Avisen Barclay (III)

May 11, 2011 Leave a comment

The Storm Peaks were often known for the ever-present blanket of snow covering its large amount of mountains, present throughout the region.

After the entire ordeal involving Loken, and Ulduar, the region remained relatively quiet due to a lack of a present threat. Alliance presence here was minimal, as their interests lay elsewhere.

However, something recent plagued the almost untouched scenery of the Storm Peaks. Green fire, destruction, and what could only be described as the aftermath of some terrible battle lay spread atop one of the mountains within this region.

Architecture of the Titans was present across this mountain top, but the carnage spread about it was hardly of their design. Corpses of humanoids lay strewn about the area, of various descent. Humans, dwarves, gnomes, draenei, the like. A siege engine lay cleaved straight in two, green fire and smoke rising from its innards. Rubble from the buildings around also covers the general mountain top as well, adding to the general feel of the area.

All of the bodies present seemed to yield one commonality; all bore a black tabard, with a white cross emblazoned on the front of it.

Towards the center of the mountain top, there appeared to be a sizeable pile of corpses, as if some focal point in whatever battle that was fought took place there. All of the bodies seemed to be completely comprised of skeletons in various stages of decay, still wearing the armor and gripping the weapons used at time of death.

Breaking the relative silence, a stone-like fist plunged into the middle of the corpse pile, and plucked out one of the remains with green, fiery claws. The being the fist belonged to let out a low, booming chuckle, before addressing the dead thing it clutched. ” . .perhaps I should show you the folly you’ve committed . . again.”

*One week ago.*

“I understand your concerns about recent happenings. I’ve been working to address them, and you must understand that I am on a rather short time table.”

Avisen gestured as he spoke, as he often did. He appeared to be addressing two women, one human and the other draenei. “There are rumors going around that I am taking a hard line on those whom I feel are undermining the work of the Legion. Let me assure you, these simply are such. Rumors. As such, they should be treated accordingly.”

Of the two, the human woman piped up first. “But Mister Barclay! People are saying you’re doing all sorts of mean things, and I wanna know why!”

Rolling his eyes, Barclay rubbed his forehead briefly with a hand. “Miss Sorenson. Mean things are often misrepresented; people that are involved often word things to their own benefit.”

The draenei woman lofted a brow. ” . .misrepresented, yes? Word is going around that you wish to do the act of arrest upon those we know, sir. I find it of hard believing that such desired act could be mis-spoken.”

Pausing for a moment, the man turned his back to the two, folding his arms behind his back in a formal fashion. He plodded about the room, which appeared to be a rented room in some tavern, within Stormwind. After a few seconds, he turned back to face them.

“Again. Misrepresented. Yes, I have expressed the desire to detain one or two people briefly. However, it is merely for the purpose of clearing up the air, one could say. Recently, I have come into possession of some evidence suggesting of a collaboration between the people I’m interested in talking to, and a high value target of the Legion.”

Gesturing at them again, the man continued. “They’re obviously not going to come forward and engage in candid discussion willingly. So, it requires a bit of firmness to deal with it. Hence the wording, and hence the rumors you both are hearing. Does that clear it up?”

Canting her head lightly, the draenei woman expressed a look of confusion. ” . . not really, yes.”

Letting out a sigh, the paladin simply shrugged. “In that case, don’t worry about it. Things will be cleared up relatively soon-”

The sound of a door opening, and closing, cut off his sentence. Another woman had walked in, whom appeared to be Tia Lansing. She finished the man’s sentence for him. “-er than you think. Barclay, what type of Light-forsaken game are you trying to play here.”

Narrowing his eyes, Avisen responded. “Miss Lansing. A timely arrival, as always. How can I help you.”

Her response was a simple flick of her wrist, as a stack of papers was tossed onto a nearby table. She replied following, with a terse tone of voice. “You can start by explaining what the fel you’re doing. Putting out warrants for Faeir, Dyna. Mobilizing our men up north. Cutting off and destroying all mail and correspondences to Darran. Going missing for days on end. You aren’t as sneaky as you think you are, Barclay.”

This elicited a general silence from everyone in the room. Eventually, all three women present directed their attention towards Avisen, whom had an oddly calm look about him. After an even longer pause, he spoke.

“Inaction. This is the description given to the Legion through our mannerisms, our choices, our decisions. When was the last time we actually -did- something for the people of the Alliance, Miss Lansing? When was the last time our self-proclaimed leader of a death knight actually stopped hewing necks in the Highlands to give us a sense of direction? When was the last time -you.-” He jabbed at Tia with a finger. “Spent your evenings going through paper work, or helping others instead of slamming down tankards of ale at the Pig?”

The woman’s eyes twitched indignantly, but the paladin continued without interruption. “The Legion is becoming infested. Infested with sloth, selfishness. Inaction. When I was brought into the fold, I made an oath to protect and serve the needs of the Alliance and her peoples. In order for that to happen, some loose ends need to be tied up. Which, is what I’ve been doing.”

Sputtering, Tia seemed astounded about what she just heard. ” . . this is complete and utter bullshit, Barclay. You don’t even -have- the rank t-”

Barclay raised his hand slightly, cutting her off mid sentence. ” . .rank is irrelevant at this point, Miss Lansing. What matters here. . is getting things done. The men can respect this. It’s what they have been respecting, since all three hundred and fifty seem to agree with my line of reasoning.  After all. Why listen to someone whose virtues involve drinking all night, and lounging all day? That more or less describes what you and Miss Fallowbrook do. . am I not correct? Why listen to a dead man, who spends all his time killing whatever he feels like off in foreign lands?”

