(( Continued from "Oh, Brother." ))

Unfortunately, as I've stated before, things never go according to plan.

tor·ment (tôrmnt)

(This is a Sonnet I wrote in my free time, please give some feedback thanks =D)

His righteousness burns like a living flame

Persuing justice with every breath

For his peoples wrongs, he would take the blame

He would fight against evil, until death

His people plagued, undeath setting in

A foe reared its head, one not seen before

He charged, sword clenched in hand, but could not win

On that day, his righteousness was no more

To the frozen shores, he persued justice

Any loss was worth victory that day

As darkness clings to his heart, he's restless

Nothing left of him, to their dismay

The squalid and crowded conditions of our former slums were breeding grounds for the most appalling and vile crimes. Men, women, and children of all ages and relations were promiscuously crammed together without regard for basic decency or civility, which wretched familiarity led to the most ghastly outrages. Officially, there was little crime in the slums, since the denizens were not in the habit of communicating with the police. It was only when the crime spilled over into decent neighborhoods that we became aware of it. The razing of the former rookeries, along with the Board Schools and the District Nurse, have gone far towards eliminating these black spots.

I wrote an entry, An Ill Wind..., for an alt of mine around a year and a half ago. The character was a fugitive witch, fleeing unknown authorities in Gilneas, who has stolen something of value to her former master. I never really fleshed things out, easily distracted as I am, but with the release of Cataclysm and the opening of Gilneas, I see a potential for a bit of fun taking up that plot. What I'm wondering is if there's anyone out there who would care to represent the authorities of Gilneas, or perhaps agents of that mysterious master, or even perhaps con-conspirators or other former students of said master. I'm open to other ideas as well, so if you care to join me in a bit of plot making, I'm opening the door here. Let's discuss it. Thanks for your attention.

1. Air
Seven dangled a Dwarf over the side of the Silvermoon wall. She was going to drop him, but he had given up his partner. He would not fall through the air, she would just take it from him. She tightened her grip, he struggled. Time passed, the Dwarf stopped struggling.

2. Apples
A fresh basket of apples was in the room where the partner is crime was supposed to be. He was not home, but she had come very far for justice. The apples were the only sign of life in the drab Southshore apartment. Ironic that they would be his death.

3. Beginning
She normally enacted justice in Silvermoon, but some murdered rangers were the beginning to this hunt. She had caught the Dwarf near the scene, the Gnome fled. The murderers were dead and Seven would journey back North, but this was also the beginning of her exacting justice beyond Sin'dorei land.

A raven croaked from one of the nearby trees, jostling another bird for space on a convenient limb.

“Gathering already.” I thought. The scavengers would have their feast soon enough, for now they waited for the humans and their horses to leave.

A half-dozen corpses decorated the trees on either side of the road, twisting slowly in the chill autumn breeze. They were the last of a gang of bandits who’d been hitting the borders of my lands, figuring that an isolated mountain fief wouldn’t be well defended. They’d been wrong and their bodies would serve as a warning to anyone else with the same idea.

The nobles danced and talked beneath their masks, he noted as he made his way through the crowd talking to the occasional guest and making himself quite the host, especially with the fine and “noble” ladies of the night. He sent them off with a laugh, their presence greatly appreciated from the male patrons of his party. He nodded with a sense of satisfaction as he approached the stairs going to the rooftop, exiting himself away from the party. As he emerged from the door to the roof, there stood three of his greatest friends, entrepreneurs all. He raises his glass with infinite glee, filled with wine and ill-gained success.

   Amongst the dozens of old fliers and posters placed upon the Silvermoon City notice board, one fresh page sticks out amongst the others...

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BY NOTICE OF THE SILVERMOON CITY GUARD:

   The Silvermoon City guard is proud to announce that after two years of seemingly fruitless efforts, one of the most wanted criminals of Quel'thalas has been brought to justice:

   The thief and traitor Thaerin Raeth'rel is dead.

The Dispensing of Vengence

Sometimes Justice Masquerades as Vengence

Sometimes vengence can only be satisfied with death.

The day dawned bright and cool. Fall is coming Corrander thought to himself. Pulling on his Jerkin he hoped that the lackluster performance of this week’s training would be gone from this morning’s little gathering. He and Tandle had worked the lads hard in the last month to get everyone’s mind back focused on the matter at hand, rather than the escapades of that damn gnome.

The little cabin in the mountains was set back into a the earth of the hill. The meadow in front was covered in snow, and as you flew over it on the gryphon ride from Thorium Point to Ironforge or points North, it looked deserted. The owner kept it that way on purpose. 

