Spring rain pelted the cottage outside, the smells of Elwynn forest brought in through the dining room windows. Like the rest of the cottage, the dining table was quaint, but sturdy, large enough to seat the family comfortably, but not so large as to provide an obstacle to the furnace stove in the corner. It was dinnertime: well-used bowls and glasses poised before each chair. And like any family, parents and children were seated, ready to enjoy their meal.
If Laureth Adler could see through her blindfold, she would see that they apparently were having her husband’s heart for dinner. It rested in his empty wooden bowl, garnished by its own liquids. The smell of blood assaulted her senses--she was still recovering from hearing the death gurgles across from her, and it was getting too hard to breathe against the gag pulled tight against the corners of her mouth. She didn’t have to see the scalpel that had slid so carefully across his throat, or the gaping jigsaw puzzle that his chest had become underneath its linen shirt.
All of her unmasked senses told her she should be filled with dread.
Anisse stared down silently at Ms. Adler as the woman shuddered in her seat, no longer straining against her binds. She had never went after an entire family before, but the ease at which she was allowed inside their home had been surprising. The citizens of Elwynn Forest were far too hospitable for their own good. After the murders she’d committed in Goldshire, one would think a family would keep their guard up a bit tighter. It only secured their deaths in Anisse’s mind: lambs easy for the slaughter. Some were simply meant to be the sacrificed.
There was something far more intimate in meaning in the victims she had chosen than Anisse could care to admit, however. Her gaze rested on the young son of Ms. Adler, on the edge of manhood. He was rocking back and forth in his chair as far as the rope he was bound with would allow him. His teeth were bared upon the cloth gag in apprehension, the occasional whimper leaving him. The younger daughter sat across from him, her small face glistening with silent tears just beneath her blind. She trembled much like the mother, like a leaf. And there sat Mr. Adler, still in his chair. His neck gleamed in the oil lamp’s light, bloody as his chest. Father had a new necktie. A family.
If she could murder them, then she could drown out the chaos pouring into the crack of her mind. Back to beginnings. Back to what she knew.
As much as it pained her to, Anisse picked up the father’s heart within the bowl, and began to squeeze its excess into it. Blood. It was essential in all offerings, the life energy magic in itself. To a demon it was surely sacred.
To the Old One‘s, it was amusing.
The table creaked under Anisse’s weight as she knelt upon it, pushing other bowls, utencils and glasses out of the way. The whimpers and frightened panting seemed to rise all around the table, but it did not stop her from painting the blood from the bowl upon the smooth wood. The circle would have to be perfect if she hoped to gain the blessing of the Twilight’s Hammer again, if she hoped to earn the Voice again. Purpose, to close out all of these…distractions. The circle went unfinished by the time the last bit of blood had been used from the bowl, the heart a used sack of viscera. Another…
Again, the amazing symphony of fear collected around the table, started by the eldest son as he heard Anisse shuffle near him. Feet skittered, the pathetic attempt to get away from her fingers causing the boy to make the chair scoot back a few inches. His muffled pleads set off the strained, guttaral moan of despair from the mother. The boy’s death was quick, but the mother’s suffering in hearing his last breath only went on and on. It was almost a sigh of relief that rattled from the murderess’s lips, to hear the mother sob in such silence, feel the release of life slip from her son.
It felt good to make Mother feel something. Make her cry.
The oil lamp seemed to scream with each flicker of its golden light upon the walls, witness to the desecration of another body, witnessing what the mother and daughter could not. In silence, Laureth Adler mourned the death of her husband and her son, waiting for the moment when the murderer’s blade would be turned on her. Already the mother contemplated ways to save her young daughter. Surely the Light would be merciful? Surely the murderer would know something of mercy upon a child barely out of its fifth year?!
Suddenly, the cottage door crashed open, making all within the dining room twitch, panic. Scalpel in one hand, and the boy’s heart in the other, Anisse felt her heart skip a beat. She had been followed?! The shadow stretched over the light cast by the flickering oil lamp, her eyes fixed upon the figure that had entered. His frock coat in disarray, the Hunter stood in the doorway, his eyes taking in the scene at hand. Shuddering hands leveled their rifle at her, and slowly she slid herself off of the table she had been painting upon. What did she look like in her brother’s eyes? A child? A child painted in blood?
“…wh…what the hell, Anna…” he whispered out in that soft voice, on the fringe of a bellow. The rifle was cocked, ready, and yet he would not shoot. Of course he would not shoot. His eyes were weak, his nerves shot. The mother was wailing now, wailing so loud that one could wonder if she truly was gagged. The split second Quintin Handhour took to eye the surviving mother, Anisse stole away into the shadows of the room and escaped, wordless.
Her scent was still thick in his nostrils, thick in the animal’s throat that begged to be released from inside of the Hunter. He did not follow. As Anisse escaped into the night, she tucked her arms into the loose sleeves of her robes, pathing as fast as she could along the road out to Lakeshire. He’d let her live, but Anisse was still checking her body for wounds. He could have ended it all there, but he did not.
Because he was her brother, and brothers protect their little sisters, no matter what little sinners they grow to become.
Anisse still denied this fact as she denied the tears that were welling up in her eyes.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
A Patron of the Lamb #27
For days he had followed her, or at least the scattered passing of time Anisse lived currently had indicated to her this. She would watch from alleyways as he would stop to ask local inkeep about her, sometimes complete strangers, staying just out of his sight. He never pressed his search too hard on any one person, dampening his own desperation with a taste of liquor. The bottle he would tip to his lips shined, holding the glare of street lights. It reminded Anisse of a glass jar under a peek of torch light in a dark, dank basement.
The ironic similarities made her shiver.
She was afraid of him, afraid he would look her way. Her dread spiked to a new high when he spotted her watching, and gave chase. No! Like a deer she bolted into the darkness of a stone forest, heavy boots spurning her on like a one-man calvary on the hunt. She hit the brick wall that blocked freedom too hard, the small form beneath layers of robes thrown back onto the dirty ground at her pursuer’s feet. Quickly, she scurried back to the brick, back against it. Her nails dug so hard into the brick that they cracked and split around her soft fingers.
“Anna! Anna…” His soft voice seemed to pound through her skull, ripping away at the cold peace of apathy. Memories seeped into the crack of her mind his voice created. A child’s loss. Hurt. Missing, yearning. Mother’s darling. His fingers were on her shoulders, trying to shake her, and his words were a jumble. What was he saying…?
Brother…
He was forcing her into his arms, whispering. Holding. Hugging. Comforting…
Comfort was for children.
“…..let. Go.” Her whisper grated under the spidery strings of her hair. His frock coat was hard, creaked against her, and she shoved to get out of the imprisonment of his arms. His soft amber eyes were a disease, trying to melt her defenses. She hated it him for it.