“I’ve offered the men a sense of direction. A sense of purpose. The same sense they had when they originally signed on with the Legion. The sense I’m bringing back into play.” The paladin clenched his fist, a stern look on his face. “And barriers like rank will not stop me in t-”

*CRACK*

Avisen’s head jerked to the side, as Tia slapped him across the face, open palmed. Hard.

The other two woman in the room simply stared, slack jawed, as Tia rubbed her hand slightly. “That’ll learn you. Th’fuck do you think you are? Some sort o-”

She never got to finish. Avisen had balled up his right hand, and drove it straight into her cheek with a full-out haymaker. The sound of plate-gauntlet-on-bone echoes throughout the room, and the woman toppled like a deck of cards. She squirmed on the floor, as the paladin looked down at her.

Then, the paladin looked up at the other two women. “Care to try your luck?”

The pair stared wordlessly. “I thought so.” He looked back to the prone Tia, whom was still trying to recover from the punch to the jaw line.

“The Legion no longer has need for any of you. The ethic of your work, and your abilities, left much to be desired from all of you. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have a man to hunt down.” Avisen simply stepped over Tia, and past the two bewildered women. He left through the door, the stern look still present on his face. “With, or without you lot.”

As he stepped out, two men bearing the Legion tabard were there, waiting. They gave him a look, and nodded. Avisen made a gesture for them to follow. As they walked out the tavern, he addressed them. “Gather the men. All of them. He’s not getting away this time.”

A booming laugh came from the figure, which was infernal-like in appearance. It jiggled the corpse about, mockingly. “Cat got your tongue? Let me help you with that.”

Green fire roiled about the corpse, and it suddenly spasmed, and let out a scream, before sputtering in a voice that seemed oddly like Avisen’s. ” . .why. . won’t you let me die. . why?”

Laughing again, the infernal-like figure grabbed a discarded pike nearby, and propped the corpse up with it. Waving its claws about, almost like it was weaving the green flame, it replied. ” . . simply for amusement. After all, how more amusing could it be to relive this moment for the rest of this planet’s miserable existence. The rest of your men will relive it as well . .they’ll know full well who was responsible for leading them to their unyielding torment.”

The corpse thrashed about, but to no avail. It stared with horror at the infernal-like figure, as it reached forward. “Time’s wasting .. let’s watch it again, shall we?”

Categories: Correspondences

Tia Lansing (II)

April 3, 2011 Leave a comment

Saying that the air seemed tense would probably be an underestimation.

Having been looking for anyone within the Legion for some time, Miss Lansing figured that the tavern in Goldshire would be the last place anyone that she knew would be.  Following up on a tip from one of her contacts, the woman arrived there a little past sun down. When Tia entered, a look of surprise crossed her face.

“Ah, Miss Lansing. Just in time,” Avisen Barclay said. The paladin seemed to be speaking with a general goods salesman near the bar. Around him seemed to be two other Legionnaires, one being a draenei woman, and the other some sort of mage looking girl. Having sharp memory, Tia quickly identified them as Antinua, and Samili. What didn’t click, however, was why all of them were in one place. ” . .I’m sure this isn’t just a social gathering, Barclay. What’s going on, and why haven’t I heard about it?”

The mentioned person gestures to the two guild mates nearby, whom both seem preoccupied with . . checking their gear, as if they were preparing for something. Barclay gestures to both of them. “Had to keep it relatively hushed, you have to understand. I got some solid intel that our target is going to be meeting with someone in the Elwynn area. Managed to get his friend to flip on him; it’ll happen in an hour.” A lofted brow was Tia’s response, along with folded arms.

“You sure this isn’t some sort of well planned out set up, Barclay? I know for a fact he’s usually one step ahead; getting a friend of his to flip is something that doesn’t seem too likely.” The woman paced along the length of the tavern, which was surprisingly empty for this time of night. Tia gestured at Barclay, and continued on her point. “Not only that, but trying to go after him with just two other people? C’mon, I thought you were a bit more cautious than that.”

The paladin shook his head, and the other two Legionnaires looked at him. “I’ve always understood that he always is on top of things, but I also understand that if his routine or his confidence is broken. That we will have the upper hand, rather than him.” Barclay tapped his forehead with an index. “Not only that, but all of his expertise orients out of hands on, physical contact. With the help of Miss ‘Tharan, and Miss Sorenson, I think the scales will be heavily tipped in our favor.”

Offering a smile, the man gestured at Tia. ” . .further tipped, if you feel so inclined to lend a hand. I figured you were perhaps preoccupied with other productive activities. . .like subverting Sigil directives to ensure all members are to remain on their boat in these trying times. But perhaps now that you are here, that can change, hmn?” The woman blankly stared at Barclay, and then applied a palm to her forehead. She slowly dragged it down. ” . .you -really- had me tailed?”

“I like to consider myself as . . well prepared. It got me that little tidbit, didn’t it? Question remains; would you like your revenge on the man who was behind your demise prior, or would you like to continue to allow him free reign?” Avisen issued Tia an inquisitive look. Letting out an exasperated sight, the woman shrugged. “-Fine.- But if all of us end up flat on our faces, it’s your ass that’s going before Darran to explain that.”

