"...you got to be kidding me!" Jarel Moor exclaimed, looking at his newest, heavily armored guest. The Sheriff looked down his hawk-turned nose at the bartender of the Slaughtered Lamb in all seriousness.
"By the order of the Grand King And--" The tax collector was cut short by Jarel's loud wordless arguing, trying to shut him up. He rose a single, thick fingered hand up to stop him, eyes rolling. "I don't need another speech, thank you, Sir."
Drawers were pulled out behind the bar, coin rattling around against wood. The Sheriff leaned against the counter to watch as Jarel scooped up gold coins by the tens, dumping them into a small bag.
"Thats a hefty tax. Nearly five times more what I usually pay. And it's not even tax time!" Jarel grumbled. The collector stuck his thumbs in the hooks of his trousers, toying with the handcuffs attached to them rather pointedly.
"If you'd like to argue, Sir Moor, I'm sure we can take you down to the Stockades so you can...heheh, plead your case."
Jarel threw the bag of coin, letting it slide down the counter for the Sheriff's fingers to pluck. Tipping his helm, the tax collector gently tousled the weighted gold bag between his hands. He whistled as he started back out toward the exit, a hop to his steps.
"The Kingdom of Stormwind thanks you. Good day."
The angry slamming of a crate from the tavern hardly made a sound in the catacombs, muffled by the floor above. By lamplight, Anisse kneeled upon the small, thatched carpet decorating her little parlor. Dipping her fingers into the wooden bowl on the floor before her, the tepid water rippled slightly at the intrusion of her digits. Scrying was taught to even the most inexperienced of Twilight Cultists, for signs of the Old Ones were often hidden from the five senses, such magic often smothered by the numb earth. Coupled with the right offerings, sight could be granted. There was one such obscure artifact she meant to find.
Anisse wondered if she still had the touch.
Spreading her fingers wide in the bowl, steam started to rise as the woman focused. Tensing, she felt the whispers of magic starting to gather. With force, she pulled the magic through her and then expelled it, and the flames answered her call, lighting her fingers and the water of the bowl. It danced fiercely, owning the silent water now. Anna sat back and studied the little spectacle, a pleased smile turning the corners of her lips.
She had little time to act, a small window to find what she sought though, and Anisse’s focus returned. The edge of a dagger scraped against the frayed carpet as it was scooped into her hand. She flinched, cutting the blade across her free palm to feed the flames, though she forced herself to stare upon the fiery bowl, unblinking. Hungry, the fire snapped up the droplets of blood that poured from the wound, crackling and popping in acceptance. Swaying, she gave her voice weight, giving herself to the seeking.
Through the Abyss I plead for thee,
Through fire and water do make me see,
Cast this primal fire far and wide
That what I seek will no longer hide!
Anisse scooted back, withholding a gasp as the fire leapt within the bowl. Anticipative, she rose a bit on her knees, looking down at the burning fire. It was a spinning torrent inside of the bowl, quickly evaporating the water inside as it funneled upwards. It had worked! For a mere minute the scrying went on, seeking the stolen obelisk that haunted her fingers. As the water boiled, the image of the small obsidian obelisk burned red hot in the water’s reflection, the black stone aglow. She could smell the ocean, hear the animalistic sounds of a jungle. Still she probed the scrying spell, her face so close to its funneling flame, the question throbbing in her mind over and over.
Where, where, where, where, where, where, where?!
The narrow, dark-colored face of a tusked female formed in the remaining water. A tuft of bright, pink hair was added just as the image collapsed, the last drop of water drifting off as steam, leaving an empty, smoking bowl. The scryer peered into the now blackened bowl, sitting back slowly onto her heels. She’d found her pendant. The image the spell had relinquished to her was a troll, at least she knew. Beyond that, she at least knew it was safe for the time being…she’d be hard-pressed getting another like it. Still, it irked her. She wanted the damned obelisk!
Laying back onto her small missionary bed, Anisse sighed inwardly, musing. She stared up to the ceiling, her eyes drawn to a wispy cobweb attached to a corner. Inside of it, something small struggled, sending vibrations of its doom. It was not long before the spider that called the corner home came to claim its meal. She smiled, watching the spider at work, coiling the little roach up in its silk threads.
Perhaps it was time for some traveling.
…when she had enough finances.
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