She was not the child he remembered her to be, but his denial would allow him no intelligence. Again his arms reached for her, stammering out the beginnings of reconciliation, of some foolhardy hope. Talk of family. Lips curled into a mad sneer as her mind folded into itself to heal what damage he had wrought. The sound of cold metal scraped through the darkness, and something quick sliced through the air. The man a child would have called brother stooped to his knees, wounded.
“Family? A union upon the blood and souls of lambs in offering. That is all family ever was to me, ‘brother‘.” She spat the last word out upon him, her voice cutting through the air like her own dagger. His blood dripped upon its curved edge as she stepped past him, sheathing it carefully, lovingly. “Let me alone,” she started, her whisper vicious with threat. “…or you will find your time upon this festering world shorter than the rest.”
Having ran into the alleyway a scared girl, Anisse meandered out of its darkness with the mind of a cultist.
With the need to make an offering.
The ironic similarities made her shiver.
She was afraid of him, afraid he would look her way. Her dread spiked to a new high when he spotted her watching, and gave chase. No! Like a deer she bolted into the darkness of a stone forest, heavy boots spurning her on like a one-man calvary on the hunt. She hit the brick wall that blocked freedom too hard, the small form beneath layers of robes thrown back onto the dirty ground at her pursuer’s feet. Quickly, she scurried back to the brick, back against it. Her nails dug so hard into the brick that they cracked and split around her soft fingers.
“Anna! Anna…” His soft voice seemed to pound through her skull, ripping away at the cold peace of apathy. Memories seeped into the crack of her mind his voice created. A child’s loss. Hurt. Missing, yearning. Mother’s darling. His fingers were on her shoulders, trying to shake her, and his words were a jumble. What was he saying…?
Brother…
He was forcing her into his arms, whispering. Holding. Hugging. Comforting…
Comfort was for children.
“…..let. Go.” Her whisper grated under the spidery strings of her hair. His frock coat was hard, creaked against her, and she shoved to get out of the imprisonment of his arms. His soft amber eyes were a disease, trying to melt her defenses. She hated it him for it.
She was not the child he remembered her to be, but his denial would allow him no intelligence. Again his arms reached for her, stammering out the beginnings of reconciliation, of some foolhardy hope. Talk of family. Lips curled into a mad sneer as her mind folded into itself to heal what damage he had wrought. The sound of cold metal scraped through the darkness, and something quick sliced through the air. The man a child would have called brother stooped to his knees, wounded.
“Family? A union upon the blood and souls of lambs in offering. That is all family ever was to me, ‘brother‘.” She spat the last word out upon him, her voice cutting through the air like her own dagger. His blood dripped upon its curved edge as she stepped past him, sheathing it carefully, lovingly. “Let me alone,” she started, her whisper vicious with threat. “…or you will find your time upon this festering world shorter than the rest.”
Having ran into the alleyway a scared girl, Anisse meandered out of its darkness with the mind of a cultist.
With the need to make an offering.
A Patron of the Lamb #26
The investigator straightened his tie for what seemed to be the tenth time since he’d arrived at the Slaughtered Lamb, Anisse noticed. The guard behind him seemed more clean-cut than him, but he seemed less dull, less jittery. The questions droned on for Jarel, but he kept his gentlemanly air in light of it all. He had called in the missing report for little Miss Lunita, after all. It was a smart move, Anisse thought, taking the suspicion off of the Lamb as quick as he could by alerting the guard to the gnome’s dissapearance.
The Lamb certainly did not need anymore suspicion or unwelcome rumors.
“And how would you describe these abductors, Mr. Moor? Anything about them that you can remember?” The investigator flicked his pencil nimbly around two of his fingers. The bartender rubbed at the gristle of his face, flicking a lock of hair before answering with a sigh.
“Well. The two were masked that came to the bar. Could have pinned them as warlocks, definitely, by the robes. Quite a bit distracting, those two. Didn’t quite get a good look at the ones that actually took poor Miss Lunita though. One minute she was here, then she gone! Always trying to help, that gnome. Couldn‘t have asked for a better waitress!”
Better waitress. Anisse’s face remained still as stone, emotionless, her eyes on her task. Her fingers flexed out what dismay she felt on the dough she was molding, however, crimping it hard to the edge of the pie foil. Apparently, she also had to act like an idiot and run off with complete strangers as well before she could get any sort of recognition. There was no crime here. It was a case of pure stupidity.
Not that Anisse could have a word edgewise. Jarel had forbidden her to say much of anything to the investigator besides, ‘would you like a drink?’ Anisse understood the bartender’s need to save his own skin, but to think that anyone would actually harm Lunita was…
…well, she might‘ve. Indeed, if the gnomess had continued to work at the Lamb consistently with Anisse, she might’ve been tempted to add her cotton candy heart to her collection. But that was entirely besides the point.
“Did the gnome have any enemies you might know of?” The investigator’s eyes flicked over to Anisse as she began to rock the blade of a kitchen knife over the cutting board, slicing up cooked pieces of meat. She was quick, methodical, her gaze never straying from the task. Liver of a boar. Perhaps. Anisse could hardly tell anymore what she was cutting up, or remember what she’d put in the icebox. It was best not to label what she’d hunted for the day.
The knife might stray if she thought too much on it. Or on Lunita.
“What? Enemies? She was a pleasant little thing, wasn’t she Miss Anna?”
“…sickeningly pleasant, of course.”
“Yes, yes. Why, we had people come into the Lamb just to speak to Lunita!”
The investigator finally tore his eyes away from the knife and the chopped meat when Anisse turned to toss it into the metal pot behind her. She’d left the kitchen knife propped, stabbed into the wooden bartop. The guard sniffed at the air as the stew broiled, and he shifted in hunger.
“Eyy.” Anisse paused mid-stir as the guard leaned on the countertop to smile at her. His helm came off and rolled across the bar before he stopped it with his large hands. “Can you give me a bowl of that? Got some coin in it for you.” The Investigator sighed as his partner sat down to eat. The pencil he held was now tapping into the tablet in his other hand.
“So, a possible kidnapping. Stalking, possibly beforehand. Hmm. Thank you for the report, Mister Jarel. Best question your…other patrons below.” The investigator’s face creased in discomfort as he looked down the torchlit ramp that lead to the lower levels of the Slaughtered Lamb. It was obvious he did not want to be down there. Anisse contained an amused smile as she observed the man‘s hesitation, ladling the stew into a wooden bowl. Yes, the guard was hungry, his large hands overwhelming the serving bowl as he took it to his lips. Who needed spoons? She watched with appreciation at his appetite, like an artist appreciating the live canvas he drew inspiration from. It was always good when someone could share in her work. Even if he was simply consuming it. By the time the partnered Investigator finally made it past the torch that lead to the basement, the guard was asking for seconds.
She gladly spun around to refill the wooden bowl, feeling all her apprehension about the Lunita incident slowly start to widdle away. She could chase after her “doggies” and Jarel would have one less on the dwindling payroll to worry about. The situation was not completely horrible. The gnome would not be missed, and Anisse could have what remained of her sanity back.
