the AAMS, and the small population continued to dwindle. Most of the remaining people had finally gotten fed up and left after being subjected to days of screaming heads from the AAMS' garden. It seemed that even the people willing to brave Caer Darrow weren't willing to put up with both the Scholomance AND the craziness that was the AAMS.

The situation hadn't been helped by the Alliance group, Terra Incognita, that ran amuck through the Scholomance recently. Ever since they rummaged through the place, the odd sounds and noises from up the hill had only grown worse, until Kezrin was the only courier willing to watch the offices at night, frying pan in hand, and Derscha's razormaw sleeping at the back door. Everyone else found convenient excuses to go "run errands."

Heads and Terra Incognita... The goblin blinked as the flicker of a memory tried to re-assert itself. She'd gotten fairly used to the feeling, and knew better than to force it. It would come in time. This one felt like something fairly important...

Her thoughts were interrupted by noises from outside. It was still daytime, but her hand reached for the frying pan out of habit as she went to investigate.

Ah Caer Darrow, while it had always been somewhat of a dangerous place to venture with the scholomance and last scattered remains of the scourge lingering about it had become a favorite place for Rivyr to venture. Not affiliated with either AAMS or Terra Incognita, Rivyr had little idea there was an office there or that Terra Incognita had previously ran amuck through the scholomance however she had noticed the increased activity of the noises coming from all around. What threat did they pose to well armed warrior though?

"Hmm, nothing..I must have picked everything of any value or use out of these ruins.."With small grunt rivyr shoved aside a the chard remains of a ceiling rafter and rolled aside a few chunks of stone and mortar."And nothing here either..."

Looking over her shoulder, glowing eyes settled upon her Darnassian Saber which seemed to have become alert to something in the area. Its ears twitched and swiveled and a low whine imitated from the giant cat. "Its nothing, be still and calm your nerves.." Though rivyr her self was wise enough to know that a cats instincts where seldom wrong and so her hand fell to the hilt of her sword just in case..

It was rather....screamy. Yeah, screamy was a good way of describing it.

And not just because of the heads someone had planted in the garden...or the funny noises that echoed up from Scholomance at night...or even the occasional Terran who got into trouble in the ruined castle or several miles east near Corin's Crossing...

It was the spirits here. Always restless, to be sure, but now, Yotingo thought, perhaps just a wee bit angry.

Yotingo pondered this as he held himself aloft with one arm, feet clasped above him, holding a crystal orb in his other hand, and mohawk standing even straighter--or perhaps hanging even straighter was more accurate--as he held his upside-down, handstand position. It was good for meditating. And, Yotingo found, meditate in a strange position, and people stopped questioning all the other strange things you do. Very important for a AAMS manager, when most things the company did were a little...strange.

As strange as the spirits here...

Screamy, yes. Angry, yes. Those were both good ways of describing it. Like the scream of a banshee...or a wife who wished her husband not to bring his muddy hunting boots inside after she just changed all the rugs...

Yotingo switched arms, tilting his head to a right angle so one long ear just barely brushed the ground. He concentrated for a moment, and a long silver sliver of magic dripped from the orb in his hand, piercing the ground as if it weren't there. The hanging cord twanged delicately like a harp string seemingly of its own accord. Every so often, Yotingo added more notes by plucking it himself, his tusk like a guitar pick.

Most often, the spirits responded well to this sort of communication. Most spirits enjoyed music, and most spirits enjoyed making it. It was both calming for them, and a way for them to speak their true thoughts if they understood no other languages....including those about why they were screaming so.

The harp string twanged louder and louder. Then, it snapped, the silver disappearing into two greasy black puffs of smoke. The orb darkened, and Yotingo had to drop it as it grew heavier. It rolled, split in two, leaking the same ominous smoke. To his Other Sight, the screaming grew louder.

Yotingo couldn't be sure, but he had a feeling that wasn't a good sign.

Xanossa had taken to carrying a rather large hammer whenever she was unfortunate enough to have to travel to Caer Darrow for varying sorts of paperwork.

It was bad enough when it had just been all her quills disappearing, or her desk being rearranged, or occasionally encountering a room you were fairly certain hadn't been there before, but as of late, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching her no matter where she went within the city. On occasion, she could swear she heard scratching and whispering, chains dragging, or see something move just out of the corner of her eye.

The ghosts here were unhappy, that much was clear. Even the warm presence of the Light couldn't shake that feeling.

Though she avoided sleeping within the offices there like the plague, it made her all the more glad that she had talked to the Boss Gnome over moving away from this horrid place. The idea had come up a few days prior with Bralox and Kezrin, and it was the elder Kanzelry sister who had suggested the new location of Booty Bay. There were several empty buildings for rent there, after all.

