Fanshen

Perhaps all too commonly for a Night Elf, Suldrae was fond of the color purple.  Such a rich hue, so vibrant and varied, seemed impossible to resist; she loved the pale delicacy of lilac and would gladly lose herself in the hidden warmth of indigo.  So as the tall, pale kaldorei entered the dormitory room at the Floriae School, she grinned from ear to ear.

The small chamber enclosed only a few pieces of furniture, but those pieces had such style and character that they appeared to fill the room.  Two twin beds with matching bedspreads, curling carved headboards and footboards, took up the majority of the space.  Around them settled a pair of writing desks, likewise vanities, and modest wardrobes.  Everywhere hung shades of purple trimmed with gold. Suldrae smiled and dropped her rucksack at the foot of one bed. The other, she had noticed, sported a unique little embroidered pillow. 

(( A neatly written note in formal but slightly awkward Common appears in Fanshen's morning mail ))

With a soft hiss and a quiet thump the letter slid through the slot and dropped to the stone floor.

“More wounded, Commander,” said the corporal, his young face pale, eyes wide. Harrigan looked up from his desk, littered with papers and reports. He scowled at the news. A few empty bottles lay about and the corporal could smell the scent of whiskey on the man, but Harrigan's eyes shone clear and sober. The young man before him blanched but to his credit remained at attention under the glare of his commanding officer. The man's back went stiff and his posture rigid in a salute. Harrigan whipped his own hand up in a sharp return gesture.

 “Where?” he asked, his voice a gruff bark.

Hoarkin finished packing his last bag. Strapping it onto his mechanostrider, the gnome noted with satisfaction that his turtle, wolpertinger, chicken, tiny reindeer, and parrot were still snug in their cages on the back of the machine. His ram, Esdee and his battle-pig Mr. Wiggles, each also had numerous packs, bags and boxes secured to them, and Surly, his netherwhelp was perched on Esdee, ready to take flight when they set out.

“I thought you said you didn’t have a home?”

“I don’t, really.”

“Yet you’re telling me that you’re going home. I don’t understand.”

Fiyonna smiled as she gazed out of the open window to the harbor.

“Well, it was my home… once.”

Hello dad.

I lay in my old bed at Missus Fisher's and listened. Familiar sounds crept through the darkness of the little room: the front door banging as a late arrival came home, Amanda Bedlow's hacking cough, the wail of someone's baby somewhere. I'd missed Stormwind, been a bit of a shock when I realized that, but I'd lived here longer than anywhere since we'd fled Lordaeron. Probably had more ties here than anywhere. Folks in Old Town had greeted me in the street like I'd never left, probably have a few on the doorstep in the morning, asking for some help with something or other.

The sound of splashing water and giggles drew Hoarkin down the hallway.  They sounded familiar…  He pushed the door open carefully and slipped inside.  The sounds were clearer now.  Gnara and…Fanshen?  Another splash and a murmur of assent.

Giggles filtered down the alley as a dozen or so girls ran down. Noble girls all, they had decided to spend the night before Hallow's End causing some mischief. So far, a dozen or so homes were now decorated with red, orange and pink silk ribbon.

"I know where to go next!" exclaimed Tilliana DeLadrier. "Lorith lives around here somewhere... I've got an idea!" Giggles and whispers followed down the alleyway to where Lorith, Adam, and her pets lived. They quietly peered in the window and saw no sign of the dwarf, or her husband. Lorith's wolf Tanner, and her kitten Timothy lay curled near the door, Tanner's eyes on the girls peering in the window.

((Some mature language.  Also, contrary to what it will look like ( XD ) this was written last week.  I just didn't post it because it was on the laptop and inaccessible at convenient times. ))

I’ve gotten nothing but distressing letters lately.  Well.  And some junk mail from the Steemwheedle Cartel.

Aldred's eyes opened with a start. He wasn't quite used to sharing a bed, and certainly not with someone who had hooves.