The barmaid was almost near humming in her optimism when she turned back around to serve the hungry guard. The sound of heavy boots clogged the entrance next, and her eyes were drawn irrevocably to the source. Muddy, unlaced leather boots. Stomping all over the tavern floorboards. Which she would have to clean after. Feeling her uplifting thoughts pitch back down into vexation, she sighed deeply as Jarel heartily greeted the newest patron.
“Evening, gent! What’ll it be?”
“A…a brandy. If you could, please. And…I was looking for someone…”
Anisse untangled the old mop from behind the counter from its bucket and shoved both into the sink a bit harshly, taking a glance at the one who’d created more work for her. She spied the sleeve of his leather frock coat, sporting a crack near the shoulder. The linen cuffs of his shirt sleeve was frayed around his rested hand. Dirty. The fingernails made her cringe, and she looked away, quick to pull the bucket from the sink.
“Oh?” Jarel chuckled as he pulled a dark bottle out of the icebox and set it near the dirty hand. “I’m afraid you’ll just have to be a little more specific!”
“Its….ahahaha…its more than a little silly, really. Possibly on the “Im going stark raving mad!” sort of silly, but I was told that maybe…”
There was a long silence in which the man did not finish his mumblings, the soft-spoken voice already hard enough to hear as it was. What was it already?! When Anisse looked up to ask exactly what the confused ponce was babbling about, she found that he was staring right at her from across the bartop. Staring. The sudden creak of his leather coat combined with his fumbling overtaking of the stool in front of her made Anisse nearly jump backward.
What the hell…? She glowered at the staring patron.
And as the soft amber eyes stared back at her in disbelief, she went stiff, her face slackened.
“…Anna…?!” The sound of his voice--the soft, hopeful whisper--it sent a shiver up the barmaid’s spine that weakened her limbs, her hands. The bucket crashed to the floor behind the bar, and Jarel bellowed a few colorful words in surprise, water sloshing everything.
“N…n-n…c…have to…go to…inventory lists…yes…”
At the threat of being unraveled in its conditioning, Anisse’s mind forced her body into action.
Overhelmed and unprepared, it took off with her body and ran from the Lamb as fast as it could.
The Lamb certainly did not need anymore suspicion or unwelcome rumors.
“And how would you describe these abductors, Mr. Moor? Anything about them that you can remember?” The investigator flicked his pencil nimbly around two of his fingers. The bartender rubbed at the gristle of his face, flicking a lock of hair before answering with a sigh.
“Well. The two were masked that came to the bar. Could have pinned them as warlocks, definitely, by the robes. Quite a bit distracting, those two. Didn’t quite get a good look at the ones that actually took poor Miss Lunita though. One minute she was here, then she gone! Always trying to help, that gnome. Couldn‘t have asked for a better waitress!”
Better waitress. Anisse’s face remained still as stone, emotionless, her eyes on her task. Her fingers flexed out what dismay she felt on the dough she was molding, however, crimping it hard to the edge of the pie foil. Apparently, she also had to act like an idiot and run off with complete strangers as well before she could get any sort of recognition. There was no crime here. It was a case of pure stupidity.
Not that Anisse could have a word edgewise. Jarel had forbidden her to say much of anything to the investigator besides, ‘would you like a drink?’ Anisse understood the bartender’s need to save his own skin, but to think that anyone would actually harm Lunita was…
…well, she might‘ve. Indeed, if the gnomess had continued to work at the Lamb consistently with Anisse, she might’ve been tempted to add her cotton candy heart to her collection. But that was entirely besides the point.
“Did the gnome have any enemies you might know of?” The investigator’s eyes flicked over to Anisse as she began to rock the blade of a kitchen knife over the cutting board, slicing up cooked pieces of meat. She was quick, methodical, her gaze never straying from the task. Liver of a boar. Perhaps. Anisse could hardly tell anymore what she was cutting up, or remember what she’d put in the icebox. It was best not to label what she’d hunted for the day.
The knife might stray if she thought too much on it. Or on Lunita.
“What? Enemies? She was a pleasant little thing, wasn’t she Miss Anna?”
“…sickeningly pleasant, of course.”
“Yes, yes. Why, we had people come into the Lamb just to speak to Lunita!”
The investigator finally tore his eyes away from the knife and the chopped meat when Anisse turned to toss it into the metal pot behind her. She’d left the kitchen knife propped, stabbed into the wooden bartop. The guard sniffed at the air as the stew broiled, and he shifted in hunger.
“Eyy.” Anisse paused mid-stir as the guard leaned on the countertop to smile at her. His helm came off and rolled across the bar before he stopped it with his large hands. “Can you give me a bowl of that? Got some coin in it for you.” The Investigator sighed as his partner sat down to eat. The pencil he held was now tapping into the tablet in his other hand.
“So, a possible kidnapping. Stalking, possibly beforehand. Hmm. Thank you for the report, Mister Jarel. Best question your…other patrons below.” The investigator’s face creased in discomfort as he looked down the torchlit ramp that lead to the lower levels of the Slaughtered Lamb. It was obvious he did not want to be down there. Anisse contained an amused smile as she observed the man‘s hesitation, ladling the stew into a wooden bowl. Yes, the guard was hungry, his large hands overwhelming the serving bowl as he took it to his lips. Who needed spoons? She watched with appreciation at his appetite, like an artist appreciating the live canvas he drew inspiration from. It was always good when someone could share in her work. Even if he was simply consuming it. By the time the partnered Investigator finally made it past the torch that lead to the basement, the guard was asking for seconds.
She gladly spun around to refill the wooden bowl, feeling all her apprehension about the Lunita incident slowly start to widdle away. She could chase after her “doggies” and Jarel would have one less on the dwindling payroll to worry about. The situation was not completely horrible. The gnome would not be missed, and Anisse could have what remained of her sanity back.
The barmaid was almost near humming in her optimism when she turned back around to serve the hungry guard. The sound of heavy boots clogged the entrance next, and her eyes were drawn irrevocably to the source. Muddy, unlaced leather boots. Stomping all over the tavern floorboards. Which she would have to clean after. Feeling her uplifting thoughts pitch back down into vexation, she sighed deeply as Jarel heartily greeted the newest patron.
“Evening, gent! What’ll it be?”
“A…a brandy. If you could, please. And…I was looking for someone…”
Anisse untangled the old mop from behind the counter from its bucket and shoved both into the sink a bit harshly, taking a glance at the one who’d created more work for her. She spied the sleeve of his leather frock coat, sporting a crack near the shoulder. The linen cuffs of his shirt sleeve was frayed around his rested hand. Dirty. The fingernails made her cringe, and she looked away, quick to pull the bucket from the sink.
“Oh?” Jarel chuckled as he pulled a dark bottle out of the icebox and set it near the dirty hand. “I’m afraid you’ll just have to be a little more specific!”