The Paladin was perched at her desk, the hour woefully late, and she had lit just about every candle and the fireplace in her small office to brighten the room up as much as possible - though every shadow cast by the bright light was still rather eerie. She'd also closed all the curtains as to avoid looking outside.

Rather suddenly, there was what sounded like a retching groan outside the door, and the frame began to shake violently. Xan leapt up from her desk as quickly as her nightgown would allow, reaching for the massive mace, the palms of her hands glowing brightly with a luminescent light. She uttered a prayer to the Sun in Thalassian beneath her breath as the walls began to shake, the curtains flying open and displaying... nothing outside the windows.

As quickly as it had started, it was over. The shaking subsided, and the groaning grew more distant. Visibly shaken, and refusing to let go of her mace - a rather absurd sight, given that she was in her pajamas - she made certain to go about to all the curtains, pulling them shut once more, and double checked the bolt lock on the door, just to be certain.

The move couldn't come soon enough.

Derscha had gotten fairly used to Not Finding Things in the Right Spot. She still wasn't happy with the general state of disarray, but ever since they'd hired Spriggel, it had become a matter of course to re-arrange her desk every morning, with the exception of her nameplate, which she'd taken the precaution of nailing into place.

So she hadn't even noticed that it was a bit unusual for items to continue to be mislaid, even though Spriggel had been scarce lately. As for odd noises and groaning, they were in an old building. Old buildings made strange noises. Unusual movements out the corner of her eye were probably that oddly mobile weeder plant that was wandering around. And if she saw the occasional white apparition, well, the AAMS uniforms were white.

Nothing that couldn't be explained, right?

Still, she listened to Xanossa's reports of strange activity and the concerns from the other couriers, and admitted that perhaps it was time to relocate. While there were plenty of benefits to the Caer Darrow location (the extremely cheap rent was particularly nice), it was a little inconvenient for their clients and not centrally located along their usual shipping routes. A new location could expedite their processing and shipping times, and reduce the need to pay for all the health problems caused by living near plague lands.

So Derscha sat at her desk, drafting plans and checklists for the move, resolutely ignoring the way the walls would occasionally shake, or strange chill that kept creeping down her backside.

The building was drafty, and it was a cold breeze from off the lake, nothing more.

Afterall, she'd never get the AAMS safety deposit back if they had to report the offices were haunted.

Girren wondered, again, who had been touching his files while he slept. He'd been working on this current project for months, and it was taking far longer than necessary, because someone with really cold hands kept rearranging the courier logs.

The smears of red ink didn't help, either. What kind of ink dried into rough crusts, anyway?

He scratched the red marks from a sheaf of paper, and sighed. This was the fourth time this month he had to redraft his findings before they became unintelligible again under the rust-red stains. When he finally found something to report about a certain misunderstanding, he really should see if the Bossgnome knew who had been tampering with his office/apartment, and relocking the door behind them!

The one-track security Marshal didn't even look up far enough to see the strange markings on the ceiling of the office he'd been sleeping in.

It was the door opening that caught her attention.

It was slightly ajar. There wasn't any breeze, and she'd never known that door to open on its own before. It lead to a storeroom, and should have been firmly shut and locked. She cautiously walked over, pushing the door open the rest of the way.

Inside were stacks of boxes, covered in thick layers of dust. She was pretty sure a few in the corner had labels that said "Ratchet" on them. Nothing looked disturbed, with nary a foot print in the dust.

And yet... in the middle of the floor... written in the dust...

FLEE WHILE YOU CAN

Kezrin slammed the door shut, its lock clicking into place. Behind her, a woman's voice laughed. It was a low, amused laugh, a voice she was certain she'd never heard before. She spun around, but no one was there.

The voice whispered, "Best to heed that advice."

Kezrin's eyes widened. "W-who is that?"

There was no answer except for another low chuckle, and sudden disappearance of what she'd assumed was just a shadow on the wall.

The spirits of the dead held a fascination for her. The ones that tended to linger at Caer Darrow were those that felt the strongest emotions… rage, anger, sorrow. They were capable of fits of pure emotion, without temperance or restraint. It only took a little bit of prodding to provoke them into unleashing their wrath on the object of their fury; in this case, the strange little company that had been attempting to cleanse them from the tainted town.

The spirits disliked her poking around, as well, but focusing their attention on the AAMS had allowed her to search through the halls of the Scholomance at leisure while they were occupied.

