sophiaserpentia | wow fanfic (yeah, shuddup)

I wrote a couple of pieces of World of Warcraft fanfic yesterday. Posting them here does not mean this is going to become a habit or anything. They are RP vignettes involving my characters. Some violence, a little cussing, otherwise generally SFW.

Sobralia was cuffed sharply on her right ear. Startled, she growled and stood, and turned to face... Cooloorta.

"You kept me waiting. What could have been so important as to make you disrespect your sister?"

As Sobralia glowered, the wind howled eerily around them, as it always did in the Cleft of Shadow. Light flickered as kodo skins, draped over the entire gorge, flapped in the breeze. The two sisters crossed their arms, half in anger, and half to guard their chests from the coolness of the air.

It was then that Cooloorta looked at the companions with whom Sobralia had been sitting. Three orcs, brooding youngsters barely more than pups; one scratching emblems in the dirt with a dagger, another who smelled of frequent bitterroot use. Cooloorta snorted and curled her lips with disapproval. The youth with the dagger looked up as if ready to challenge her, but quickly backed down; he could not hope to prevail in a fight against a seasoned adult wearing leather armor she took from the corpse of a Druid of the Fang.

"These are my friends, sister. They watch my back, and i like the way they think. Ta'Lok, Shakkar, Ma'Dosh, this is my sister Cooloorta."

The broody pup with the dagger, introduced as Ta'Lok, muttered, "Throm-ka."

Cooloorta chose not to acknowledge the introduction. "You'd rather scrabble in the dirt down here than attend to me? My time is precious. Who knows when i will next have the time to teach you how to shoot a gun?"

At this Ta'Lok snorted. "Guns! Guns are for cow-men, Sobralia. An orc does not need such a crutch, an orc meets his foes face to face."

Cooloorta's arm was already tensing to strike the insolent pup, when she noticed a tattoo on his neck of a sword encased in flames. A chill raced down her back; she struggled to keep her shudder from being seen.

"I was just by to see Karolek, he told me he has some comments on your latest work and said you haven't been by to see him in a while. Come, walk with me." Sobralia glanced at her friends. "Now." Cooloorta turned and walked from the seated trio.

"Dabu." Sobralia, visibly chastened, joined her.

They walked in silence past curtained shops, whose clientele preferred to remain unseen. The air carried aromas from odd potions and, once or twice, a muttered incantation in the demonic language. Cooloorta growled with disdain. "First i hear you have been running errands for the Shattered Hand. And now this! Sobralia, do you have any idea--"

"Yes, sister, i do. I do know." She could not hide the fear in her voice, and this was enough to make Cooloorta stop.

Cooloorta studied her sister's face for a long time. She spoke softly. "I know what the Warchief has asked you to do. I'm scared for you. Not just for your health, sister... i'm scared for your soul. I'll plead with the Warchief, maybe he can find someone else."

"The Warchief has faith in me. Do you?"

Cooloorta resumed walking. "I have associates in the Silverpine Forest who have been asking if i know someone handy with a blade--"

Sobralia spit. "The Silverpine Forest! Crawling with undead. We should have no truck--"

She stopped as Cooloorta cuffed her again, this time on the mouth. "The Forsaken are our allies. Our allies! It is time you learned what that really means. They are frightful to look at, but they have honor. They have risen above the same despair that nearly did us in. You are too young to remember the internment camps, Sobralia. Too young to remember the lethargy, what it felt like to be slaves." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "That's why the Burning Blade is recruiting pups like you. I fear for what will become of the orcs when everyone who remembers that dark time has joined the ancestors." She looked around. "Even now there are orcs who associate with demons. I do not know why the Warchief tolerates the presence of warlocks among us."

"Perhaps he knows we are stronger when there are orcs who can give commands to demons in the service of the Horde! Neeru has shown me hints of what warlocks can do!"

Cooloorta shook her head. "You don't understand. Demons are willing to allow some of their number to be ordered about because the illusion of being powerful is the gateway they use to slowly enslave you."

"Bah! Says who?"

"Drek'Thar."

Sobralia stopped to stare at her sister. "You have spoken to Drek'Thar?"