“Its….ahahaha…its more than a little silly, really. Possibly on the “Im going stark raving mad!” sort of silly, but I was told that maybe…”
There was a long silence in which the man did not finish his mumblings, the soft-spoken voice already hard enough to hear as it was. What was it already?! When Anisse looked up to ask exactly what the confused ponce was babbling about, she found that he was staring right at her from across the bartop. Staring. The sudden creak of his leather coat combined with his fumbling overtaking of the stool in front of her made Anisse nearly jump backward.
What the hell…? She glowered at the staring patron.
And as the soft amber eyes stared back at her in disbelief, she went stiff, her face slackened.
“…Anna…?!” The sound of his voice--the soft, hopeful whisper--it sent a shiver up the barmaid’s spine that weakened her limbs, her hands. The bucket crashed to the floor behind the bar, and Jarel bellowed a few colorful words in surprise, water sloshing everything.
“N…n-n…c…have to…go to…inventory lists…yes…”
At the threat of being unraveled in its conditioning, Anisse’s mind forced her body into action.
Overhelmed and unprepared, it took off with her body and ran from the Lamb as fast as it could.
A Patron of the Lamb #25
The smell of fresh ocean air suffused the bowels of the ship, her cot creaking as the hull did with each gentle wave that was ridden. Someone had left the door to the bunk quarters open, and it irked Anisse slightly to hear the obnoxious laughing of the crew just outside. Drink, barter, gamble. Is that all they did upon the ship? She was sure there were other more lewd possibilities, but her mind wouldn’t dare go in that direction.
It wasn’t all terrible, she thought to herself. She twisted the cap closed upon her newest treasure, the pale green, robust heart floating idly in the concoction of the jar. The orc’s heart was larger than the others she’d had in her renewed collection, and the ‘donator’ had been harder to take down than she thought it would be. Even old orcs were seasoned brawlers, she found out, rubbing the side of her aching jaw, the bruising around her throat--he certainly didn’t go down without a fight. It might’ve been easier to take from the small ports the Captain attacked and sacked, but his rulings against killing and the chaos of the ransacking prevented her from action. It was idiotic, really.
Some lambs are born for the slaughter, after all.
Anisse stiffened as the ideal passed through her mind, a remnant of the Twilight Hammer she’d ran away from. The jar tinked against the little metal shelving she’d had the rest of the jars displayed upon, and she fixed it up with a strong piece of yarn to keep it from sliding off the shelf. What was she doing anyway? Where was the Purpose? Before it seemed so clear, to cull Azeroth. Level the playing field. Press the reset button. Destruction would birth a new land. A new world order.
No more war…
And now where was the Purpose? Fear had crept in to steal her will. But everywhere she looked there was only disease. Perversion. Even the elven city with its needless, suffocating wealth pushed its citizens into sloth and vulgarity despite the potential for magical enlightenment. The orc city had been interesting, at least. She’d never thought a culture basing its language upon grunts and nods could be so decorated in its simplicity. She ran a finger across the jar containing the orc heart. Perhaps that was why she wished for this one so direly, despite the beating taken. The courageous heart, with a will to help her own. If she stared hard enough, she could almost imagine it still beating behind the glass.
“Ship’s landed, girl,” Tia grinned at her from the darkness of the room’s doorway, just at the same time as the hull’s bell rang. “Get some fresh air, eh?”
It was not a bad suggestion, but when Anisse stepped outside to wince at the bright light of Booty Bay, she regretted it. Her head pulsed as the light assaulted her senses, but she bore through it at the whim of the smell of the ocean. Truth be told, she liked the smell, the gentle lapping of the waves at the legs of the dock. Eyes adjusting to the sight, she frowned when she realized how many small, green men decorated the large port. If they were as annoying as the Captain’s ‘buddy’, she was turning right back around to board the ship.
“Got it all right here, sweetie! Read all about it! Stormwind Gazette, Gnome Gnews, Orgrimmar Daily, Azerothian Ladies Digest(™)*! Take your pick! Only 1 gold a piece!“ Newspaper flashed Anisse in the face as one of the annoying goblins shoved them in front of her. She might’ve reacted by throttling the little goblin, but the newspapers caught her attention. Immediately she brought out the large pouch of gold the Captain had given her.
“Give me the Stormwind one…no not that one, the smaller paper with the headlines,” Anisse almost commanded. If it was possible that the paper boy’s eyes could get larger at the sight of the large satchel of gold, they did. The goblin licked his lips and smirked at her as she reached for the paper, jerking the paper away from her fingers. His meaty hand lay palm up in demand of more coin.
“That one’s gonna cost you extra, lady. Harder to get copies of that one. Not as…ya know. Big as the Gazette.” She of course, glowered at the goblin, but she could not deny his cunning enterprise, and gave him the extra coin for the paper.
‘MORE MURDERS! BODIES FOUND IN OLD TOWN MAKING OFFICIALS HEAD’S SPIN!’
The headlines made her face burn.
The photos printed underneath the headline then turned her blood cold. The markings upon the victim’s face were immediately recognizable, though the second victim did not seem so. A Twilight Hammer Cultist. Rounds and rounds of leather cord were wrapped around his neck, and at first she wagered that he died of strangulation.
The leather cords were necklaces.
The paper’s edges were crumpled tight in her hands, the longer she read on about the murder descriptions. Clearly it was a message sent to her. Her game-mate knew. Knew what she was. Apparently there was another murder earlier in the month she had missed since the ship had left Stormwind. Her stomach twisted, a cauldron of excitement, dissapointment and apprehension in one. She had missed so much. How she would have wished to feel the leather cord, pluck it from the dead cultist’s neck, to have what was hers again, but she was stuck on a dock with an insipid goblin waving papers in her face. How much could this player expose of her? How much could be used to their advantage?!
“Is that her? The new one? Haha, you know Wolf could do better.” The voices caught her off-guard, feminine. The Common tongue. The smell of cheap perfume caught her nose--the scent was outright clogging the air around her.
“Yeah he could be doing me!” A gaggle of giggles exploded behind her. Anisse twitched.
“No, no. He’s got an elf girl. Always with the elf girls, you know.” Another one spoke. “Mhmm. That one looks human. But didn’t she come off the ship?”
“Maybe he’s getting her on the side?” Their voices lowered to a murmur as she glanced backward at the stalking harpies. There was so much cleavage hanging, Anisse wondered why they bothered wearing anything at all.
“Mmmmaybe. She looks like a little rag doll though. I betcha there’s a nice little body under those robes to play with. Hehe, cute. Pretty hair.”
“…c’mon lets go talk to her…”
“Briza you sound like you want to do her!”
More giggling. It rung in Anisse’s ears, and she wanted to run. Far away.
“You know I would do anything for the right price, girls--hey where’s she going?”
The scorched newspaper was left behind in Anisse’s stead as she practically ran for the sanctity of the ship.