This messenger service was laughable. She'd learned a little about the group from watching them, and from the priest's mind. They claimed neutrality and abstained from conflict; it was absurd to think one could be so distant from the world. Hypocrites who hid behind "the greater good" to hide that they really were pursuing their own desires.

With more time, perhaps she could do more than rattle them, but her resources were sorely limited. She rubbed her fingers down the spine of the leather book in thought, but refrained from undoing the ornate latch on the covering and opening the pages. The runes embossed in the cover glowed faintly at her touch. The book had been her prison for far too many years, before the priest had picked it up.

Perhaps these couriers could be of some use, before they left.

A quiet rasping sound and the distinct scent of dried, powdered blood can be detected, emanating from the closed door of Derscha's outer office. There's a shadowy snickering, and the dimming light outside casts the office in dark red shades.

Underneath Derscha's desk, the small razormaw lifted his head from his nap. He let out a high pitched whine, sniffing the air anxiously. He crawled out from under desk, then paced around the room.

Outside of the office, Girren carefully sc*#%@d more of that strange red ink off of the AAMS files. He glanced at Derscha's door at the sound of movement. "Huh? Derscha? I didn't know you were in late."

The movement inside the office paused a few seconds.

"Derscha?"

The growling resumed more loudly. Derscha's door rattled on its hinges, as the razormaw clawed frantically on the inside. The gnome stared at the door.

"I'm reasonably sure that Derscha would not be clawing things," Girren said to no one. "She has no claws!"

He set down the file, and approached the rattling door carefully. "Dercscha, stop it. You have no claws."

Faint laughter filled the air. A low laugh, not at all like Derscha's gnomish giggle. Girren paused, and picked up his shield. He slowly reached for the doorknob. "D-Derscha?"

The door abruptly burst open, and Girren ducked behind his shield as the razormaw surged forth. The voice laughed again, and Snapper attacked the shadows in the corner of the room. One of the shadows shifted and vanished. Snapper growled in frustration.

Girren sighed, setting his shield back down. "Come here, little one. What is it the boss calls you? Chomper? Nibbler?"

The razormaw reluctantly plodded over to the gnome, making snapping noises with his teeth.

"What's wrong? Are you hungry?" Girren looked around for something edible, but the office was sorely lacking in ready snack food. He searched his pockets, and discovered a couple pieces of jerky. Snapper quit his whining, tilting his head with interested, focused on the unexpected appearance of food. Girren set the jerky on the ground. It disappeared in two bites.

"Is that better, you little miscreant?"

Snapper sat down, this time whining in a sort of, "I'm happy now" noise, as opposed to the fretful one from before.

"I suppose so." Girrn picked up his filed. "Now back to…. where did all this red ink come from?"

The door to the office suddenly slammed shut.

Girren eyed the door a few spare seconds. Then he shrugged and began scrapping the crystalized blood off the forms.

The shadowy figure chuckled again. It seemed she needed to be more direct. "Little gnome," she whispered.

He didn't look up from his work. "Say, would you please hand me that knife?  Some vandal poured ink on this document."

The figure flicked her wrist. A tendril of shadow curled around the knife. With another gesture, the knife flew across the room, embedding itself a half-inch deep into a chair next to the work-focused gnome.

"Hmm? Ah! Excellent. Thank you." With some effort, he dislodged the knife and began using it to help sc*#%@ the blood.

Was he completely oblivious? She would play along, then. She struggled to remember why she had picked him as her target. "Gnome," she tried again to get his attention. "Are you very good with filing?"

The razor maw growled at her, slowly inching his way to where she was hidden. She called the shadows to her, shifting to the other corner of the room, near the exit. One of the old boards creaked as she re-solidified.

The gnome barely acknowledged the noise. "Oh, would you please close the windows on the way out?"

Close the windows! She glared angrily at him, he who ignored her. "Perhaps I should try another tactic," she muttered. One guaranteed to get the reaction she wanted.

"Tactic?" Girren asked with a frown, still preoccupied by the delicate work of cleaning the "ink" off the reports. "I suppose I could close them myself, if you do not want to. Look, you do not have-" He finally looked up to speak directly to the voice, only there was no one to see. The room was empty save for himself, Snapper, and the shadows. "Oh. You must have already gone."

Every window in the room slammed shut with a loud thud. A window pane cracked, and a large chunk of glass fell to the floor.

"Ah!" Girren was pleased. "Thank you."

Snapper ceased his whining, peering cautiously around the room. He took a couple of sniffs, then settled on the floor by Girren's feet. The gnome absently patted him before pulling the next report from the stack to clean.

