World of Warcraft®

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her horns, Izby looked out over the bay and inhaled the salt crusted air rising from the water. The sun strode over the horizon in the majesty of royal colors. Purple, pink, and orange like desserts from the best cake shops in Dalaran or like robes from the finest silks she could purchase from her favorite tailor, Khromie. Her grip on her balcony rail served only as an anchor, to remind her that the sky was also real and not a painting by the noblest of goblins.

'If such a thing could be found,' she mused.

A small snort from the bed sheets behind her caused her to turn and a warmth crept under her skin when she saw the black hair splayed out upon the lavender silk sheets. A beautiful creature of pale skin and lithe limbs slept peacefully after preparing the meal in the kitchen the previous night. Open bar night. Her lover would be unconscious for another four hours at least and Izby smiled thinking about that. About how a woman so supple and graceful was willing to push herself behind the bar without as much as a thanks week in and week out simply because it was her mother's establishment. Out of respect. She caught flak from many of the customers when they got drunk and sometimes a rogue cat would attack her.

'Broodin,' she muttered and shook her head turning back to the bay to watch the rising crescendo of activity as the inhabitants arose to face the day. Gentyl had come to pay for the damages and apologize, but Izby felt that more was needed and not necessarily from the Sepha. Appreciation perhaps? Lia may not show that sort of affection to her employees, but no boss did so maybe Izby could.

The wind gusted and blew the curtains into the room. She brushed a few more strands of hair back into place and smiled as she looked at the changing sky. Yes, she could show affection and appreciation and it would start with a dress that looked like the sky in the morning.

She strode to her writing desk still garbed in her sleeping gown and pulled out a piece of paper and quill. Dipping the quill in her trademark purple ink, an ink that crackled with pink sparks of energy that made it nearly impossible to replicate and deceive her clients, she wrote her first note. This one to her tailor, Khromie.

Khromie,

I hope you are well and the Cathedral Matriarch is affording you enough time to pursue other interests beyond simply cleaning the latrines. I wish to employ you for a simple task, but of the most importance to me. For my chala, I was hoping you could make her an elegant gown of silks in the same hues as the dawn. I trust your judgement and hope you still have her measurements from the previous fitting. Do not worry about the expense. Simply send the bill to me when you are finished.

With admiration,
Izby Frostworn

She lifted the page, blew on the ink to chill it solid, and folded it neatly into an envelope. The envelope was a beautiful eggshell color with purple accents framing the corners. Again in her trademark ink. The stationary from her business. If you held the envelope and the letter up to the light, the watermark pressed into the paper was visible as well. A single snowflake in the lower right hand corner. She kissed the envelope and dripped wax from a stick onto the back of the envelope and pressed her stamp into it. The stamp was made by Khromie's friend Sizy and had a gnomish quality that she was certain the healer would enjoy immensely when it arrived. Especially if she found Sizy's secret name hidden in the stamp. It took Izby three days to find it and the gnome told her it was there. Maybe there would be something obvious to the child that she would understand and know where to look immediately.

A stirring from the bed caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand. Was her plan already discovered before being executed? A nibble on her ear and warm arms around her neck as her lover whispered in her ear told her no, she wasn't.

"Business can wait, come back to bed. It is still early."

And she did.

***

When the half-elf was again asleep and snoring in that soft manner that makes women adorable for being delicate even when evidence indicates the contrary is true, Izby slipped from the bed and wrapped her long coat over her sleeping gown and head for the AAMS offices to speak with one of the personnel there. Maybe one of them could answer her questions and do a task for her. For coin of course. It is hard to plan a surprise evening of fine dining and dancing under the stars in Dalaran if you do not have others helping you out. When she finished crossing the bay to the offices and reached for the door, she found it wouldn't budge. Perhaps it was locked or stuck. She knocked but no one answered. There was likely not enough time to run back to the room to get her pen and paper to write a note. She could try to sneak away later, but after yesterday's injury, there was little hope of her chala letting her step away long enough to perform such a task. The prospect of having to cancel or delay her plans caused her to groan and smell of fishermen returning with the first of their morning catches was starting to cause her mild discomfort.

She lifted her hand to run to pull some loose strands back and saw the ink staining the tips of her fingers and let out a soft chuckle. After a minute of haggling with a nearby Goblin hawking the Stranglethorn Ledger, she set to writing her note on a piece of scrap receipt paper. A piece of scrap that only cost her a mere two silver pieces. She could have purchased four papers for that much, but they were covered in ink and she didn't have the time to bleach them. Licking the tip of her claws, she began to scrawl her message for the AAMS.