It wasn’t all terrible, she thought to herself. She twisted the cap closed upon her newest treasure, the pale green, robust heart floating idly in the concoction of the jar. The orc’s heart was larger than the others she’d had in her renewed collection, and the ‘donator’ had been harder to take down than she thought it would be. Even old orcs were seasoned brawlers, she found out, rubbing the side of her aching jaw, the bruising around her throat--he certainly didn’t go down without a fight. It might’ve been easier to take from the small ports the Captain attacked and sacked, but his rulings against killing and the chaos of the ransacking prevented her from action. It was idiotic, really.
Some lambs are born for the slaughter, after all.
Anisse stiffened as the ideal passed through her mind, a remnant of the Twilight Hammer she’d ran away from. The jar tinked against the little metal shelving she’d had the rest of the jars displayed upon, and she fixed it up with a strong piece of yarn to keep it from sliding off the shelf. What was she doing anyway? Where was the Purpose? Before it seemed so clear, to cull Azeroth. Level the playing field. Press the reset button. Destruction would birth a new land. A new world order.
No more war…
And now where was the Purpose? Fear had crept in to steal her will. But everywhere she looked there was only disease. Perversion. Even the elven city with its needless, suffocating wealth pushed its citizens into sloth and vulgarity despite the potential for magical enlightenment. The orc city had been interesting, at least. She’d never thought a culture basing its language upon grunts and nods could be so decorated in its simplicity. She ran a finger across the jar containing the orc heart. Perhaps that was why she wished for this one so direly, despite the beating taken. The courageous heart, with a will to help her own. If she stared hard enough, she could almost imagine it still beating behind the glass.
“Ship’s landed, girl,” Tia grinned at her from the darkness of the room’s doorway, just at the same time as the hull’s bell rang. “Get some fresh air, eh?”
It was not a bad suggestion, but when Anisse stepped outside to wince at the bright light of Booty Bay, she regretted it. Her head pulsed as the light assaulted her senses, but she bore through it at the whim of the smell of the ocean. Truth be told, she liked the smell, the gentle lapping of the waves at the legs of the dock. Eyes adjusting to the sight, she frowned when she realized how many small, green men decorated the large port. If they were as annoying as the Captain’s ‘buddy’, she was turning right back around to board the ship.
“Got it all right here, sweetie! Read all about it! Stormwind Gazette, Gnome Gnews, Orgrimmar Daily, Azerothian Ladies Digest(™)*! Take your pick! Only 1 gold a piece!“ Newspaper flashed Anisse in the face as one of the annoying goblins shoved them in front of her. She might’ve reacted by throttling the little goblin, but the newspapers caught her attention. Immediately she brought out the large pouch of gold the Captain had given her.
“Give me the Stormwind one…no not that one, the smaller paper with the headlines,” Anisse almost commanded. If it was possible that the paper boy’s eyes could get larger at the sight of the large satchel of gold, they did. The goblin licked his lips and smirked at her as she reached for the paper, jerking the paper away from her fingers. His meaty hand lay palm up in demand of more coin.
“That one’s gonna cost you extra, lady. Harder to get copies of that one. Not as…ya know. Big as the Gazette.” She of course, glowered at the goblin, but she could not deny his cunning enterprise, and gave him the extra coin for the paper.
‘MORE MURDERS! BODIES FOUND IN OLD TOWN MAKING OFFICIALS HEAD’S SPIN!’
The headlines made her face burn.
The photos printed underneath the headline then turned her blood cold. The markings upon the victim’s face were immediately recognizable, though the second victim did not seem so. A Twilight Hammer Cultist. Rounds and rounds of leather cord were wrapped around his neck, and at first she wagered that he died of strangulation.
The leather cords were necklaces.
The paper’s edges were crumpled tight in her hands, the longer she read on about the murder descriptions. Clearly it was a message sent to her. Her game-mate knew. Knew what she was. Apparently there was another murder earlier in the month she had missed since the ship had left Stormwind. Her stomach twisted, a cauldron of excitement, dissapointment and apprehension in one. She had missed so much. How she would have wished to feel the leather cord, pluck it from the dead cultist’s neck, to have what was hers again, but she was stuck on a dock with an insipid goblin waving papers in her face. How much could this player expose of her? How much could be used to their advantage?!
“Is that her? The new one? Haha, you know Wolf could do better.” The voices caught her off-guard, feminine. The Common tongue. The smell of cheap perfume caught her nose--the scent was outright clogging the air around her.
“Yeah he could be doing me!” A gaggle of giggles exploded behind her. Anisse twitched.
“No, no. He’s got an elf girl. Always with the elf girls, you know.” Another one spoke. “Mhmm. That one looks human. But didn’t she come off the ship?”
“Maybe he’s getting her on the side?” Their voices lowered to a murmur as she glanced backward at the stalking harpies. There was so much cleavage hanging, Anisse wondered why they bothered wearing anything at all.
“Mmmmaybe. She looks like a little rag doll though. I betcha there’s a nice little body under those robes to play with. Hehe, cute. Pretty hair.”
“…c’mon lets go talk to her…”
“Briza you sound like you want to do her!”
More giggling. It rung in Anisse’s ears, and she wanted to run. Far away.
“You know I would do anything for the right price, girls--hey where’s she going?”
The scorched newspaper was left behind in Anisse’s stead as she practically ran for the sanctity of the ship.
A Patron of the Lamb #24
The Sin’dorei ranger lurched around in the dirt, the last pleaded words dissolving into a rattle as life began to give out. Her eyes were frozen upon the cloaked figure in death. The one who had stood idly by as she was overwhelmed in the Dead Scar, watching as she was taken down by dozens of undead. Surely she had given her life for the stranger, a true protector of her kind--perhaps she could even forgive the fellow elf for a lack of courage. But to let her die here? Helplessly consumed by the swarms of Scourge? Condemned to become one of them? It was a fate worse than any death the Farstrider could imagine.
The dead began to crowd, their shadows falling over her prone body. She was still conscious! It was a nightmare of nightmares, too weak to even end her own life before they could tear her apart…
The sting of icy magic collected the attentions of the undead, freezing them in place, and then drawing them all away from the Farstrider’s broken body. She had enough strength in her to witness the downfall of all of the zombies. By no means perfection, of course, as the mage circled around and around in the Scar to widdle them down with fire and ice, taking the occasional rake of bony claws to ensure a blast here or there. When all was said and done, a relief slid through the dying elf as the cloaked figure stood over her.
“…th…than-k…you…” she managed to rasp out, feeling the comfort of fingers trace up the side of her face, following the line of her ear. A final, soothing farewell. She would not die alone.
The lips visible under the cowl curved into the smallest of smiles, replying in muddled Thalassian: “Thank you…”
She could process the heavy sting of a fine blade cutting around her left ear as her heart pumped its last.