Cooloorta nodded. "He passed through the Crossroads while i was studying under Sergra. That troll Tari'qa plyed him with boar grog until he was willing to speak. He sang a lok'tra of Mount Hyjal. But Sobralia, he also explained that an orc's biggest foe is not something you can take down with a dagger or a bow. An orc's biggest foe is within. Finish your task for the Warchief, but after that... leave this place. Take the job i offer in the Silverpine Forest. I don't want to see you seduced by hate."

Sobralia's face showed indignation, but Cooloorta was sure she could see relief on her sister's face as well. For a moment, Cooloorta imagined herself storming into the Warchief's keep and challenging him directly for exposing her sister to this. But as Cooloorta had been ready to lecture her sister on the importance of listening to one's elders, she realized the irony of her own anger. Thrall asked Sobralia to do this task directly. Maybe he knows more about her than i do myself. Maybe... maybe he has his own way of instructing pups, too young to remember the Scourge, about the dangers of the Burning Legion.

They reached Karolek's leatherworking shop. Karolek lit into Sobralia right away about neglecting her duties as an apprentice. Sobralia took the ribbing in stride. For the first time, Cooloorta saw samples of her work; her sister had talent. Her heart filled with pride, but also with gloom, with a deeper understanding of what the world stood to lose if her sister gave in to demonic temptation.

"I'm not so sure this 'shortcut' was a good idea." Sabraea straightened up and stood a few hairs closer to her sister.

"I-- I've come through here before," Salvinia said, hoping the fear in her voice didn't show.

Sabraea hid her face as they passed by Tynnus Venomsprout, a little weasel from whom she'd bought poison. She did not need the complication of explaining to her sister, the priest, how often she'd done business here in the Forlorn Cavern. "Next time we'll take the long way, even if it does involve going by the Great Forge."

At that moment, a dwarf, running through the crowd, crashed into Sabraea, nearly knocking her over with his momentum. He looked up at her, and then at Salvinia, pain written across his face, and slumped over sideways. Salvinia stifled a scream -- she'd seen and healed all sorts of wounds in battle, but usually in the field she was prepared for it.

She had not been prepared to witness a murder in the heart of Ironforge.

After a second, Salvinia's training took over and she began to examine him. The dwarf had been stabbed in several places, most deeply in the stomach. Sabraea shouted to the crowd which had gathered to stare, "Someone fetch a guard!" She scanned discretely, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone behind the crowd, moving as if they had done it. She saw nothing.

Just as Sabraea was going to inquire about the dwarf, Salvinia's soft weeping answered her question.

After ten minutes a particularly burly dwarf who called himself Thief Catcher Gundersson arrived. "Aw, bugger, my snitch went and got hisself killed." He clicked his tongue, and then eyed Sabraea very intently. "Did he say anythin'? Give ya anythin'?" Sabraea nodded no.

When it became obvious that Gundersson would tend to the body, Sabraea led Salvinia quickly back the way they came. "Where are we going?"

She answered in Darnassian. "Be quiet, just follow me."

They ran hastily back through the Explorer's League museum, and -- ducking under a huge gyrating gear and camshaft -- into the cluttered zone some called "Tinkertown." Exiles from Gnomeregan huddled in this cavern and in a highly disorganized fashion had strewn their gathered remaining possessions wherever they found space. It was cramped, it was messy, it smelled of grease, and from every side there came the sounds of mechanical devices and bubbling alchemical tubes. They came upon another huge gyrating gear, and Sabraea relaxed. "Here we are. I don't think we were followed, but we should hurry."

This passage led to another cavern, dark and reeking of mold. There was a deafening cacophany that struck Salvinia as what it might sound like if a thousand troggs deep in a cave ground metal bits together.

"Damn, we were followed!" With this Sabraea grabbed Salvinia and huddled behind a cluster of trash barrels. Salvinia felt something tickling her hand and leaned forward to look -- but just as she did so, Sabraea put her hand over Salvinia's mouth. This was to stifle the scream which would have followed when Salvinia found that the source of the tickle was a rat climbing up her arm.

Sabraea kept the hand over her sister's mouth, and whispered in her ear. "They didn't see where we've gone. When the tram comes, we're going to run like heck and jump on, got it? Hopefully they won't be able to get on in time."