A man in a black mask casually removed an apple from a fruit stand, tossing a coin over his shoulder to the owner behind. Tossing this piece of fruit up and down in his hand, the man turned to look at someone near him. ” . . I have to thank you for coming up with those materials in such short notice. If I’m not mistaken, fel iron ore of that quality can be hard to come by these days. Rest assured, you will be compensated heavily for your efforts.”

The one whom the masked man was talking towards appeared to be a burly looking man, heavily built. A mining hat was angled slightly down on his face, scars up and down his face. He spoke with a rough, Gilnean accent. ” .. s’a ruddy pain to get tha’ stuff. But, if it ain’t for folks like you lookin’ for rubbish, I wouldn’ be makin’ the pretty copper I do.” Gesturing towards the masked man slightly, and then around the general area. Slowly shaking his head, the fruit vendor muttered something under his breath about people and the value of private conversations.

Eastvale seemed to be vacant of any sort of guard presence, an oddity given it was in the evening. The masked man didn’t pay much attention to this; he preferred being able to talk without a plated behemoth with a license to beat the living tar out of suspicious folk. He turned his attention back towards the miner. “In any regard. I’ll have the payment sent through the appropriate channels. Unless there’s something else you need to discuss at the moment, I do have places to be. . ”

Nodding, the miner immediately turned, and took his leave. Shortly after, the fruit salesman also left. Other people nearby, townsfolk, children, workers returning from their shifts. . all seemed to leave. Within a minute, the entire area around the masked man seemed to be a ghost town. Blinking, the man looked about his surroundings. Eastvale wasn’t much of a crowded place, as it was fairly open to the forest around it. Not even the local fauna was about. Closing his eyes, the man slowly lifted a pocket watch from a pouch at his hip. As he did, a man stepped out from behind a tree nearby. It appeared to be Avisen.

” . .I’ve waited a long time for this. A long time.” The paladin palmed a balled up, plated fist. Holy fire began to slowly roil about said fists, as the man stared down the masked figure about twenty feet away. Still having his eyes closed, the masked figure simply replied. “And you’ll keep on waiting. I recommend you rethink your course of action, Mister Barclay.” As he said this, three other figures bearing the Legion tabard stepped out from all directions. This attracted the masked man’s attention for a moment, but he never once opened his eyes since closing them a minute ago. His mask ruffles up slightly, as if he was smirking. ” . . I like these odds.”

As he finished speaking, Avisen made a gesture of sorts. If it was some sort of signal, one of the Legionnaires hefted a hand towards him. It appeared to be the mage, Samili. Fire began to swirl around her finger tips and her body, as she prepared to loose off some sort of spell. However, that quickly and suddenly stopped. The woman looked off to the side, as if distracted by something. She quickly ran towards where she came out of cover. The paladin looked over towards where Samili was, a confused look on his face. This distraction appeared to get the better of him, as he promptly recieved a quick snap kick to the lower abdomen. Sailing to the floor, the man grunted on impact.

Lowering his foot to the ground in a follow through, the masked man slowly rested his hand on the handle of a sawed off, holstered at his hip. Oddly enough, his eyes were still closed. A noise seeming like a cross between a hissing sound, and a snarl came from behind him. The draenei priestess, Antinua, apparently wasted no time in preparing a bolt of holy fire to assault the man with. It hurtled towards him, and said masked man simply looked over his shoulder at the oncoming fiery projectile. A mere split second before it impacted him, a blue sigil flared into life in front of his forehead. As this happened, the bolt seemed to dissipate on impact with the masked man, yielding no outward result. This elicited a confused look from the draenei woman. Not hesitating in the slightest, the masked man ripped the sawed off from its holster, and aimed it at the woman. A roar of gunfire and a slug erupting from the muzzle later, the draenei was on the floor, clutching her lower thigh.

Looking at the fallen draenei only for a moment, the man angled his gaze down to the firearm, of which he went to spend a moment reloading. He was interrupted in this, as the apparently-recovered Avisen Barclay line-drive tackled him to the floor from behind. Sawed-off skittering along the floor away from him, the masked man lost his grip on his gun. The two men tussled, wrestling for a what seemed like several minutes. Apparently getting the upper hand, Avisen pinned his opponent successfully with one hand, and hefted his other free hand in a balled up fist. Reacting quickly, the masked man suddenly reached out towards the paladin’s lower abdomen, and seemed to .. tug at something there. The paladin’s eyes went wide, and his face scrunched up as if something was wrong. A few twists and a -yank- later, the masked man simply pushed Avisen off of him, whom was seeming to convulse.

Rising to his feet, he tossed something down towards the twitching paladin. It appeared to be some sort of gnomish looking, machine-like object that he removed from Avisen’s side. He turned his attention towards the fallen firearm, which he approached to collect. Upon getting close, a leather boot planted itself on the gun. A boot belonging to Tia Lansing. The woman stared at her opponent, not even bothering to draw a weapon. ” ..you’re a strange person, Tremaine. A shame that it’ll be the end of you.” Canting his head lightly, the masked man issued a shrug as he looked towards Tia’s general direction. Staring at her with. . eyes that still appeared to be closed. . he replied. “Famous last words. However, I think you have something that belongs to me.”

Narrowing her eyes, the woman seemed to blur for a moment. Wrapping the shadows nearby around her, the woman stepped through them. Emerging four times in quick succession around the masked man, she lashed out with two snap kicks, a right hook and a back hand. Not even angling his body in any direction, the masked man replied to this assault seemingly in a calm, yet equally as quick fashion. His left arm came up, then down quickly, each movement somehow catching the snap kicks against his forearms. A jerk of the head to the left, and he dodged the hook. Following, he simply raised his right hand, and caught Tia’s wrist seconds before the backhand hit home. All of this, in the span of two seconds. The confused and surprised woman stared at him, only managing to mouth the words, ” . . how?”