I am seeking to send a personal message to a friend, but I also want it to be fun and filled with merriment. I was hoping one of your staff could come speak to me about prices concerning escorting a beautiful woman to Dalaran for a dinner. With possible singing and jokes to keep her spirits up and also distracted from what is happening so that she may be surprised. You can find me at the tavern most days, but since the woman also works there, perhaps a short conversation or lettered response left with one of the goblins would be best.

Regards,
Izby

After the letter was slipped under the door, she hiked her gown and coat and ran briskly back to her room and crawled into bed. The woman turned and draped an arm over her before kissing her on the nose.

"You're sweaty, what were you doing?" Her voice was sleepy and she wiped at the sand in the corners of her eyes while she blinked and then closed them contentedly.

"I went to get a drink and we were out of juice so I went to the market." Then with an after thought, she touched the woman's nose and added. "Besides my healer said I could not have wine."

"Mmm... liar."

"It's true. You said that."

"I meant the juice." With a pause, she smiled, eyes still closed and body lazy. "Smartass."

Izby snorted and chuckled quietly. "You will never know if you never wake up before the midday sun."

The two of them fell into a warm embrace of soft snores and Izby thought her plan might actually work. Hopefully at any rate, it would.

Derscha had just settled on her office floor, surrounded by her neat stacks of paperwork, when Sprocketquill poked her head in the office with a scrap of paper in her hand.

"Found this shoved under the door when we opened this morning," she explained quickly. "Bit of an odd request, wasn't quite sure how to file it."

"Oh! Well, let me see it, then." Derscha took the note from the other gnome and quickly read the message. Well. It wasn't the first time they'd been asked to "deliver" a person somewhere. She even recalled Yotingo once joking about dinner dates and was never quite sure if he had been serious; it as hard to tell with that troll. Quite admirable, really.

But! Back to the request. Dalaran... hmm, well that ruled out about half of her available staff at the moment. She was sure she could find someone, however.

She jotted some notes on her to-do list:
Contact Izby.
Order lunch.

Mother Superior had not been amused at all by Khromie's new game of "Surprise Mammoth" during mass. The sight of Khromie waddling around in a hazmat suit while yielding a toilet brush was a familiar one at the Cathedral of the Light, but today her waddling was rather energized than dejected.

The most beauteous letter ever of all time had arrived. Khromie wanted to open it straight away so she began to strip off and drop her toilet duty gear on the way to her room. She left a trail of rubber gloves, scrubbing brush, bottle of disinfectant, a bucket, her suit, and titansteel helmet (perhaps Sizy had gone a little over the top) scattered through the great hall.

In her room, Khromie bounced on her bed as she turned the brightly colored envelope this way and that. "Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy!"

She put on her Monocle of Awesome (a la Sizy again) straight away and investigated the stamp. Ah, of course, a classic still life of Sir Oarwind's loincloth, close up and personal. She appreciated the gestural quality of the sketch that evoked Pimperon's fantabulous jazzhands. It was the pinnacle of Fine Art, a blend of two profound subjects, the hunks of the besties' dreams.

Khromie got so distracted by admiring the envelope, the ink, and the stamp--the glorious stamp!--that she nearly forgot to open the letter. When she did eventually get around to opening it, the pint-sized priestess became short-circuited with excitement. She forgot everything, including evening mass, to run like a madwoman to the fabric store.

Once there, she realized that she also forgot Is Bee's letter. Had she said a dress the color of fawns? Lawns? Had it been something about clowns?

Troll balls!

The best course of action, of course, was to buy fabric in pretty much every color imaginable. It was a good thing that Father Christmas, ever fashionable, had an open tab with the store. "Yep yep! that's T-O-M. That's his civilian name. Just put it all on his tab, please."

The next day, a missive that was more glitter than paper arrived for Izby at her enchanting shop. It also included some coupons for shoe-shines that Khromie had found in Tom's wallet. That is, coupons that she'd borrowed from Tom, yes.

Dear Is Bee!

You'll never believe this but I'm stuck with toilet duty again! So sorry I can't come visit you in person to say YES OF COURSE I WILL MAKE YOU A CLOWN FAWN LAWN DRESS!!!!