(Late into the night, later that day)
Below deck, and away from the Captain and his cohorts, Anisse sat upon the cot she was assigned. Humming softly, she sunk the needle through and through her hood, stitching the edge of the blood elf’s ear she claimed to the inside of the fabric. Stuffing it with a long, slender twig she’d procured from her travels to keep it erect, she smiled at her work. It would be passable. Gathering the other ear into her lap, she rethreaded the needle with more twine.
One down, one to go.
“What you be doin’ down here, girl?” Tia’zula caught her off-guard, making the needle slip out of her grasp for a moment. She scowled faintly at the troll, the expression fading soon after she found it. The troll was…tolerable, in comparison to the other members of the crew. She sighed as she slid the needle through the skin, lining it up with the hood once more.
“Preparing.”
Anisse could feel the troll watching her in silence. And then a raspy cackle erupted from her throat. The young woman looked up at Tia, a frown on her face.
“You t’inkin’ dat gonna keep you safe in de city? Coupla elfy ears?”
“It is the best I can do. If the Captain believes I am to be confined to the ship, I’m afraid I have other plans. I do not believe humans are welcomed in the elven forests…” She hoped the elves were not as prone to worldly pleasures as most of the human patrons that stepped into the Lamb had been. After observing the Captain for so long though….Anisse had her doubts. Still, any place was better than the Lamb at this very moment. Making gold as part of the ship’s crew was far more favorable than spending two weeks as an unpaid barmaid.
She hoped the patrons would miss her meatpies as they choked on their ale.
“How ‘bout dis? I help you get ‘round de elf lan’s, you go ‘preparin’ t’ help in de soup kitchen? Captan order it.” Tia grinned as she watched the girl put the finished hood on. The attached ears wobbled a bit before she secured the cowl under her chin with a knot. Though the wood inserts scraped against the sides of her head, the ears would be passable with a bit more support. “You makin’ a cute elf, girl. I make it bettah.”
“Fine..” Anisse swept down her hood, and the ears slid back uselessly, hanging from the fabric. Her eyes drifted off to the long, flat crate that sat on her cot, and she knew the troll was eyeing it too.
“What in dere?”
The girl’s hands went to the tied collar at her throat. Inside, she was relieved to be away from Stormwind, away from the idiots, from the weak-hearted, from the arrogant.
From the thieves…
Yet, the “game” could not be over until it was over. When she had what was rightfully hers.
“…product. When we are in Booty Bay again, perhaps it can be shipped.”
“Can jus’ sell in Silvamoon, eh? Or dat Brill? Dey seem t’ like de pies.”
Anisse held back a chuckle, pursing her lips tight to swallow it as she lifted the flat crate. “Not pies. I will need to refrigerate it, however. There is an icebox in the soup kitchen, yes?”
“I t’ink so.” Tia made way for the young woman as she carried her crate to the end of the rows of cots. Her small boots clinked upon the metal rivets that secured the floorboards of the ship. “Where you be shippin’ it to?”
“The butcher shop.” Anisse said softly, glancing over her shoulder to the troll. “In Stormwind.”
The dead began to crowd, their shadows falling over her prone body. She was still conscious! It was a nightmare of nightmares, too weak to even end her own life before they could tear her apart…
The sting of icy magic collected the attentions of the undead, freezing them in place, and then drawing them all away from the Farstrider’s broken body. She had enough strength in her to witness the downfall of all of the zombies. By no means perfection, of course, as the mage circled around and around in the Scar to widdle them down with fire and ice, taking the occasional rake of bony claws to ensure a blast here or there. When all was said and done, a relief slid through the dying elf as the cloaked figure stood over her.
“…th…than-k…you…” she managed to rasp out, feeling the comfort of fingers trace up the side of her face, following the line of her ear. A final, soothing farewell. She would not die alone.
The lips visible under the cowl curved into the smallest of smiles, replying in muddled Thalassian: “Thank you…”
She could process the heavy sting of a fine blade cutting around her left ear as her heart pumped its last.
(Late into the night, later that day)
Below deck, and away from the Captain and his cohorts, Anisse sat upon the cot she was assigned. Humming softly, she sunk the needle through and through her hood, stitching the edge of the blood elf’s ear she claimed to the inside of the fabric. Stuffing it with a long, slender twig she’d procured from her travels to keep it erect, she smiled at her work. It would be passable. Gathering the other ear into her lap, she rethreaded the needle with more twine.
One down, one to go.
“What you be doin’ down here, girl?” Tia’zula caught her off-guard, making the needle slip out of her grasp for a moment. She scowled faintly at the troll, the expression fading soon after she found it. The troll was…tolerable, in comparison to the other members of the crew. She sighed as she slid the needle through the skin, lining it up with the hood once more.
“Preparing.”
Anisse could feel the troll watching her in silence. And then a raspy cackle erupted from her throat. The young woman looked up at Tia, a frown on her face.
“You t’inkin’ dat gonna keep you safe in de city? Coupla elfy ears?”
“It is the best I can do. If the Captain believes I am to be confined to the ship, I’m afraid I have other plans. I do not believe humans are welcomed in the elven forests…” She hoped the elves were not as prone to worldly pleasures as most of the human patrons that stepped into the Lamb had been. After observing the Captain for so long though….Anisse had her doubts. Still, any place was better than the Lamb at this very moment. Making gold as part of the ship’s crew was far more favorable than spending two weeks as an unpaid barmaid.
She hoped the patrons would miss her meatpies as they choked on their ale.
“How ‘bout dis? I help you get ‘round de elf lan’s, you go ‘preparin’ t’ help in de soup kitchen? Captan order it.” Tia grinned as she watched the girl put the finished hood on. The attached ears wobbled a bit before she secured the cowl under her chin with a knot. Though the wood inserts scraped against the sides of her head, the ears would be passable with a bit more support. “You makin’ a cute elf, girl. I make it bettah.”
“Fine..” Anisse swept down her hood, and the ears slid back uselessly, hanging from the fabric. Her eyes drifted off to the long, flat crate that sat on her cot, and she knew the troll was eyeing it too.
“What in dere?”
The girl’s hands went to the tied collar at her throat. Inside, she was relieved to be away from Stormwind, away from the idiots, from the weak-hearted, from the arrogant.
From the thieves…
Yet, the “game” could not be over until it was over. When she had what was rightfully hers.
“…product. When we are in Booty Bay again, perhaps it can be shipped.”
“Can jus’ sell in Silvamoon, eh? Or dat Brill? Dey seem t’ like de pies.”
Anisse held back a chuckle, pursing her lips tight to swallow it as she lifted the flat crate. “Not pies. I will need to refrigerate it, however. There is an icebox in the soup kitchen, yes?”
“I t’ink so.” Tia made way for the young woman as she carried her crate to the end of the rows of cots. Her small boots clinked upon the metal rivets that secured the floorboards of the ship. “Where you be shippin’ it to?”
“The butcher shop.” Anisse said softly, glancing over her shoulder to the troll. “In Stormwind.”