He didn’t opt to reply. The man, still having hold of the woman’s wrist, twisted it, yanked to the side whilst throwing his body inward with the direction. This resulted in what appeared to be some sort of hip toss. Sailing head over heels, Tia landed flat on her back with a yelp of surprise. She only had half a second to react, as both her hands shot up to prevent a boot from pressing against her throat. Grunting, she struggled to keep it off. Looking down, the man suddenly yanked his foot out of her grip, and then lashed out with again, this time from the side in a sweeping motion. A sickening -crack-, and the woman’s head jerked to the side. Stepping back, the masked man regarded the woman, ensuring that her lack of movement was unconsciousness, and that it was not feigned.

The woman remained still. Satisfied, the masked man looked about the area. A prone, squirming draenei. A disabled paladin, and an unconscious rogue. Kneeling slightly to retrieve his firearm, the masked man casually slipped it back into the holster where it came from. He walked away from the scene, rounding a corner to ensure the remaining mage was dealt with. And dealt with it was, apparently. The young girl was staring at. . a dog, wearing a little school-boy outfit, complete with beret and tassle. It also apparently had a little bandage tied around its paw, which the girl was fawning over. “It’s okay, little guy! I took that thorn out just like I said I would,” squealed the mage. Slowly dragging a palm down his forehead, the masked man removed a blackjack from his belt, and hefted it. Plodding up behind her, a swift -crack- to the back of the head ensured that the mage went out like a light. The dog scooted out of the way, letting the woman’s prone body hit the floor.

Issuing the dog a look, the masked man shook his head. ” . .sometimes, I wonder how you do it. Let’s get out of here.” Woofing lowly, the disguise sporting canine saddled up along side, and the pair marched out of Eastvale.

Categories: Correspondences

Correspondence: Avisen Barclay (II)

February 18, 2011 Leave a comment

Today wasn’t a good day.

Getting dragged out of one of the local taverns by an irate and emotionally compromised mage, Avisen already was in a dour mood.

“But Mister Barclayyy! You’ve got to do something! You’re the one who gets things moving, and stuff! Like, set up a search party and and all this oth-”

Raising a gauntlet-clad hand, the paladin cut the rambling woman off. “Miss Sorenson. I understand you are upset about the sudden disappearance of Mister Fistcrank. However, at this time, we cannot ascertain the whereabouts of his location. Rest assured, I will expend all due effort into finding information regarding his current well being. Just. . calm down. Also, stop clinging to my torso.”

Pausing, the young mage opened her eyes, and realized she was being dragged along the road whilst clinging onto Avisen’s mid-section like there was no tomorrow. Relinquishing her grip, the mage got to her feet, and dusted off her now dirtied robes. “But-but-but-but Mister Barclaaay! The longer we wait, the more likely there’s a chance of something happening to him! Pleaaaaase~?”

His eyes narrowed into slits. “No. Besides, Mister Fistcrank is a competent mage; one of the most skilled that I’ve seen in my time. He is fully able to take care of himself, of that you should be sure,” Avisen said with a matter-of-fact tone in his voice. “In the mean time, is it -alright- if I go back to spending my -one- day off this week in peace? Or are you going to proclaim the end of the world to me in greater detail this time. Again.”

Disgruntled turned into sniffling. The young woman began bawling at the top of her lungs. “You -don’t- care! Waah!” Slowly, Avisen dragged a plated palm down his face, to avoid scratching up his features like last time. He learned the hard way not to do such too quickly. “Some times, Miss Sorenson, I question your sanity. Then I realize you were taught by Mister Fistcrank, and all is justified. If you’ll excuse me.”

Avisen performed an about-face, and began plodding back towards the tavern, leaving the bawling adolescent where she was. Just as the man was about to make it back inside, another familiar figure grumped her way towards Avisen. This time, it appeared to be Tia Lansing. Fortunately, Avisen always had time freed up to make her life miserable. “So, did you get stood up by an ogre or something?”

Rather than a witty retort like he expected, Avisen only received a dour glare from the rogue. She stormed past him, and into the tavern. The paladin frowned. ” . .okay. Was it a -half- ogre?” He followed her inside, and took a spot next to her at the bar, where she had stopped. The woman had already thrown down coin, and was in the process of bringing a tankard filled with some sort of alcohol to her lips. Resting his forearms on the bar counter, the paladin slowly shook his head. “Didn’t even proceed with the normal pleasantries. What happened this time, Miss Lansing.”

Setting the tankard down with a resounding -clank,- the woman grunted a reply. “They’re horde sympathizers.” Lofting a brow, the paladin responded quickly. ” . .who isn’t these days. But, perhaps you should clarif-,” Avisen started. Before he could finish, Tia interjected. ” . .Sigil. They’re horde sympathizers. Getting help from blood elves. One of them -is- a blood elf. Fel-sucking scum, the lot of ’em,” she spat.

A pause followed. He shot Tia a look, and canted his head lightly. ” . . I think you may be leaving out a few details, Miss Lansing. Perhaps if you could offer the whole story, rather than what you subjectively believe to be fact.” As he finished, Avisen put a look on his face that he saved only for serious occasions. It could be described as a cross between a stern glare, and a smirk. That is, if such a look existed.

