Patrick Teller sat in the dining room of the Slaughtered Lamb, slouched back in his creaking chair, surrounded by the laughter of his mage-mates. Nearly nineteen years of age, he was the popular one among the trio of boys, with his unruly wheat-colored hair and his clever blue eyes, though hazed by the ale. The boredom of their studies in the Mage Tower had the boys looking for something more daring, and after playing some scoundrel tricks on the tired agents of SI:7, the boys found themselves sent away. Rumors abounded of the seedy reputation of the Lamb, and with Jarel’s relaxed stance concerning drinking, Patrick and his little troupe found they got to indulge in the heaviest and darkest brews in Stormwind without the chiding of a superior.
Brewfest was hardly over and they meant to live it down before they got back to hitting the books!
The serving girl caught his eye, and even now Apprentice Patrick was being hounded by his friends to get her name. She came around their table again, her mahogany hair pulled back into a messy tail, strands of it brushing against her girlish face. Wiping her hands on her little white apron, Patrick grinned as he saw the shy little smile appear on her lips, her eyes darting back and forth from him.
Apprentice Patrick had a smile that would melt any young girl’s heart, and he knew it.
For an hour, Apprentice Patrick worked his charms, wooing the serving girl into the seat near him. He’d told her easily about his Aunt’s tailoring business, and the many pretty dresses he could have made for her to wear, and rid her of those horrible scratchy garments. Why, he’d even suggested Anna to model the attire, for she had a petite, coveted figure. He dared to kiss her cheek and curl a lock of hair behind her ear, and was rewarded with a soft chuckle. He liked the sound of her voice, soft and quiet, calm. Yet, somewhere he was curious to know if she grew louder when she was pleasured.
When she invited him to see her room, he knew he’d won. He shooed his friends away, who were all too willing to place bets on whether he would have something to brag about in the morning. Smitten as she took his hand in hers, he let her lead him down to the basement, where the great bonfire grew. Though the warlock masters gave the two some irritated looks, Apprentice Patrick was nonetheless excited.
“Would this be the warlock’s training halls, then?” he whispered to the serving girl, pulling her back to him.
“It’s…yes, it’s something like that I think,” came the soft words against the crackling of the fire. Watching as the flames lined her profile in an orange light, Patrick couldn’t resist anymore, passing his lips over hers. With a laugh, she pulled, not letting him have more than a brush of a taste.
“Come! Come on!” the woman urged. Patrick laughed, and gave chase, letting her drag him into the underbelly of the Lamb, where the cold breath of the crypt blew. Torches cast shadows across the stone walls, and the apprentice chuckled nervously.
“You mean to say you have a room? Down here?”
“I do. Come, I’ll show you.” The girl’s little smile was laced with mischief. Oh, she was a daring lass. He was suddenly excited!
The pair approached the stack of crates, a small “doorway” split between the stacks, where a little blue curtain sheen hung over it. Smiling, she pulled him through the sheen, and he could feel the air tingle against him once he stepped inside the room, like the small magical tingle of an arcane wall rune. It was a simple little parlor with a small missionary bed covered in sheets, an old vanity, and a fairly nice wardrobe closet. His boots sunk into a thick, soft carpet, and he was pleasantly surprised by the light floral smell that had replaced the dank stench of mold and musk outside of her room. The oil lamp flickered as he reached for her, wanting to feel her lips on his in full, yet she playfully turned against him, only leaving him her girlish chortles.
“Come on…” he murmured into her ear yearningly, nosing into her hair, a fragrant slip of herbal leaves meeting his senses. She feathered her hands down his as he reached around her to tug the strings of her apron. He was eager, but he relaxed as he felt her slide up against him to speak into his ear.
“Lay down for me…”
The apprentice grinned, and took a seat on her little bed, feeling the mattress give as he sat. Squeezing the mattress uncertainly, Patrick was not quite so sure that it would hold the night’s adventures. When he turned back up to look at the serving girl, she was already pointing down at the floor. Unwilling to disappoint, he first kneeled down, and then lay back, helping himself down the rest of the way onto the carpet with the flats of his palms. She followed, sitting down over him, legs open over his stomach. The skirts of her serving dress twisted around her hips, giving a provocative glimpse of her legs. No doubt, Patrick was interested with her, feeling he’d lucked out.
It was always the shy ones…
…that were absolutely insane.
Anisse closed her eyes as the curved dagger slunk right through his belly, feeling his body twitch underneath her. He hadn’t had the chance to scream out, his final unintelligible words a gurgle as his own blood flooded his mouth. It wouldn’t have mattered, as the sound ward above her doorway nullified the noise from leaving her room, as well as keeping outside disturbances outside. It’d been a worthy purchase, taking most of her earnings, but it afforded her the privacy of an undisturbed sleep. Though she never thought she’d claim a victim in the crypts of the Slaughtered Lamb, this kill had meaning to her. With each twist of the blade and each last twitch of Apprentice Patrick’s body, she was killing the plague of carnal thoughts that had distracted her for the past days. She breathed out a few words in demonic, heating the blade with her control over flame. It made it easier for her to drag the dagger up through his chest, close to his sternum. In his death, she found peace, ending the source of her confliction as she stared into the lifeless blue eyes of the young mage.
They were not the sea-green color she had hoped to see frozen in death at that moment, still…
Cleaning off the blade with his garments, she pulled the bloodied clothes off of the apprentice. Anisse revealed a thicker butcher knife, pulling it from under the thick carpet. Heating the knife once more until it took on a hellish glow, she began the process of sectioning off the body, focused on her method. It helped to detach her from the debacle with the Captain a night ago, seeing the lumps of flesh all neatly separated. This, this was the flesh, bore down and revealed in all its “glory”, a circuit of organics now made defunct. The visual of it helped to clean her mind further of unwanted desires. Numb as she should be, she hummed softly as she rolled up the remains in the ruined carpet, shoving it out of her parlor—a waste the carpet had been, unfortunately. Setting the rolled up carpet afire in the crypt, she left it to burn, knowing the intensified felflames would turn it to ash quickly.
A few steps lead her back to the parlor room, where she eyed the bags of organs she’d separated from the body. Shucking the last vestiges of the girlish, weak-hearted personality she’d adopted, Anisse eyed the bagged heart with a small smile. It was such a weakness. Perhaps that was why she collected them, to remind herself of the power it could have over a mind. Snaking the fresh heart into an occupied jar, she sighed, displeased by how stuffed the jar now seemed. As for the other organs, glancing at them now, she already knew their destination. Taxes, as high as they were, were the epitome of evil in Jarel’s eyes, making the purchase of good quality beef or pork ridiculous.
The Lamb could always use fresh meat.
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