I'M SUPER DUPER EXCITED I THINK MY HEART IS GOING TO EXPLODE!!!!!!

Tell Galapplenoodle I said hi!

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Khromie

The sunlight pushed through the gauze curtains and filled the room with a soft glow that suited Izby fine. Any more and she would be reminded of fire and she didn't want to risk sliding down that slippery slope and losing control over her crafting. The last few days had been filled with anger and tension around the bar as she came to find out more and more about her reputation. The oddest thing to her was that her reputation around the bar was the exact opposite of hers in the Exodar. Perhaps she had too many items to focus her attention on from the new apprentice, teaching the twins to read and write so they could find employment, helping around the kitchen when she wasn't wounded from fighting on behalf of her people back home, et cetera. She left the city months prior to avoid this type of stress and now it was building back up. At least her chala, did not think poorly of her.

As if queued by the thought, the lithe and sinewy muscled half-elf sauntered into the room and dropped a laden envelope onto her writing desk where Izby had been writing a detailed report of her findings regarding the power runes the mogu and orcs were using in their war against everyone else. Her notes detailed the description of how these runes were assembled layer by layer in a series of interconnected knots of arcane weaving. They were beautiful and it was easier to use them, than destroy them. At least, that was the conclusion she was proposing, but now there was an interruption. A letter.

"I don't know who sent that, but it weighs a ton and smells of sewage and gumdrops."

"It is probably from my tailor then."

Gala rolled her eyes and sat across Izby's lap and gave her a quick peck on the cheek before looking straight into her eyes.

"You are up to something love."

"I am n..."

A finger touched her lips and silenced her and she watched the soft green glow coming from the woman in her lap. She spoke, her voice soft and musical to Izby's ears.

"You are and I don't care. So long as it won't get you in further trouble. You can keep your secret."

"Why do you think it is a secret?"

The weight in her lap left as her lover stood and sauntered out of the room, graceful. Feline. She dropped the shoulder of her robes as she left and picked up the mace by the door.

"Because you haven't told me yet love. You will though. You always do."

And then she was gone into the main bedroom chamber to change into her attire for the evening. 'She was going out again,' Izby thought with worry, but let it go to focus on the envelope.

The envelope itself was non-distinct, but when she opened it, a parade of glitter fell onto her desk and robes. Each little piece clung to the surface they landed on for life and would not brush away. She giggled at the oddity that was Khromie. Oh, gnomes were so fascinating. The wonderful creatures. The note though was written in crayon and Izby read it and laughed. She should have assumed that any metaphorical uses would be misconstrued and quickly turned into something completely unintentional, but she told the gnome she trusted her to make something beautiful and so she would not correct her. As long as it didn't make Gala look like a clown.

She quickly transcribed a new note to send from the AAMS offices and attached a few large gold coins, roughly 500 gold worth, into the tiny box that went with it. The box was purple to match her ink with a robin's egg blue ribbon. Which she stuffed with shredded papers of various colors that were not precise enough to be inserted into her spellbook when she made the paper earlier in the month. The rejected paper became packing and today that packing paper was predominantly a soft green color.

Khromie,

It sounds like you have a wonderful idea of what you want to design for her, but I want to make sure that you remember that the dress must serve two functions. She must comfortable sitting to eat a dinner in it while it appears sleek to her skin and she must be able to move and dance in it. I do hope those will not be a challenge by the end of the week. I have enclosed your payment for the dress and the hasty nature of my request. If you could also find a necklace to go with it, that would be remarkable.

With admiration for your work,
Izby

She stood and threw on her cloak and mantle, tucked a dagger and wand into her belt and lifted the spellbook and box into her hands. If she were in trouble here in the tavern, perhaps the goblins would know and try to take advantage of it so it was best to be prepared. With a quick huff of frustration at her current predicament, she left the room, locking it behind her, and headed to the AAMS offices. Perhaps someone was there for her to speak to now as well.

((I am looking for the services in game as well just FYI, but thought it more fun to set it up with a little story before hand.))

((Wonderful story so far :) I'm curious to know more!))