A Patron of the Lamb #23
It was back to work. But not at the Slaughtered Lamb. Oh no. The tavern could go without her presence for a small while, and Anisse could certainly use a break from the humiliating position as barmaid.
There were things that needed doing.
She did not wait for the cellars to stop spinning from the scrying spell, even, or the insidious whispers from her contact with the Abyss to subside. She wanted what was hers. Her obsession with the pendant had surpassed to a point that she’d almost forgotten about it. Almost. The mocking, taunting voice that slid out of the scrying bowl with its black and white vision irked her. A dog, he called her. A dog on a leash. No, she did not need the pendant.
She wanted it because he had it. He was a thief.
Anisse stumbled out of the Slaughtered Lamb, pacing. Where would she go? What would she do? What could she do? Fingers curled into messy strands of mahogany hair, pulling them loose from her ponytail--yanking. The knowledge that he had such an integral piece of her in the pendant steeped her paranoia until she was a mad, twitching mess. Nevermind that he insulted her.
Stained glass. Books. Shelves. A faceted figure in black and white. An absurd, gentleman’s voice. That is all she had of her pursuer--a minute of collected images and sound.
A surgeon’s bag of tools…the scalpel had been his to begin with. Perhaps there was more to this than she had initially thought?
…she didn’t want to think. She wanted the pendant back.
The images drifting through her mind, her feet led her to the Royal Stormwind Library. A kindly old librarian greeted her with trembling, age-spotted hands. Brittle bones. This one would do, a meaningful sacrifice. She hated to be so ostentatious with the kill, but she needed her pursuer’s attention.
“What can I do for you, my girl?” The old librarian murmured, vision dulled. Not quite the librarian if she could not even see correctly. Anisse wondered how organized the Library really was under the old woman’s direction. Perhaps the culling of this one would pave the way for a more competent book keeper. Anisse smiled as kindly as she could to the old one, softening her rigid voice. She was innocence personified now.
“Perhaps you can help me look for an old transcript, madame?”
“…transcripts? Ahh! That would be in the vaults below! Come, come, I’ll show you. Oh, you sound like a sweet little thing, you do! Remind me of my granddaughter, Lilah. I bet you’re just lovely too! Oh blast these eyes of mine…”
Anisse followed silently, eyeing the heavy door to the lore vaults.
A dog, was she? She would show him a dog…
There were things that needed doing.
She did not wait for the cellars to stop spinning from the scrying spell, even, or the insidious whispers from her contact with the Abyss to subside. She wanted what was hers. Her obsession with the pendant had surpassed to a point that she’d almost forgotten about it. Almost. The mocking, taunting voice that slid out of the scrying bowl with its black and white vision irked her. A dog, he called her. A dog on a leash. No, she did not need the pendant.
She wanted it because he had it. He was a thief.
Anisse stumbled out of the Slaughtered Lamb, pacing. Where would she go? What would she do? What could she do? Fingers curled into messy strands of mahogany hair, pulling them loose from her ponytail--yanking. The knowledge that he had such an integral piece of her in the pendant steeped her paranoia until she was a mad, twitching mess. Nevermind that he insulted her.
Stained glass. Books. Shelves. A faceted figure in black and white. An absurd, gentleman’s voice. That is all she had of her pursuer--a minute of collected images and sound.
A surgeon’s bag of tools…the scalpel had been his to begin with. Perhaps there was more to this than she had initially thought?
…she didn’t want to think. She wanted the pendant back.
The images drifting through her mind, her feet led her to the Royal Stormwind Library. A kindly old librarian greeted her with trembling, age-spotted hands. Brittle bones. This one would do, a meaningful sacrifice. She hated to be so ostentatious with the kill, but she needed her pursuer’s attention.
“What can I do for you, my girl?” The old librarian murmured, vision dulled. Not quite the librarian if she could not even see correctly. Anisse wondered how organized the Library really was under the old woman’s direction. Perhaps the culling of this one would pave the way for a more competent book keeper. Anisse smiled as kindly as she could to the old one, softening her rigid voice. She was innocence personified now.
“Perhaps you can help me look for an old transcript, madame?”
“…transcripts? Ahh! That would be in the vaults below! Come, come, I’ll show you. Oh, you sound like a sweet little thing, you do! Remind me of my granddaughter, Lilah. I bet you’re just lovely too! Oh blast these eyes of mine…”
Anisse followed silently, eyeing the heavy door to the lore vaults.
A dog, was she? She would show him a dog…
A Patron of the Lamb #22
The Cathedral bells rung out their hourly missive--the tenth hour that signaled freedom. Anisse threw her wet washrag with such a force that the metal basin behind the bar tinged painfully in reply when it received it. She threw her apron roughly at the bartender as well, in which Jarel baffled at, blinking up at her. He sighed dolefully at the girl and folded the apron neatly into its place behind the bar.
“Don’t you be angry with me now, Miss Anna. If you’d learn a little in the way of good manners, you might get to keep your tips today.”
Anisse tightened her fists at her side, grumbling out her words. “I was perfectly in line today, Mister Moor.” In her ruffled serving shirt and bright blue cotton skirt, she looked as intimidating as a rag doll. Terribly put-out, she folded her arms across her chest as she scowled at Jarel. The bartender stared back at her, and then threw his hands up, making her flinch a bit in his sudden movement.
“You made the new girl cry! Not to mention that you were unbelievably rude to most of our visitors.”
Anisse’s scowl deepened, her heated voice growing higher with each word she spat. “She was annoying, Mister Moor. I don’t think she was even paying attention on the inventory run! And a gnome, sir?! A gnome? She had to hang onto the bar counter just to see over it! A..and even normal people aren’t that stupidly happy! It’s disturbing!”
Silence fell over the remaining people in the tavern. Only two, but, still, the effect of her shouting was intense. She sneered at the people as they stared at her and Jarel, and they quickly looked away to finish their dinner. And snickered.
“And that man was harassing me, I just know it! He followed me and the insipid gnome after we wrapped up the inventory run,” Anisse growled out quietly now. “And you just let him sit there and….and talk to me!”
Jarel chuckled, rolling his eyes at his temperamental waitress. “Oh dear. The man was talking to you? Should I fine him for such an indiscretion?”
Anisse groaned out now. “He was waiting for me to get off my shift. I know it. He wouldn’t leave me alone! It’s…its distracting!” Her eyes narrowed at the bartender as she hissed at him, the amber color almost glowing in her anger. “I’m surprised you didn’t let him pay for the rest of my shift to take me to Lakeshire, like the other damned patron! They’re all absolutely daft!”
Jarel laughed a little louder at the girl now as she seethed on. “Should I have? Ahahaha, Miss Anna…he probably liked you. You are a cute little thing, after all. You ought to relax and just chat them up--its what’s expected of a barmaid. Don‘t you know that by now? That’s how you earn your tips! You don‘t have to sleep with them too, dear girl.”
