Tag: rogue x 14

This series of short stories has been written in response to in-game occurrences. A new mercenary company with hot-shot spies has cropped up to threaten Division Eighty-Four as the sole intelligence arm of the Knights of Menethil. (It was also meant as a demonstration to one of our Knights as to the dangers of meta-gaming knowing someone's description or slipping something into their pocket.)

    "Do you know how loud a heartbeat is in a place that never has one?"

    Grinning impudently, the petite woman in scuffed grey leathers dropped down off the stone ledge running about nine feet above the floor of the hallway in Acherus. Both her hands were clasped in front of her as she rocked back on her heels and bent at the...

Prompt: June 11, 2012 - Your character's greatest accomplishment thus far.

    Some might call the empty chapel with its smashed pews and old bloodstains creepy or frightening. Were she in her usual frame of mind, Ilva would probably agree with them. But at this moment, just for now, she was sitting in the best place on Azeroth.

    Because she'd just pulled the con job of her life.

    It was everything she could do to restrain her giggles as she cradled the hefty sack of coin in her hands. It would not do to giggle and alert the Ebon Blade fellows still searching for her to where she'd skipped off to after speaking to their leader, a worgen she'd started thinking of - fondly! - as Fuzzy. Oh, things were clear now....

Prompt: June 10, 2012 - Your character finds someone a crying mess. They explained their life is miserable and they cannot stand the fact someone won't change despite countless encounters to try and help the troubled party. What does your character do?

A Crying Shame (or Dear God, This One Stumped Me)

    "Would you like a flower, miss? Free flower for a pretty la-..." The girl with a large basket of flowers on her arm trailed off as her intended vict-...er, giftee looked up from the bench. The 'miss' was actually a 'mister,' though his slight frame and luxurious golden locks were almost as easy to mistake as his lightish red dress-...er, robe.

    For her part, no one would mistake Ilva for the night elf she was dressed up...

Prompt: June 6, 2012 - Confessions. Your character is brought somewhere by or against their will to confess something they are guilty of, carrying in their heart and/or withholding from the enemy. Is the confession simple or did the secrets have to be ripped from your flesh? Explain what happens and whether your character breaks.

    One of the worst parts of being immersed in life on the streets was being subject to the vagaries of life on the streets. You go and do everything you can to set up your reputation in the proper circles and let it be known that you run with the rest of the gutter-scum, and then some new bucks come into town not knowing the rules and think they'll be Billy Badass and nab themselves a merchant's wife for...

Prompt: June 4, 2012 - How does your character push forward?

    It was everywhere - dripping from necks, sliding on wrists, dangling from ears, even jangling around ankles. Some digging company had a fancy gala ball celebration and if anyone knew how to do fancy, it was folks who pulled things out of the ground and shined 'em up. Everyone was dressed in their shiniest finery, and Ilva simply could not take her eyes off the glitter as she walked around clustered groups of laughing people with a tray, offering them drinks.

    Ordinarily, she avoided Ironforge. It was a touch warm and the enclosed, underground city reminded her uncomfortably of a jail cell - not, that is, that'd she'd ever been nabbed and forced to endure...

Prompt: May 25, 2012 - Demiurge http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/demiurge

    It was four bells past midnight, not quite shy of morning - the sort of hour which peeks blearily out at you from under a wooden crate in the alley and shushes you for thinking too loudly. In short, it was a terrible hour to be out and up to mischief, which is precisely why Miss G. Ulricson, the blinded trader's wife, was doing no such thing. She was simply returning home in her terribly unfortunately slow fashion from a late night of negotiating silk deals with her factor down at the harbor and had miscounted her doors. Truly, she wasn't trying to break in to someone else's house. She even had the key! It was simply hard to put in properly when...

Prompt: May 23, 2012 - Describe your character's favorite weather.

    Today was perfect, absolutely perfect. The blue sky was cloudless and sparkling from a lemony-yellow sun, glistening on the cobblestones freshly washed by four days of downpour. There was a faint breeze which did not chill in the slightest because of the warm, early summer air, and everyone was in a fantastic mood to finally be out after the rough summer squall of the last several days.

    Naturally, Ilva didn't whistle as she went about her work, but the urge was certainly there. After all, it was the kind of day absolutely everyone - and the contents of their pockets - was out for a walk.

Prompt: May 21, 2012 - Itch, itch. Your character has an itch in the most impossible place to scratch. Where is it and how does your character dramatically solve the problem?

    Swathed in mottled, dark grey cloth from head to toe, Ilva crept along the roof line in the near total darkness of a new moon. Below her, pacing the cobblestone streets with a clank and clatter which announced his presence even before the light from his unshuttered lantern was visible was a Stormwind City guard. His plumed helmet bobbed comically as he walked from shop to shop down Forge Street in the Dwarven District. Ilva made not a sound and barely a visible motion as she flitted from chimney to chimney, minimizing the time she spent profiled against...

Prompt: May 17, 2012 - On your character's second adventure, you are transported to the sands (also known as the wastelands) of Silithus. From there, you are brought to the gates of the fallen kingdom and forced to make it all the way to the room where the Old God once thrived. What is it like in there after all this time? Does it feel eerie or just plain nothing? What does your character do while spending time in this room?

There's Girls, There's Tentacles - We Know Where This is Going

    This was the last blessed time she was letting Badge convince her to do anything involving deserts. Ever. Again.

    "It'll be easy," he said. "Just nip in there, nick me a few pieces o' obsidian glass, an' Professor MacGillycuddy's...

Prompt: May 12, 2012 - Warlocks. Your character comes across one being very obvious and stupid with his magic. What do you do? Do you walk away and pretend it wasn't happening or do you say something, perhaps do anything, to stop and/or encourage it?

    "Ooo, girls, lookit that one! Ent he a fine figure?" Giggling, Hettie nudged her elbow into Ilva's side, hitting the steel reinforcement of her pale blue corset. Behind Hettie, Rowena and Myrtle were trying to crawl up onto the other girls' shoulders just so they could shove their heads down and see through the horizontal crack in the wall the girls of Miss Rivanna Treelily's establishment used to spy on the guests in the...

Prompt: May 11, 2012 - Alive http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/alive?s=t

    This last job had made her a fortune. There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that she'd ever tell Badge exactly how much - even half of how much - because he'd roll it into a marketing scheme for khorium-enhanced belt buckles or something like that. She'd play it way down, very under the table, and simply make quiet sure that whenever he needed the coin for something, it was somehow always in his pocket. This sort of fortune could last her a few years if she played it out right.

    But there was...one...indulgence. At the noisy claims room of the auctioneer's house in the Trade District, the plain trader's wife with the hood over her...

Prompt: May 9, 2012 - Worthless http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/worthless?s=t

    Behind number eight Foxfield Lane, Gilneas City, there was a monumental crisis. This just would not do! If someone were to catch her out here with this distasteful mess, there would be all manner of unseemly fuss... But it was a back alley, the rear entrance of the townhomes so upper crust that to get higher one would be licking off the whipped cream, and so there was no one here to see the well-dressed noblewoman and her heavy burden.

    With quite the unladylike grunt, she heaved the onerous load off her shoulder and into the trash-can. The noblewoman looked left and right warily, still expecting someone to spy her. But it just had to...