A pain migrated across her mind and into her temples where she rubbed. To escape her gentle attempts at healing, the pain switch paths and focused at a spot between her eyes to which she pinched the bridge of her nose and rubbed. The last few days had not gone very well and now, the pain converged upon her mind with sadistic glee. Initially, it hadn't been so bad. She walked over to the AAMS offices where she found a note on the door. "Out to Lunch." Except it said it in at least a dozen different languages. Some of which Izby could speak fluently such as Gnomish and Orcish. But others, she had to infer like the bastard guttural slogging of Common known as Gutterspeak. It was a language she only had a passing familiarity with. Troll as well, but that was changing with efforts in the Barrens to assist the Darkspear.

So she simply dropped her package in the box with a note to bill her account or find her at the tavern on Tuesday to collect payment from her. Discretely. She underlined the word after she wrote it to ensure that it was understood. There was no explanation for why it needed to be done discretely, but she hoped that whoever read the note also read the previous one about working with her chala and not wanting her to know until Izby was ready to tell her.

Then there were the events in the city. The bank is not usually considered a meeting destination, but it always seemed to be a spot that Izby bumped into other people in the city. It shouldn't be a surprise though since everyone needs to make deposits and the like throughout the week. Odds are people could easily run into each other there as well as at the market. Actually after she did the math, the odds were higher than she expected. 24.73% higher than she expected to result in a 1 in 3 chance to run into someone she knew at the bank. The more people you knew in town; the higher the odds. The other day was no exception.

She ran into a few friends, Nyuula and Khromie, for instance. Khromie nearly exploded with excitement when she tackled Izby's knees to hug her with the force of a cannon ball. Or a gnome who might have indulged in a few too many sweets. Of course, Izby might be a part of that problem since she plied Khromie with snowcones of various flavors such as cherry and strawberry melon to keep the tiny woman silent while her and Nyuula attempted to discuss Time Dilution Field Theory. It didn't work very well. Then Gala arrived when they were leaving to look at Khromie's sketches of potential dress design options.

Izby could never lie to Gala and her heart sank when she saw the woman standing behind her. She was excited as well, but she knew the question was coming and she would have to answer, "to get you a dress." Khromie fell apart when it dawned on her that this wasn't a secret and Izby tried to placate her by saying that Gala didn't know why the dresses, but that didn't last long because the question was asked and answered; appreciation.

"For you to wear and me to appreciate the way those long legs and tail sway or for me to wear and you to appreciate late at night?" Gala asked with a playful gleam to her smile. Khromie burst into a fit of giggles as she regaled the women with tales of how their love life was similar to that of Sir Oarwind and Pimperon. Although she could not decide who would be Oarwind and who would be Esmerelda. Finally, as they stood in front of the salon, she decided that the two women could take turns.

Izby rubbed harder at her temples and bridge, when she finally succumbed and pulse warmth through her skin and recited a minor prayer of blessing to gain approval from the Naaru. Approval that would help with healing this headache.

Her plan was falling apart. Gala knew so much, but then again not enough. Their friend Kataara might fulfill the escort role for her which really could remove some of the suspicions, but Gala already knew about the dresses. Not the jewelry, however, and Izby smiled. Okay so things weren't all that bad. It wasn't completely dead, but it was leaking.

She looked up around the tavern from her seat in the corner with her honeymint tea spritzed with lemon and received a few glares from goblins and members alike. A chill crawled its way down her spine and into her clawed fingertips. They thumped across the table top as she drummed them, leaving little pools of frost in their wake. She scanned the room again and all but two people averted their gaze. When her eyes locked onto theirs, Izby dropped her head in shame and words from a previous conversation flooded into her mind.

"You're an alcoholic, trying to sneak it when Gala told you no because you had bled too much."

"Bloodthistle tea may have some healing properties, but it's addictive and can kill you. Do you want her to grieve over your corpse?"

"Why would you put her through such torment if you love her?"

"By the Light, you are an evil person. An evil, evil person."

The chair clattered to the floor and the table squealed as frost spread through her grip and the wood grain. She squeezed her hands and tried to suck it back in before the freezing expanding water caused the table to explode. Sweat dripped from her brow as she worked. The time passed by slowly, crawling, slower than sand worms. She panted and cursed under her breath. The frost thawed and retracted into her and she gasped in pain and stood upright to smooth out her dress. Then she calmly retrieved the chair from ten feet behind her and set it upright and in position at the table before grabbing her things and heading back to her room. All the room watching her pass from the room. Snickers and hushed whispers following her across the walkway.

She was not evil, but how did she convince the others of that?