What followed went on for nearly half an hour. The woman went on to describe a discussion that had happened earlier in the day between herself, and a friend of her’s named Dyna Dawnhammer. This friend was well known of course; Avisen had spoken to her on occasion as well. The information Tia would go onto describe would entail the recent disappearance of Dyna’s newly wed husband. There was apparently a discussion on what to do about it as well, but Tia stopped this description to make a firm statement. ” . .she told me that Marius and another went to Silvermoon, to get help. That’s when it hit me. They don’t give a damn about how many people we lose to the horde filth that rampage abou-,” she managed to rattle off before Avisen raised a hand slightly.

” . . now, -hold- on.” He lowered his hand, and rested both forearms against the bar counter yet again. “You sound disgruntled. To be honest, it isn’t like I see you hanging around the Sigil crowd like you used to back in the day. Why is this a big deal? Or something to even get angry over.” After he finished, the paladin issued a generic shrug of the shoulders. “Sure, I could say that I’d be miffed to hear what you described. But it isn’t any skin off anyone’s back. At least, anyone important to us.”

Tia issued a stare so blank, that an empty chalk board would look more appealing. “-Dyna’s- Sigil. She’s -with- them. She works for-,” the woman managed to say, before Avisen cut her off yet again. “Works for one or two people who -many- be sympathizers. Did you stop to ask her if she felt that way about blood elves, Tia? Did you stop to see if she disagreed with what they were doing? You’re lumping her in with a crowd that she may not even hang with. This woman respects you more than you know, Tia, and if it’s my best guess? You probably stormed off on her in a huff, and made her feel horrible. Am I right? Am I?”

Silence was the response Avisen got. He shook his head. ” . .figured. While you mope over this mistake you’ve clearly made, I’m going to go do damage control, before she does something absurdly stupid.” Avisen stepped away from the counter. ” . .like try to go after her husband by herself, or without back up. That’d be downright silly.” Leaving the exasperated Tia in the tavern, Avisen stepped outside. -Still- bawling, the mage was alongside the road, bemoaning the dreadful (possible) fate of Marzel Fistcrank. The paladin shook his head slightly, before plodding off into Stormwind to find Dyna. Silly kids these days.

Categories: Correspondences

Correspondence: Antinua’tharan

February 13, 2011 Leave a comment

In most cases, the sounds of fist fights and scuffling boots was not out of the ordinary within the Old Town portion of Stormwind City. It tended to be between drunken louts stumbling out of the tavern nearby, out to pick a fight because their ego got too bruised by some witty retort made within.

However, when the bell tolled once to signal the first hour of the breaking day, a fight this early was far from ordinary.

A right hook, caught against the inner elbow in a rising block. Knee to the gut, followed by a rough shove to establish distance. A grunt.

Two figures were in a heated fist fight within one of the alleyways within Old Town, and they appeared like it had been going for some time. A hat wearing draenei, and a black mask wearing man seemed to be exchanging the pleasantries this time around.

Sand to the eyes, a groggy pass with a back hand yielding nothing but air. Lunging uppercut, avoided by a well timed roll to the left. Tactical relocation, snap kick to the side of the chest. Winded staggering, recovery.

Despite what people may say, size doesn’t always seem to yield results. The man in the black mask seemed to have the upper hand on a draenei that would be most likely two to three times his weight with no armor on. Utilizing speed, cunning, and a knowledge of where to strike on a humanoid that is naturally top heavy, the man was using every advantage and exploit to the fullest.

Feint to the left, a quick step behind past a lunging grab. Kick to the rear ankle and joint in rapid succession, shove to the ground when buckled. Raised boot to stomp, batted aside in a burst of desperation. Rolling recovery, rise into a defensive position. A slight smirk, and a weary grunt from both respectively.

The man broke the wordless exchange of blows that had been taking place. “I had expected better, to be honest. All this time I’ve been gone, I had thought that you’d pick up a few new tricks. But, much to my dismay. . you’re still as slow and predictable as some of those Sigil louts. A damn shame.” He shifted out of a defensive stance, and folded his arms with contempt, issuing the draenei what could be conceived as a sneer from under his mask.

Thumbing his nose briefly to wipe the blood trickling from it, the draenei grunted a reply. ” . .y’can fuggin’ play y’fancy word games howeva’ y’fuggin’ want. Ah’m gunna rip y’arms off, ‘n use ’em as a back scratcha’ f’what you’s did t’me. F’what y’fuggin’ did to all them. T’the Sigil. ‘n m’friends.” The draenei went to his waist, and put a hand on the holster of some weapon at his belt there.

Within half a second, a retort of gunfire sounded off, echoing in the confines of the alleyway. After the smoke cleared, the draenei was clutching his hand, a trickle of turquoise colored blood leaking out from his grip. The man across from the draenei casually held a short-barreled flintlock in one hand, the hammer dropped on the weapon. ” . .again, predictable. To think that you’d be a quicker draw than I, would be folly at best.”

Holstering the flintlock, the man casually sauntered over towards the draenei. Before the wounded draenei could react, the man issued a savage kick towards him. This knocked him prone, and the man planted a boot onto him. “Honestly, though. I was minding my own business, and you opt to assault me unprovoked. Should’ve known better.”

“Un-fuggin’-provoked? You’s should be -dead,- y’sod,” the draenei sputtered. “Ah dunno what fuggin’ fel tainted shit y’pulled outta y’ass t’save you’s this time aroun’, but ah’m gunna make sure y’stayin’ six feet unda’.” This elicited a short laugh from the man. “If only you knew, you’d see things my way. But . .it may be better off that you don’t. It’ll keep things . .interesting.” The man removed his boot from the pinning position it had on the draenei, and he took a step away.