“…hhh….” Silence flooded the barmaid, terribly unnerved. She might’ve twitched a few times as she skittered to the end of the bar.
“….you aren’t sleeping with our patrons, are you, Miss Anna?”
A fiery ball of ruined inventory lists streaked past Jarel’s head. The makeshift fireball smashed into the cabinets behind him, rattling wooden bowls on their shelves. Ashes flew all over, blanketing Jarel. He gave a helpless chuckle as he watched the girl storm down to the cellars, torchlight flickering after her. The bartender shifted quickly, clamping a metal pot over the fire burning behind him, snuffing it out. The remaining patrons took their leave of the Slaughtered Lamb, rather quickly.
“…good. We’re not…that type of establish..ment…” Jarel coughed out, wiping off papery ash from around his eyes.
Time passed beneath the floors of the Slaughtered Lamb, and Anisse’s churning irritation had passed with it. Even the warlocks quieted their chatter, their mocking laughter no longer flowing from the squeaking pipelines above her. Sometimes they had enlightening conversation on the subject of demonic magic which she drew from, but they melted into vain gossip too often.
She was restless, and the urge to kill whispered around in the folds of her mind. The scalpel tempted her, even from within the recesses of the surgeon’s bag, hidden away. Yet the sneering sounds of the felguard made that possible calm from killing all but drain away. How she hated the demon! She could imagine it now, the vicious demonspawn taking all her delight from her as it would take her kills, ruining the things which she held precious inside of each body. Like some inanely violent child, gleefully tearing up toys just to watch them break.
She wouldn’t give the bastard the chance. Not this time.
And so Anisse lay there on the floor of her dirty, ruined parlor, staring up at the threads of spidery webbing hanging from the stone ceiling. Perhaps counting each strand would lull her into the sleep she needed. As her mind slipped away from the musty smelling catacombs, questioning thoughts came to her--thoughts she hadn‘t considered in a long, long time. Was there more, perhaps, to this life than the Lamb, the impending deaths of others, collecting, and her studies? Was there anything more worth seeking…?
…the last time she had such a “revival”, she joined the Twilight’s Hammer. Look where that’s brought you now…
Sighing outwardly, she ignored the sound of ashy debree rustling as she turned on her side, accepting sleep from the stone cold catacomb floors.
Was there anything more worth her time in this world?
‘Not likely…’ Anisse breathed out sleepily to herself as she found a dreamless sleep.
“Don’t you be angry with me now, Miss Anna. If you’d learn a little in the way of good manners, you might get to keep your tips today.”
Anisse tightened her fists at her side, grumbling out her words. “I was perfectly in line today, Mister Moor.” In her ruffled serving shirt and bright blue cotton skirt, she looked as intimidating as a rag doll. Terribly put-out, she folded her arms across her chest as she scowled at Jarel. The bartender stared back at her, and then threw his hands up, making her flinch a bit in his sudden movement.
“You made the new girl cry! Not to mention that you were unbelievably rude to most of our visitors.”
Anisse’s scowl deepened, her heated voice growing higher with each word she spat. “She was annoying, Mister Moor. I don’t think she was even paying attention on the inventory run! And a gnome, sir?! A gnome? She had to hang onto the bar counter just to see over it! A..and even normal people aren’t that stupidly happy! It’s disturbing!”
Silence fell over the remaining people in the tavern. Only two, but, still, the effect of her shouting was intense. She sneered at the people as they stared at her and Jarel, and they quickly looked away to finish their dinner. And snickered.
“And that man was harassing me, I just know it! He followed me and the insipid gnome after we wrapped up the inventory run,” Anisse growled out quietly now. “And you just let him sit there and….and talk to me!”
Jarel chuckled, rolling his eyes at his temperamental waitress. “Oh dear. The man was talking to you? Should I fine him for such an indiscretion?”
Anisse groaned out now. “He was waiting for me to get off my shift. I know it. He wouldn’t leave me alone! It’s…its distracting!” Her eyes narrowed at the bartender as she hissed at him, the amber color almost glowing in her anger. “I’m surprised you didn’t let him pay for the rest of my shift to take me to Lakeshire, like the other damned patron! They’re all absolutely daft!”
Jarel laughed a little louder at the girl now as she seethed on. “Should I have? Ahahaha, Miss Anna…he probably liked you. You are a cute little thing, after all. You ought to relax and just chat them up--its what’s expected of a barmaid. Don‘t you know that by now? That’s how you earn your tips! You don‘t have to sleep with them too, dear girl.”
“…hhh….” Silence flooded the barmaid, terribly unnerved. She might’ve twitched a few times as she skittered to the end of the bar.
“….you aren’t sleeping with our patrons, are you, Miss Anna?”
A fiery ball of ruined inventory lists streaked past Jarel’s head. The makeshift fireball smashed into the cabinets behind him, rattling wooden bowls on their shelves. Ashes flew all over, blanketing Jarel. He gave a helpless chuckle as he watched the girl storm down to the cellars, torchlight flickering after her. The bartender shifted quickly, clamping a metal pot over the fire burning behind him, snuffing it out. The remaining patrons took their leave of the Slaughtered Lamb, rather quickly.
“…good. We’re not…that type of establish..ment…” Jarel coughed out, wiping off papery ash from around his eyes.
Time passed beneath the floors of the Slaughtered Lamb, and Anisse’s churning irritation had passed with it. Even the warlocks quieted their chatter, their mocking laughter no longer flowing from the squeaking pipelines above her. Sometimes they had enlightening conversation on the subject of demonic magic which she drew from, but they melted into vain gossip too often.
She was restless, and the urge to kill whispered around in the folds of her mind. The scalpel tempted her, even from within the recesses of the surgeon’s bag, hidden away. Yet the sneering sounds of the felguard made that possible calm from killing all but drain away. How she hated the demon! She could imagine it now, the vicious demonspawn taking all her delight from her as it would take her kills, ruining the things which she held precious inside of each body. Like some inanely violent child, gleefully tearing up toys just to watch them break.
She wouldn’t give the bastard the chance. Not this time.
And so Anisse lay there on the floor of her dirty, ruined parlor, staring up at the threads of spidery webbing hanging from the stone ceiling. Perhaps counting each strand would lull her into the sleep she needed. As her mind slipped away from the musty smelling catacombs, questioning thoughts came to her--thoughts she hadn‘t considered in a long, long time. Was there more, perhaps, to this life than the Lamb, the impending deaths of others, collecting, and her studies? Was there anything more worth seeking…?
…the last time she had such a “revival”, she joined the Twilight’s Hammer. Look where that’s brought you now…
Sighing outwardly, she ignored the sound of ashy debree rustling as she turned on her side, accepting sleep from the stone cold catacomb floors.
Was there anything more worth her time in this world?
‘Not likely…’ Anisse breathed out sleepily to herself as she found a dreamless sleep.
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