Her shoulders slumped forward as she sulked into her room. As soon as she crossed the threshold the room began to shift into a larger space with the wall opening up into a balcony. The reality wasn't that the room was any bigger, but that the rules of space had been distorted to serve Izby's purposes. The change impressed her the first few times she walked into the room, but now it didn't phase her and she threw herself down onto the bed. She laid with arms spread wide upon her back staring at the ceiling. What could she do?

First, she needed to have a proper conversation with Gala about how she used the two beverages to dull pain after sustaining intense injuries like the laceration from her conflict with a Kor'kron commander while in the fields outside Orgrimmar that spawned this whole mess of emotions. The woman loved her and Izby's own love demanded she provide her chala that chance before any other resolution came to pass.

Second, she was continuing with her plan of appreciation. Whatever the others thought of her was minute compared to her lover and she needed to make sure she understood that Izby would never worry her in the same way again. Remind her why they were together. Then maybe she could address Lia and the others.

Oh, and she would have to work on her temper, she thought. Figure out why the other opinions bothered her so much and why she was struggling with complete control over her magic. Her skin hadn't darkened that much... had it?

The sounds from the kitchen below reverberated through her room and Izby laid on the bed thinking. Mainly her thoughts centered around how to do many of these challenges, but one kept sticking out in her mind. How does one dress for a war of social graces and manners? A war where the only weapons were words. She got up to write Khomie a note and ask her if she could make a dress for that purpose, smiling for the first time in the last few days.

Khromie,

I need you to make the dresses you described for Gala as vicious. She was smitten with them. I also would like something else for dinner. Attached is a drawing of what I will be wearing. It isn't black like we discussed, but I thought it was absolutely breathtaking when I tried it on. Which leads me to my next request. I am going to be struggling to regain my reputation at the tavern. I need something that shows that I am graceful and serious, but still playful and me. Do you think you can manage that? Let me know what price you think reasonable for it. And what is this I hear about me being featured in the third book of My You're a Tall One. Is that true? You and Sizy are the most informed individuals on the series I know so please, any information would be most valuable.

Respectfully proud to wear your dresses,
Izby

A bit bleary-eyed and breakfasting on gumdrops, moonshine, and a grilled fish straight from Mister Boopin's mouth, Khromie penned a reply to her favoritest customer ever of all time.

Dear Is Bee!

GREAT NEWS! The Vicious Super Fierce Snap Snap Snap (v.3.1) gowns are done! I packaged them up and sent them straight away to Galapple! As for the sort-of-surprise dresses, well, I think it's safe to say that I've overcooked myself!!! I think you ladies will be brownies away!!!!!!!

There's still the matter of THE PERFECT NECKLACE! I shopped around with ALL the trolls by the docks and got the prettiest one they had! I asked Sprinkles from HAMS to get it to you ASAP--and we insured it using her giant broccoli, so I'm sure you'll get it in no time!

XOXO
Khromie

P.S.! HOLY TROLL BALLS!!! There is SO much to tell you about MYaTO!!! The Touch of Is Bee is NOT by Her Majesty Quillsy, but it is still SUPER GOOD (though could use more gnomes, I think!!!)!!! It's a work of fanfiction by [illegible scribbles] OOPS! I REALLY REALLY REALLY want to tell you who wrote it but I promised not to!!!

P.P.S.!!! Instead of a necklace, what do you think of a head-fork????

The warm radiance of the risen sun through the curtains woke the bay into full bloom activity. Gulls squawked as they flew about and the clatter of men unloading supplies from ships greeted all newcomers to the day. The smell of recent ocean spray and fresh water from the waterfall behind the tavern intermingled and filled Izby with a soft delight that she transferred to the woman laying beside her with a kiss upon the shoulder.

Slipping out of her partner's arms, she strode to the door to smell if coffee had been brewed. The sweet aroma of a robust blend she had yet to try filled her nostrils and with a circular gesture and murmured word, a mug appeared in her hand. Then with another gesture, a reverse of the previous one, the mug filled with the coffee.

On the balcony, the entire bay fell into view except the few businesses buried further behind the tavern. On the dock near the teleportation contraption fritzed, electrical sparks showered onto a goblin standing on the platform. He howled in anger and lept at the one behind the controls who apologized profusely as he ran around the control panel, tossing tools at the upset customer.

Izby snickered and rolled her shoulders. They were stiff from the night's previous work. Many more customers than usual arrived and enjoyed a meal. Her hooves never given a rest. The muscles in her legs burned and ached by the end of the evening and her chala took a long time to massage out the tension at the end of the evening.