“But, I’ll make this perfectly clear. The sound trouncing you received, consider it a lesson to take forward. Stay away, unless you want to end up like last time. From what I gathered, I think they found it rather amusing, considering the little scribble I did on your forehead,” the man said with a self-assured tone. The draenei just stared, a look of pure and unadulterated rage spread across his face. ” . .ah’m gunna end you. It may not be t’day, but when y’take y’last breath, it’ll be b’cause of -me.-”

Performing an about face, the man began to stroll down the alleyway, away from the prone draenei. He’d casually glance over his shoulder, and reply flatly. “Famous last words, if I’ve ever heard them. Ta.” Issuing a dismissive, two fingered gesture in parting, the man left down the alleyway. He made a turn, onto the main street that circled the Old Town section of Stormwind. As he did, a bystander seemed to be walking by. This bystander stopped in her tracks, and stared at the man. The pair locked eyes on each other, and froze for a moment. Also a draenei, the bystander stammered one word. “-You.-”

The man in the mask cursed under his breath, and performed a split-second check of his surroundings. Clanking of plate boots approaching from the left. Most likely the night watch. Draenei woman to the right, clad in robes, unarmed. His ward in place, as always. Ammunition, plenty. Awareness of surrounding alleyways to provide proper escape routes in the event of pursuit, solid. Muscles, tensed. Another day at the office, as far as he was concerned.

Whipping a slender hand up, the draenei woman angled her palm at the man, beginning to chant some sort of cantrip. Acting on instinct, the man flung a loosely tied bag filled with sand towards the woman’s face. It burst on impact, covering her face with the blinding particles. Letting out a yelp of surprise, the woman stopped what she was doing, and began clawing at her face. The clanking noise from the right picked up into rapid clatter; the watch knew.

Putting on a burst of speed, the man bolted past the woman, pushing her behind him as he went to hamper pursuit. Left down an alley, over a fence, up a low hanging roof . . .and out into the veritable maze that Stormwind City often provides. A clean get away.

The night watchman knelt slightly, and helped the draenei woman up. Wiping the remainder of the sand out of her face, she looked around, and belted out a string of what could be conceived as draenic curses in her native tongue. Using the plate-clad watchman as a support, she glanced about to get a feel for her surroundings. Her gaze locked on the alleyway that the man had come out of initially, and the woman spotted the prone figure at the end of it. Weakly, the figure tilted the brim of his hat up, and hailed her from where he lay. ” . .’ey there, sis’. “

Categories: Correspondences

Correspondence: Tia Lansing

January 31, 2011 1 comment

Even in the most dangerous of places, the night sky was still something to admire when passing the time.

She had been out in the Highlands for several days now, mainly tracking down dead-end clues and leads in regards to the informant that had died. Originally, the informant had offered information valuable to the Legion, but refused to leave the Highlands. Due to this, an order was issued to head out that way, and take a report. Given things were getting slow in Stormwind, she figured that volunteering for this would be a breath of fresh air. Only made fresher, by Avisen Barclay’s decision to make it a baby sitting endeavor with the newest recruit, Eddrick.

While normally Tia would not admit it, Eddrick picked up pretty quick. From what she observed, the man managed to have a way with talking to people. Perhaps a fluke, but it turned out in their favor. Through deduction, he managed to piece together the few clues they had into something a bit more plausible. On the edge of progress, it promptly halted when the man vanished for the second time in a row during this marching order.

So, here she ways. Arms folded behind her head, and resting against a cobblestone wall adjacent to one of the roads out of Thundermar. It was one of the few safe roads out of the dwarven settlement, if the word safe could be used here in the Highlands. If anything, Eddrick would have to take the road to get into Thundermar. In the mean time, there was always a moment to take in one’s surroundings. While dangerous, the Highlands seemed to have that rustic, enjoyable feel to it. Of course, this was the case if the jutting spires and crazed cultists were removed from the occasion.

But, the sky was the one thing that kept her captivated. Even though the clouds above were colored a lavender hue due to Twilight Hammer activity, the backdrop it provided was as close to breath-taking that one could get. The weather was just right for this sort of activity as well; not too cold, but not warm enough to slowly lull one into an unintentional nap.

Humming a soft tune to herself, her mind began to wander. Thought process ranged from her late parents, to a reunion with friends long over due. She frowned, and made a mental note to try and get in contact with the old crew from back in the day. Times were simpler back then; a good time entailed harassing people at the taverns of Stormwind, not dodging murderers or getting stranded in dwarven lands.

Tia almost got a bit too lost into her thoughts, as the sounds of someone plodding down the road jostled her out of the daze she was in. Bringing her gaze to bear down the road, the woman made a subtle gesture to rest a hand on a hilt of one of her daggers. Still resting against the cobblestone wall along the road, she simply waited.

Cresting the hill that the road was on, a familiar figure lumbered into view. Familiar to her in a slight sense, as the face she saw was one Tia hadn’t seen in quite some time. A male draenei, clad in a floppy black hat and matching black attire, made its way down the road towards her. He seemed to be lugging a large burlap sack over his shoulder, and seemed to be lugging an equally large grin in terms of facial expressions. This draenei called out to her, from an audible distance.