Fanshen and the woman both shrieked at the sudden comand. The rogue spun as the servant stumbled back onto the bed. She contorted her body as she fell, managing with amazing grace to keep the glass of milk and the other of bright orange juice steady. Fanshen swore, eyes darting to the left and right. No quiet escape now, she thought. She was pinched. Sighing she raised her hands, accepting her fate.

From the hallway, Arch Magus Gindolphin chuckled to himself. Adept Hoarkin had warned him about this young lady. A serpent he said and it appeared he'd been correct. He made a note to keep track of this one. She would be useful at some point. Besides, she was quite fetching. He motioned to her to follow him. Fanshen hung her head and did so.

Aldred hung in his cell, shackled to the ceiling as Maerci DeMontvalle stood before him with a disappointed frown. She held a knotted leather flog in her hand which she tapped against her thigh with an annoyed expression. She shook her head pityingly at him as she circled round behind him and out of his sight.

It was the early hours of the morning when the postman rode slowly up the path towards the highest hills of Tirisfal. He cursed his fate for at least the thousandth time that it had become his lot in life to lug mail all the way up to the old Monastery.

(( Rated M for violence. Nothing explicit, but...I feel quite awful for putting our loveable farmboy through this. >.> ))

Scarlet Champion Herod and his men took Aldred into a sparse room in the corridors below the monastery. It was a place Aldred knew was used for keeping Forsaken prisoners, and occasionally – under particularly unfortunate circumstances – incarcerate and punish their own.

Aldred stared grimly at the chaos in the halls – the handiwork of Maerci and Fanshen. Two men sat on the stone floor, propped up against the wall bleeding and groaning while another tended to their wounds. At the far length of the corridor, one of the Chaplains used the Light to ease the suffering of another wounded man.

Aldred sat in a small room off the main hall of the Scarlet Monastery Library with a pen and his ledger. A candle on the table before him lit the room in a soft glow. The ledger was filled with pages and pages of letters he'd written, mostly to Maerci DeMontvalle, though he'd never sent a single one and perhaps never meant to.

Pain stabbed Fanshen into consciousness. She opened her eyes setting off another wave of agony as the sunlight shattered her senses. She blinked, trying to turn her gaze from the unforgivingly bright sky. She could hear buzzards croaking nearby and fear lent her resolve. She lifted her head as carefully as she could to survey the damage. Her right leg was twisted horribly, hyperextended and pointed the wrong way. She could see the jagged lump of bone under the skin in her calf where the broken tibia pushed against the bruised tissue. Fanshen attempted to sit up but her back screamed in protest and she fell back to the rocky turf. Tears rolled down her cheeks and fear clutched at her heart. "I'm going to die!" she sobbed.

Hoarkin’s heart beat furiously. Just about everything in the world had gnome high on its list of Tasty Treats or People to Abuse Indiscriminately.

A bloke needs a place to settle down, relax, call his own. Could be anywhere really, doesn’t even have to be contained. There’s a stretch of beach outside Shadowprey I used to really enjoy. Sleeping in the sand, catching me own dinner fresh out the water, making a bit of a fire to keep warm – a bit of diving for pearls to keep Droffer’s happy when I’d been off work for a few days without notice – it made a perfect getaway when I needed to clear my head. I don’t go there anymore, not after Ixinane nearly bled me dry out on that stretch of land. Feels like my blood’s still out there in the sand, along with the memories of her.

Now I’ve got two places, as far across the world from each other as you can get. Makes it harder to track me down, and in my line of work, being tracked down by just about anyone never ends up being a good thing. There’s a lodge in Winterspring I quite fancy, nice and quiet up there in the snow and the weather makes for few travelers coming through. Then there’s Booty Bay, full of pirates, fishermen, and the like. It can sometimes smell something awful with the tides coming in, but it’s right easy to blend in amongst the crowds.