She looked through the curtains at the red haired beauty sleeping face down in middle of the bed. Her head tucked to the side, mouth open, hair splayed out in a giant bird's nest of a mess. Izby smiled, thinking how just the previous week the hard had been black. A simple change to delight impacted the draenei more than she ever expressed.

Change.

There was a conversation at the end of the evening asking her to make changes to win over Gala's mother. They weren't drastic changes, but they were changes nonetheless. Mainly the changes were to emphasize aspects of herself that already existed but maybe were not noticed by some parties because they were not frequently displayed in times of confrontation or pain.

Her brow furrowed and her shoulders tightened as she sipped from her mug. When was the last time Lia had seen her calm and collected? Perhaps this was part of the problem. Izby ran to and fro working for her people, for the guild, for herself, and for her chala. She never stopped and breathed. This date plan was going to be for her almost as much as it would be her love. They both needed it.

The gauze curtains parted and warmth spread around her midsection as arms wrapped around her. Izby conjured another coffee mug and held it out as Gala shifted in front of and leaned back against her. She smiled at the sun, the gulls, and the people in the bay. Oh, she was happy.

The question before her now; did she stay the same person her chala fell in love with or make minor alterations to appease the mother? With the staff gathering this evening, she would find out by the next day's sunrise.

All she had to do was stay out of fel blasted trouble. That is all she had to do and she could not even manage that.

What is wrong with me? I could have put off this job until after the gathering this evening, but no. I insisted on doing it and now look at me. Glowing and poisoned from arcane over-absorption... again.

Her skin radiated a deep purplish light and crackled with pink arcane energy. Her eyes were frozen orbs with a fiery undercurrent to them. She creaked as she moved and she did whatever she could to burn through the energy in her system.

The air burned with the static electrical crack of her teleporting every few steps. Thankfully, everyone left for the party so no one would see her in this manner. She stumbled and gasped in shock as the pain rolled through her skin over her body and stung her mind like miniature Klaxxi shredding her memories and tearing down the walls of her mental defenses. Pain. Every pore of her body howled in pain. The high pitched mechanical wail of grinding gears and Silithid chirps.

She shuffled to her hooves, entire body thrumming. An echo of the intense sensation raking its claws through her nerves as she hobbled to her room to gather a few things before departing again.

Cannot let them see.

But then again, she couldn't just not show up. They'd think maybe she was off on a binge somewhere or worse, ran away rather than face those who thought so poorly of her. Worse, she couldn't lie. Not to her chala. Not to her friends. Frustration burned through her and the the fiery red behind the ice covering her eyes flickered more intense. She stopped and willed her body covered in more frost, more ice, reciting the evocations necessary to cool the burning fires waiting to tear her apart. The fires were winning.

Izby decided to write a note for Gala, who would certainly be disappointed that she didn't show at the party. The purple ink sparked the page two or three times as it mixed with her own energy while she wrote and the best Izby could do was to keep the page coated in frost to prevent fires. The note was simple.

Chala, I miss thee greatly. I wish I could have been by your side this evening, but the Naaru Elune does not look upon me favorably. I am poisoned and seek medical aid back at the Exodar so I do not disturb you or the others and ruin the evening. A great frustration weighs upon me because of this and I hope you will allow me to make it up to you soon. To start, I have left you a rose cast in eternium. The symbol of my affection for you. How long I intend to love you.

Your, Izby.

post. I would ask that you do not visit for reasons pertaining to the type of poisoning I received, but if you do I would greatly appreciate seeing you. Even if it is through a siphoning crystal.

She sealed the letter and turn to leave it on the pillow with the rose when she noticed a small letter with Khromie's signature... flare is the only word to describe it. Or maybe catastrophe of glitter. Glittastrophe? When the letter fell out of the envelope a puddle of glitter coated the sheets at the end and Izby sighed. Then she read and responded with a quick note she could drop in the mail box when she got to the Exodar.

Khromie,

A head-fork? No, it is not my chala's style. She will not wear an antennae on her head like Tom does. A halo, perhaps, but not a tuning rod. Since you insist on not telling me who the person is that wrote this story about me and Dolingen is refusing to say anything as well. I will have to insist. If the author does not wish to meet me, then I will decline to pursue this further, but if he does. Tell me his name so I can seek him out. I promise you many great treats. Including a rainbow icecream cake shaped like a unicorn with wings and the size of you and Sizy combined.