If her mouth hadn't been covered, Salvinia would have asked, What's a tram?, but instead she just nodded.

Sabraea listened to the sounds they made. They were stealthy, but not stealthy enough... or they wanted to be heard. She heard three, and from what she could tell, they were at least her match in skill. Salvinia would stand no chance if this erupted into melee. Think, think... she could sap one long enough to give her some advantage against the other two, and hope her luck held up long enough to get them both away.

She heard a blade being scraped against a sharpening stone close by. They would be found in a matter of seconds. Sabraea took out her cudgel and prepared to move behind the nearest.

The screeching and grating sounds became suddenly louder and closer, until it became an almost deafening roar. Then there was a crash, and relative silence, only a loud hissing. Sabraea looked at Salvinia, and held up her hand, counting down from three with her fingers. Three, two, one. A heartbeat after 'one' they both stood, and Sabraea grabbed Salvinia's hand and they ran.

Salvinia finally saw the tram: a monstrous contraption made from several platforms each dangling from pulleys, swinging wildly. She wondered if it wouldn't be safer trying to go up against the assassins.

The assassins had seen them, and were scrambling from different parts of the chamber. All three were elves. None were fast enough though to get between Sabraea and Salvinia and the tram.

The hissing picked up and with a loud screech and a clang the tram began to move again. Sabraea tightened her grip on Salvinia's hand and, pulling her in a sprint, they leapt and landed on the last platform. The tram swung wildly, and the two had to grab and hold on tight.

Sabraea heard a distinctive whoosh of air behind her, and knew she'd be dead before she could even cry out --

-- but the dagger bounced off her back and clattered on the floor of the tram. She looked to see Salvinia holding up a hand in casting stance, her lips parted in speech. She looked down, and caught a glimpse of an emblem on the dagger before it slid off the wildly-swinging tram car.

The tram ride came out of Salvinia's worst nightmare. The car stopped swinging eventually, but the roar of the screech was deafening. Lights flashed and flickered on all sides. The car seemed to be heading straight for a wall, but then made a sudden, jerky turn. This happened more than once, and because the tunnel was poorly illuminated, there was no way to tell which way the tram was going to jerk next. Sometimes they jerked straight up, sometimes down, sometimes side to side. She became disoriented and nausea began to well. Sabraea, though, seemed fine, if not a bit shaken from her near death, and from what she'd seen on the dagger.

After some time the illumination in the tunnel began to grow, and from the echoes ahead they could tell they were reaching the end of the tram line. Hopefully, Salvinia thought, there would be no assassins waiting for them on this end.

The tram came into another room, much like the chamber where they'd boarded, and crashed to a jarring halt. Sabraea jumped off, and held up her hand to Salvinia.

"Where are we?"

"What?"

"Where are we?" Salvinia could barely hear over the ringing in her ears.

"Stormwind."

"What? How do you know we're in Stormwind? We travelled far enough we could be anywhere, Undermine, Gnomeregan, Blackrock Mountain!"

"I've ridden this death trap before." Sabraea took Salvinia's hand and led her from the chamber... they found themselves above ground, among distinctly human rock and brick buildings. They made their way to an alley, and when Sabraea felt confident they hadn't been seen, she sat against a wall, and let out a long sigh.

"What do you think all that was about? The murder, the assassins?"

Sabraea flashed a mischievous grin. "Let's find out, eh?" She reached into her leather vest and pulled out a small leatherbound journal.

"What's that?"

"This is what the dwarf put in my hand before he died." She flipped it open. "Einar. Einar Stronginthearm. That was his name."

Salvinia closed her eyes and began speaking silently.

"What are you doing?"

After a few seconds, Salvinia made the sign of the moon, and then glared at Sabraea. "Praying. You should try it sometime."

Sabraea pursed her lips, and began flipping through the journal. "SI:7. SI:7!" She laughed. "Well, it's a good thing we came to Stormwind. Einar was trying to get this back to SI:7 when those assassins found him. If found, please return to Matthias Shaw, Stormwind, and read no further." She flipped a page. "Hey, listen to this. He was investigating Arch Druid Fandral Staghelm." She looked up, suddenly nervous. "Holy crap, so the Cenarion Circle really did want to kill him."