The boat was due at the docks later that day, although the captain had firmly refused to set foot on the island. The AAMS would have to load their final crates themselves. Derscha double checked the bills of lading and sighed in contentment. By tomorrow, the AAMS would have officially vacated Caer Darrow.

The Kanzelries were dealing with setting up the new building in Booty Bay. There had been a rather terrifying incident involving Mizzy a few days previously. She hadn't wanted to talk about it, and Derscha couldn't even get Kezrin to spill the details. So she reluctantly let them go ahead to Booty Bay; they'd been among the last brave enough to tolerate the increased attacks upon the couriers. It had taken forever to pack up the offices with only a handful of helpers.

She walked around the building one last time, Snapper trailing her footsteps as usual. The walk ended outside at the remains of her failed garden. Boot Bay wouldn't have the space to attempt a new one, but perhaps she could put some plants on the window sills.

It was Snapper who noticed the presence, first. He lifted his head and let out a whine. Derscha glanced around, but didn't see anyone nearby. She reached up to adjust her hat more firmly on her head; she'd learned by now to be wary of anything unusual.

"Let's go, Snapper," she called, but the razormaw didn't move, growling at the dark space between two buildings.

She paused; intellectually, she knew that investigating the mysterious darkness was a Bad Idea, but her curiosity made her hesitate. The longer she stood there, the less cautious she began to feel.

Follow your curiosity. Why deny yourself the satisfaction of learning the truth? You do love secrets so much…

Derscha took a step forward. Snapper chomped at her hem, actually catching it in his teeth and tearing the fabric. She glanced down in surprise, but the distraction cleared her mind.

"Whoever…. whatever you are," she spoke, "you're not going to scare me today. Why don't you just leave us alone today? We will be gone soon enough."

Oh? the voice spoke in her head. You see, that's the problem. I've changed my mind. I can't have you leave just yet, after all. I have a task for you.

"We're not very inclined to work for people who terrorize us," Derscha said firmly. "Even we have our limits!"

I know… which is why I'll make sure they have a reason to do what I say.

A bolt of darkness struck Snapper. It didn't come from the dark alley, but from behind them. The razormaw hatchling was struck down with a whimper.

Derscha spun around, holding her walking staff up defensively. There was an unfamiliar hooded human female, holding a glowing book. The human raised her hand. The runes on the book flared, and a second bolt headed straight for Derscha. The wasn't time to dodge.

Soon… I will no longer be bound…

The smell of the sea breeze and the busy sounds of the port told Derscha her location before she even opened her eyes. She awoke in the spare room of the new offices at Booty Bay. She winced right away as her arms protested movement. She was sore all over, but her arms were wrapped in bandages from where they'd taken the blunt of the spirit's attack.

Beside the bed was a table, on which rested her white hat. A little goblin figure in white was slumped in a chair, eyes closed, and muttering in her sleep.

"Kezrin!" she called sharply, and the courier jerked awake.

"Huh? What? Oh, bossgnome!" she seemed genuinely happy to see Derscha awake. "Oooh! I'll go get Miss Greyson!"

She scurried out of the room before Derscha could call her back for any sort of explanation. The gnome sighed, put her hat on, and gingerly climbed out of the bed and made her way into the offices proper.

She immediately noticed the somber air among those found working, although they all greeted her with warmth and a bit of relief. Bit by bit she started learning details… a possess priestess had attacked… something about a book from Scholomance… and, wait, how did they acquire ownership of the boat? What happened to its crew?

When she finally heard the full story from her supervisors, Derscha's headache had nothing to do with her recent injuries. A malignant spirit had possessed a priestess who'd accompanied Terra Incognita into the Scholomance, and she had been stirring the spirits of the place against the AAMS. She'd kidnapped Derscha to use as ransom so the AAMS would release some sort of "ward" on a book. The book was destroyed and Derscha rescued, but no one knew exactly what happened to the spirit afterward, except that it was no longer possessing the priestess. Derscha put out a general order to have all the couriers checked for any signs of curses or possession, to be safe.

As for the ship…

The AAMS had hastily acquired a port for the poor ship. The crew had been killed by the spirit, leaving the AAMS to man the ship on their own. . . only none of knew them what secret the shipping company used to navigate the rough waters of the Thondoril River. The ship was badly damaged, and no one seemed willing to give her a straight answer on where all the claw marks had come from. In Derscha's sleep-induced absence, the AAMS has agreed to purchase the beleaguered ship as part of the reparations to the lost crew's families.

Well! It was hardly the most auspicious start to their new home. Still, she was glad to see that everyone was working together to get the place, err, ship-shape and running. It was time to get back to work.