Blatantly bribing,
Izby

Then she teleported to the Exodar. Oh this was going to hurt.

The crystal siphoning left her skin burning and itching raw like she'd been swimming in the sun for too long. It boiled and popped over her tissue. She winced as she stepped from the chamber and into the face of the man who once commanded her in the field of battle. He held out a silk cloth with a healing ointment on it to press against her skin until the healer could see to her wounds. She took it, wrapping the cool cloth against her naked flesh. Pissed that he took the opportunity to gleam an eyeful of her body.

Her former commander stood over her with a smug look of satisfaction. A look spelling out what he would do to her if he weren't so noble. At least in his mind anyway. She tried to glare him down, but he didn't respond to it like anyone else would. Growing up with that look while they trained together probably increased his immunity, she thought. The Legion take him, he was a prick.

"You look well, considering..." he let the statement drip with his intention, murky like nectar tainted with swamp dredge.

He folded his arms across his chest while Izby smoothed out the silk to see that it clung tight to her body, revealing everything she wanted hidden. She rolled her eyes at the draenei her horns barely tickled the chin of and turned her back on him. Attempting insult.

"Looking is all you will ever get, especially after you set me up, so leer all you can. It'll be your last time to do so."

She pulled on her robes over the silk cloth and grimaced at the pressure on her unhealed skin and muttered a prayer to the Naaru to seek their blessing. Her mark glowed and she felt the cool calming ease of their caress under her skin. Her frost activating to chill her bones and blood without causing her any negative affects so soon after the siphoning.

"Oh, I highly doubt it. You have another assignment."

The sound that eminated from her stomping hoof as she whirled and slapped Archus with her balled fist rippled off the walls and surrounding crystals. Bone cracked under her fist and blood boiled in her cheeks. The fires returned to her eyes and her blessing may have been requested too hastily, because she needed it now. For control.

"No. No more. I am done."

"You are never done," he responded, rubbing at his jaw, unable to move it more than a slight amount without flinching. She hadn't broken it but the bone suffered a minor fracture. An irritance, she thought. Good enough.

"I am done because I say I am done. If you send someone to curry my aide, I will send them back in a broken pile for you to put back together and deal with. I am done. No more games. No more set ups. No more missions of utmost importance."

The rage in her felt good and she radiated the warmth and love she felt coming from Gala. Their binding had begun and the side-effect of gaining strength from your partner clearly reared at the moment. Her lover always remained calm even in her anger and fury. Capable of controlling her darker powers so that she could be useful instead of a sniveling mess of emotions in a heap on the floor. Izby did not have that talent, not innately, but with their binding beginning it was becoming more commonplace. She smiled up at Archus and flicked a boiled covered hand. It burst into flames and she shoved it into his chest.

"You will not take me from my chala. Nor will you force one upon me. Not again. Not ever."

"I never forced..."

Izby bellowed and a force of frost burst from her flaming hand into his chest. The impact lifted him off his feet and threw him into the nearby crystal siphoning chamber with a crack. His neck snapped back and fell forward onto his chest limply.

"Do not think for a second that I do not understand the difference between your suggestive 'mission' to court my late husband and forcing it. It was a set up and I am aware of it. I was to bind to him so that we could be stronger weapons for you. Me, an emotionally detached fireball, and him a gleaming sword of passion.

But you know what? You were wrong. Passion burned in both of us. I awakened his. Caused him to show it and it fueled mine further."

A fire ice spread from her fingertips as she wrapped them around his neck. The ice forming a brace that would support his head and slow the blood to prevent him from bleeding too much. It might also tear some skin when removed since it could not be melted. Benefit of fire ice. Retribution in a small way.

"You made me unstable. Pushed me closer to corruption and the Legion with your actions and now I am correcting your folly by making my own choices. I will go back to my chala. She will care for me and I will never hear or see you again unless I am identifying your body upon death. Are we clear?"

His eyes nodded and Izby left him, walking away. Before she got more than three strides though she heard a croak from the man and returned, bent over and glared at him.

"What did you say?"

His words strained in his throat and shredded through his immobile teeth. His eyes were wide with fear and he fidgeted his hands at his side, but the words came. Even if they were weak and ragged, incapable of standing on their own. Most of it was garbled, but she heard the most distinctive word and inflection. It was a question.