“Long time no fuggin’ see, ‘ah? How’s you’s been, dame?” The draenei came to a stop, and let the burlap sack hit the cobble road with a -clank,- indicating that something metal was within. Lofting a brow, Tia removed the hand from her dagger hilt and replied with a confused tone. “Drayde. Of all places I’d thought I would run into you, the arm pit of Eastern Kingdoms was not one of them. What the fel are you doing up here?”

A grin still glued to the draenei’s face, he plopped down along the cobblestone wall next to the woman before replying. “Well, you’s know. Little ‘ah that, little ‘ah this. But ‘ah, seriously. You’s doin’ a’ight, dame? Last ah ‘eared, you’s was in a spot’ah trouble wit’some guards, or summat lik’ tha’.” Rolling her eyes, Tia made a dismissive gesture to follow up. “Wished you hadn’t heard about that. Let’s just write it off as an emotional indiscretion, and leave it at that, eh?”

“T’ch, s’probably cause you’s a bit too damn ova’protective of tha’ Dawnhamma’ dame. Makes me wonda’ some times.” The draenei folds his hands behind his head, and tilts his gaze up towards the sky. His face became obscured lightly, as the floppy brim of his black hat dangled forward. “But, ah ain’t one t’usually question. If you’s don’t want th’issue pushed, ah ain’t pushin’. Or pullin’. Y’fuggin’ know wha’ ah mean.”

“Yeah, I do. But I’d appreciate it if you clarified what ‘A little of this, and a little of that,’ qualifies as. I’m up here investigating some suspicious stuff, you know,” Tia mumbled. “Of course, not implying you’d be behind any of it.”

Pausing, the draenei glanced around a bit, perhaps stalling. Following a brief spell of silence, he replied to Tia. “Y’see. Ah’m actually up hea’ t’ask a favor of you’s. Bumped inta’ Mista’ Barclay back in Stormwind not too long ago, ‘n he said you’s was up hea’.” He continued to maintain the large grin on his face, as the draenei meandered his way through the conversation. “See. Way’s I see’s it, ah always ask f’help wit’things ah’m not familia’ wit’.”

Tia issued the draenei a blank, flat look. ” . . you managed to spend two minutes getting absolutely no point across, aside the obvious.” Issuing yet another roll of the eyes and a dismissive gesture. “Guess whatever it is must not be -that- important.” The draenei grunted, the grin on his face almost fading. Almost. “S’dramatic build up, y’know? Ah’m always one t’make a conversation interestin’, or summat like tha’.”

“But, if you’s one t’get to th’point like always, ah’m not one t’question. Ah need yeh t’do somethin’ f’me.” The draenei jerks a thumb towards the burlap sack he had been lugging with him. “Has t’do wit’somethin’ ah’m legitimately not familia’ wit’. See, ah’m in th’process of makin’ somethin’. S’one of th’mos’ damned intricate things ah’ve worked on t’date.”

The woman inhaled, and exhaled, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face. “Well, my keen sense of intuition tells me you either need help cooking something, or you need help with social advice. Because you’re a damned fool at both of them.” Letting out a brief chuckle, the draenei took the jibe with good humor. “Heh, you’s a sharp one, Miss Lansin’. S’more along th’latter, but more o’somethin’ you’s didn’t include in tha’ statement.”

Reaching over, the draenei took the burlap sack, and opened it. Displaying the contents to Tia, the burlap sack appeared to contain a large amount of some sort of chain-link like material. It had an odd hue to it; dull, yet not too lack luster. “Take a guess as t’what this is.”

Tapping an index finger against her chin, Tia pondered the possibilities. She knew that Drayde often dabbled in the practice of the blacksmith, but she also knew he wasn’t one for detail in his work. Something that would require the effort to make chain like material was out of place for this draenei, at least in her opinion. ” . .something you bought from someone, is my two copper.”

Chuckling, Drayde gave the burlap bag a nudge in her direction. “Nope. Believe it or not, ah actually made this’n. But what it’s made outta, is the special part.” He thumped his chest lightly with a balled up fist. “Ah found out a way t’make elementium inta’ workable material. It took -ages,- but ah managed t’make mail outta’ it.”

Tia stared. ” . .elementium. Drayde, did you blow your life’s savings on metal. There may have been reports of elementium deposits popping up around Azeroth, but it still is in rare quantity,” she said incredulously. “Even then. Do you know how -hard- this stuff is to work with? I’m not even going to start with how you -managed- to make it into something as thin as-”

Drayde cut her off, with a well timed coughing noise. “Dame. Y’underestimate m’resourcefulness when it comes t’this sorta’ thing. But, ah ain’t here t’stroke m’own ego. Ah need you’s t’help me make this inta’ a mail ova’shirt f’someone.” Tia continued her blank look, which elicited a confused look from Drayde. “Wha’? S’some sort of problem in fuggin’ askin’ for help?”

“Drayde. I’m pretty sure you’ve made mail armor before. I’ve seen the stuff you made, which of course varies in success, but I’ve still seen it. Why the fel are you trudging up to the Highlands to ask me this?” The incredulous tone of her voice intensifies. Rubbing the back of his head nervously, the draenei tugged the front brim of his hat down a bit lower with his other hand. ” . .y’see. Ah’m makin’ it for someone special. And, ‘ah. Ah want it t’fit someone of tha’ caliber, y’know?”

“No, I don’t know,” Tia replies flatly. Ceasing his brim-adjusting antics, Drayde brought the hand to his face, and dragged it down slowly in frustration. ” . .t’get to th’point. Ah’m makin’ it for a lady friend, and ah dunno th’proper proportions t’work into th’armor with. You’s a dame; you’s good with this sorta thing, ‘ah?”