Philips ushered me into Lady Pittmeddon's office almost as soon as I knocked on the door of Pittmeddon House.  She took a look at me, seeing the gash in my jerkin and the spatters of dried blood that marked my sleeves.

"Trouble?" Lady Pittmeddon asked calmly.

"Your son tried to have me killed."  I replied with equal calm.  "Three of Bothwell's goons jumped me at the meeting."

"I see."  She looked me up and down again.  "Edward returned home a short while ago.  He is presently confined to his room."  Her look hardened.  "My son will not be harmed, Dame Theryl."

I returned her look and nodded my agreement.  "Not by me, my lady."  I didn't need the trouble, legal or otherwise.

"Good.  Lord Pittmeddon and I have come to certain decisions about our son."  She raised her voice.  "Mister Rivers!"

The middle-aged man at the cobbler's bench looked up from his work looked up as I entered the shop.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

"Mayor Wright?"  He nodded, his frown saying that anything official was probably bad news.  "I'm Dame Theryl Miller-Duskwind.  I'm here to lay a charge of murder against Justus Carpenter."

To read the journal, click here.  To turn the pages, click and drag with the mouse, or single-click on the corners.  This entry follows Paja's story "Getting Out", which can be read here.

 {{ Contains profanity, torture, and creepy-crawly things. }}

6/18/29 – Poor turnout for the meeting. I’ve yet to see Dragoon Jasria at all and Dragoon Lucear resigned. I’ve brought in Cation as Master Sergeant to help with recruitment. She came highly recommended to me. I’ve also stated that I want the Dragoons to look into the murder of Commander Ebonlocke in Darkshire.

Harrigan closed the journal and set it on the table before taking a long pull of the drink beside it.

“Soldiers don’t just die at their posts,” he muttered. He said that to Anyalena before the meeting; now he wondered what she made of it.

(Originally posted March 21st, 2006)

Part 1

The firey knife wasn't touching my flesh, or Jessa's, but I cringed all the same as I watched Camnon and Tashinka carve the symbols of unity into Skornd's and Solielle's arms while the shaman captured the blood in a golden chalice, and our friends pledged their love for one another. I squeezed my own love's hand more tightly as we sat with the other wedding guests. Your mark upon me goes deeper than any scar I bear, dearest - it's my soul you've imprinted...

It had been only a bit more than two weeks past when Solielle had caught me more off guard than I'd even been before in my life...

(Originally posted March 1st, 2006)

Late night on the Lower Rise, Mulgore's starry sky above. Too keyed up to sleep, a walk around the pond on the Lower Rise; I encounter a learned friend, sitting with her own thoughts.

We talk for a time. Questions asked & answered about mutual friends. Eventually the conversation turns to that which is keeping me awake:

Valgasha. Cirene's soul, which he still holds captive. Our hopes to retrieve it and free her at last. Assistance is offered and gladly accepted, and then these words of advice:

"Let the women kill him."

The darkness consumed every possible pinpointe of light that might have been visible.  The air was frigid and no warmth could be found.  One's own breath could have been seen, if there was air to breathe.  Mizumi's spirit hung in limbo for what felt like an eternity.  She could not move toward the next realm or even back to her body.

Killing in the name of justice…

Crinock headed south, away from the city, away from his latest failed attempt at justice. His wounds pained him, but it was nothing that would not heal quickly with some aid, and traitors of Gnomeregan always had a bit of life to spare. He circled around the busy town of Goldshire and crossed the river on one of the small boats along the shore.

Kelgar Bronzeaxe left the forge exhausted, covered with sweat, and looking forward to a hot meal and a warm bed. He strolled through the dark streets, paying little attention to anything but thoughts of his wife and his bed, and various combinations of the two, when he rounded a corner and stopped cold. He stared wide-eyed for a heartbeat, then vomited up his lunch onto the stone pavement.

I have sworn no oath as a paladin,

But I will swear one now.

A mangled gnome wearing smashed goggles is nailed above the entrance to the park with a wrench driven through his chest. He is in such a position as to be very difficult to pull down, even with a very tall ladder. His face sports a brilliant green beard and bright purple eyes, but the beard has mostly been singed away and only one of the eyes stares out blankly over the park.

The priest took the charred body of the gnome off the altar with a sigh. If a soul would not return, he could not force it. The human carried the corpse down to the crypts for the time being. He ascended the steps, shivering, and left the burned gnome alone in the darkness.

Out of the depths have I cried ...*

Lorith had called us and I'd come. Couldn't do otherwise, given what I owe her. Just as important, she's a friend – don't have many of those. The Dark Irons had done something to her friend Veri, and Pugnose and Lorith thought that by hitting Black Rock Mountain hard we might break whatever control they had over her.