"...she..."

Izby stood and smiled down at the upright former commander and cocked her hip to the side.

"Oh, yes. If you would have done your job and asked, you would have known I have a preference. You probably could have found a better candidate for me to seduce and bind myself to, but you did not think beyond your own simple prejudices did you?"

She kissed his forehead with a searing heat and he whelped and slumped. Her hips swayed a little more as she walked a few feet away and decided she would look into setting up a meeting for her chala with the Naaru so she could ask about her own mission. A smile creased her lips and tugged in her chest with wings and feather lightness. She was going to get this date and prove once and for all that she was good and now, there was nothing holding her back.

Well, after she saw a healer for her burns at least.

Her hooves hurt.

Out of all the pains and problems she faced at the moment, that should be the least bothersome, but Izby couldn't help but wince as she walked. It felt like a needle or thorn had punctured the soft sole next to her frog. The last time that happened, she was bedridden for nearly three weeks as she fought off foundering. No pain is greater than feeling your stomach revolt against your body while your nerves alternate between searing pain and non-existance.

She stopped next to a downed tree and brushed the bark free of moisture before sitting atop the moss. Pulling her hoof up so she could see the sole, a quiet yelp escaped her tight lip grimace. The noise a near hiss. In the middle of her swollen frog, a green fluid pussed out of a hole the size of a nail. She poked it with a finger and screamed in pain as her entire leg burned acidically and throbbed.

Mosquitos landed on her skin and burst into flames or froze and fell from her shoulders into the swampy murk under hoof. Nethergarde Keep was on the other side of the mountains still. Nearly ninety miles at least, if Izby's sense of direction was as good as she thought it was. In the bag on her back, rested the remaining ash and torn patches of her carpet. No longer a viable method of transportation.

An Orcish roar echoed through the trees behind her and she lurched to her feet and continued her running limp. They wouldn't ride the wolves through the dense thrush because they'd get their fur torn and bodies infected. They'd have to stick to the paths with the wolves, but that meant they could cut her off if she didn't move quickly. Izby cursed not having brought her hearthstone fearing someone might use it to track or contact her. It would be good to have that alternative at the moment. Especially since she was too worn out to even manage a teleportation. Not to mention the runes were lost in the fighting inside the Orc camp.

A laugh escaped her lips as she remembered the Orc camp and how she was sent here by the Naaru to earn the favor for Gala to meet with them.

At least the Orcs would have to deal with the burning ice destroying their entire operation. The ice preventing water from extinguishing the damage being done. How long would it take the stupid creatures to understand that she was using the fire ice to burn their building down to help protect the Broken in the area? Another laugh escaped her lips and she felt herself feel lighter at the mere thought.

Another beastial roar echoed against the trees before being swallowed by the standing water she sloshed through. This time, it was closer. A root lurched up from the bile and caught Izby's hoof, dragging her into the murk. She sat up and spat out the putrid water, wiping it from her eyes. Her knee and ankle burned intensely for a moment and then went numb. The swollen frog didn't even hurt anymore.

Not good.

She poked her knee as another growl echoed within a hundred yards. Panic fluttered in her stomach for the first time. There were no loose branches floating nearby to use as splints. Nothing in her bags stiff enough. Push against the ground, weight on leg, buckle, collapse.

Closer, another roar. They could smell her. Gritting her teeth, she dragged herself to a tree and drew a circle in the air. With will, she closed the circle and pulled herself through it, feeling her weight drop.

The blood curling growl again. Close, like hot breath on her neck. She tried to climb up the tree, but the bark tore and she fell back. A crack echoing through the air around her.

Another roar. Leg broken. Can't climb. So close. Please, blessed Naaru and my chala's Naaru Elune, help me return to my chala.

A hollowed down tree caught her eye in the periphery.

Growl and roar. Thank you. She dragged herself through the muck into it.

And hid.

((Christ.))

((I admit. I chuckled at that reaction before realizing I couldn't tell if it was good or bad. Guessing good though, so thank you if so.))

[ Fight, fight, fight! ]

((I'll consider your recommendation to fight if you suggest what you'd like to see.))

((I'm sure Izby is reserving her blood and spit for her anniversary. I'm not here for either. This time.))

((Any other day of the year grandpa. Side note/question: should I proceed to the next task she did for the Naaru favor or show how she gets out of this situation? What do people think about that or just in general?))