A long silence dropped. It was broken with raucous laughter from Tia, coupled with finger pointing, doubling over, and wheezing. It was apparently humorous in large quantities to her.

After a lengthy recovery period, Tia wiped a tear from her eye. “No, really. Why do you-” Drayde interrupted her with the most serious look he could muster. ” . .you’re actually serious. Alright. Fine. Just so happens I do some work with leather armor, so I have -some- gist of proportion. Just don’t expect me to make anything out of that stuff that’ll show off he-” Drayde interrupted her yet again, with the most dramatic face-palm gesture he could muster. The draenei flushed blue.

” . .fuggin’. Why you’s makin’ this all sorts ‘ah awkward, Miss Lansin’. Will you’s do it, or ain’t you?” The draenei stammered. Pausing, Tia looked left, and right. No one was coming down the road from either direction, and it seemed like it would be that way for a while. The same could be said for Eddrick as well. She casually palmed a balled up fist, and cracked her knuckles.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Categories: Correspondences

Correspondence: Avisen Barclay

January 25, 2011 1 comment

Unlikely circumstances.

Two words that just happened to be used quite frequently, Avisen thought.

Wiping his hands off, the paladin glanced about the room he was in. A rented room, common place for those in the Legion after what had happened to the guild hall not too long ago. He tried not to dwell on that, as there were more pressing matters to attend to. For example.

“You do know that Hector’s going to have your head,” he said. The man glanced at a woman sitting on a bed in the middle of the room, whom happened to be rifling through a travel pack on a table not far from it. His comment didn’t seem to attract much attention from her.

The man cleared his throat, and folded his arms following. “For what just happened, you think that a little gratitude should be shown. It isn’t like a good portion of the Legion slogged through bug infested ruins to haul your ass out of yet another fire.”

This seemed to elicit a reaction. The woman turned her head towards the man speaking, and addressed him. “I’d rather not talk about it, Barclay. Even if I explained my reasoning, you’d just interpret it to your own ends. Or some shit like that. Besides, we have more pressing issues to tend to.”

“Pressing issues? You punched out a guard because you couldn’t control yourself over -hearing- that a friend lost her job. -Hearing,- mind you. That’s more unstable than a child crying over spilt milk for crying out loud. Not only that, but you got the Legion stuck with a several hundred gold fine. And you say there’s more pressing issues.” Avisen tossed his hands up in frustration, after rambling at the woman.

Avisen began pacing about the room, making pointed hand gestures into the air to accent each point he would make. “Hector takes another leave of absence. Darran is still too focused on -killing- things. Our numbers are dwindling. Anderson is -dead.-  Marching orders are piling up because no one handles them. And you lecture me on -more pressing- issues.”

Casually, the woman replies. “Yup.”

Grabbing his own hair in exasperation, the man grits his teeth. “Tia, one of these days. ”

Rising from the bed, the woman takes the travel pack from the table, and affixes it to a belt about her waist. “It’s called prioritizing, Barclay. I prefer to focus on one thing at a time, rather than the big picture. That’s a job for the higher ups, right? Like you, or Shalaara.”

She paced slowly as well, in an opposite direction of the man in the room. “I mean. Things aren’t exactly going -that- bad. Sure, Anderson bit the bullet. But have you thought about who was responsible? Or perhaps why the marching order you gave to Eddrick and me didn’t exactly go as planned? See, priorities. The here, and now.”

This elicited a visible pause from the paladin. He replied to her with brevity. ” . . I’m sorry? What do you mean, didn’t go as planned?”

Ceasing her pacing, the woman stopped to lean against the frame of the only door out of the room. She crossed her arms, and canted her head slightly. “Where to begin on that. Eddrick and I got separated rather quickly when we arrived in the Highlands. The dwarf you told us we were supposed to take a report on, had been missing for some time from the area.”

Angling herself into a standing position, the woman walked over towards Avisen. “And that isn’t even the kicker, Barclay. I figured Ed got lost, so I did some investigation on my own. Take a guess as to what happened to your dwarven buddy.” She stopped about two inches from him, head angled up slightly to establish eye contact with the paladin.

Not appearing to be amused in the slightest, Avisen narrowed his eyes. “Cut the games.”

“Found your friend about a day’s travel out of the Highlands, stuck in a ditch. Dead. Both legs missing, covered in rot and decay,” she said flatly. “Very similiar to wounds that certain types of death knights inflict, if you ask me. My curiosity, is piqued.”

Frowning, the paladin kept his gaze locked on the rogue in front of him. He broke the small silence that had fallen on both of them following what she had said. ” . . this could mean a variety of things. Nothing that I can provide a solid theory on without some investigation. Although,” he said, and began to trail off. “First things first. I’ll humor you, and ‘prioritize.’ We need to establish what Eddrick was doing while you two were separated. Following, question those in and around the dwarvish settlements closest to where the body was found. Learn what you can, and we’ll go from there.”

Rolling her eyes, the woman huffed. “Always delegating. One of these times, Barclay. You’re coming with me.” She turned towards the door out of the room, and went to open it. The paladin watched her go, and he shut the door behind her. Turning, he glanced out of a window at the opposite end of the room. Speaking to no one in particular, he muttered. “Right. One of these times.”

He walked to the table next to the bed, and went back to finishing up some reports.

Categories: Correspondences