"The...," gulp, "the Cenarion Circle?"

Sabraea looked at her, suddenly frightened. "Yes. I couldn't believe it when i saw their emblem on that dagger, i thought maybe it had been stolen or something."

Salvinia thought back to her few brief encounters with the Arch Druid. She remembered him as harried, curt, frantic, dismissive. She did not like him, but she would have never dreamed he'd be arranging to have people killed.

"The first thing in here is a piece of correspondence with a Quintis Jonespyre in Feathermoon Stronghold, Feralas. He says he's encountered a number of adventurers travelling back and forth between the Un'Goro Crater and Darnassus, bringing morrowgrain to the Arch Druid. Un'Goro Crater? Morrowgrain? Oh, he says on the next page that morrowgrain has curse-like properties. What the heck does that mean?"

She flipped past a few more pages. "Listen to this. 'On the ninth i received mail from a goblin named Meezix. Mail from Undermine, who would ever imagine it! Meezix called himself a "geothermal engineer" and offered an alternative theory about the Un'Goro Crater. He writes, "One day i dropped a rock in the mud and observed how a little round crater splashed up around it. I've flown over the Un'Goro Crater in a zepplin, and i can tell you, it looked just the same, only bigger! The dwarves claim it's the caldera of an ancient volcano, but i think that a long time ago, a really big rock hit Azeroth and left the crater there. Where'd the rock go? Maybe it bounced back up or something. Laugh if you want, but if i'm right, then something entered this world there."'"

She turned the page again. "This is the last entry. It has today's date." She looked at Salvinia, and they shared a moment of fear. "'Today i met a gnome named Sprocket Tinkershuffle. He's an alchemist, with a special interest in the Lordaeron plague. He's conducted research in the Plaguelands at intense personal risk. (As an aside, he's heard from several sources the story you once told me of Prince Arthas slaughtering the villagers of Stratholme. He believes it really happened.) He managed to secure a few grain samples from the silos in Andorhal -- an incredible feat. As you know those silos are believed to be the central source of the original plague. In those samples he found traces of morrowgrain! But he says this could mean anything. Is morrowgrain a key ingredient in brewing the plague? Or was it used in a desperate attempt to purify the village's primary source of food? PS, I am being followed.'"

Sabraea slammed the book shut, and then stood and looked around once more. When she was satisfied they were still alone, she held out her hand, to help Salvinia up. "Where are we going?"

"I'm fulfilling Einar's last wishes. Come."

They walked through Stormwind, a dense and crowded city. The tram had let them out in a smoke-filled district populated with dwarves, smelling of burning wood and molten metal. They passed through an archway and walked by the canals for a while, and then into an older, unkempt and decrepit part of the city. Just as Salvinia began to wonder if Sabraea really knew where she was going, they appeared at the gate of an old keep. Grasping her hand tighter, Sabraea led Salvinia inside.

After passing through a courtyard, the two sisters came into a musty, rather cluttered tower. They received a few glances as they moved past, but no one challenged them -- which struck Salvinia as odd. Was Sabraea somehow involved with this organization, this SI:7?

They stopped at a dinner table, where a man sat eating stew, still wearing his leather armor. What kind of life must a man lead, that he cannot relax enough to remove his armor at the dining table?

The man put down his spoon, and looked up, squinting, as if concentrating. "Sssssabraea. Yes, you're Sabraea Moonwind. Welcome back to SI:7." This was followed with an awkward silence. "I don't know this other person."

"My sister. Look, i came into possession of this," she said, holding up the journal. "Says return to you."

Appearing as non-chalant as he could, Shaw reached for the journal. He flipped it open, read the first page, then tore it out and shoved it in his mouth. He did this again, and again. After the fourth page, he looked up and squinted at Sabraea again. He spoke with a half-chewed page in his mouth. "Mdid myou mread mis?"

"No sir, not after the first page had your name and said read no further."

Matthias Shaw nodded, and ate another page. "Mgood." He swallowed. "It'd be a damn shame to have to liquidate someone with as much promise as you have." He tore out the next page, and ate it.