Snow FitzSilver (04) - Rainy Days in Darkshire

The rain seemed to follow Snow FitzSilver wherever he went.  What was a light rain in Stormwind when he was offered a job which made use of his less-profitable talents - carpentry - to fix the inn roof in Surwich had seemingly followed him to the stables in Goldshire where he "borrowed" a one-horse cart and the finest horse (a Kul Tiran thoroughbred stallion, no less). The road through the Elwynn Forest was a complete mess by the time he pulled off to the Eastvale Mining Camp. It mercifully abated to a light drizzle as he loaded the bundles of wooden shingles, crates of roofing nails, and casks of caulking tar into the cart, then secured it all into place with rope.

The lady Pandarian who had hired him had warned him that several shipments had gone awry. Snow had not been surprised; after the fall of Nethergarde, the road through the Blasted Lands were rife with orc desperados, demons, and other hostile encounters. Still, Snow was being paid to do what he needed to do anyways - disappear from the Kingdom of Stormwind for awhile.

He had spent the night with the sorceress Marisa DuPaige, and slept the deep sleep of the exhausted - or drugged. Either way, he had woken tied to an interrogation rack. He knew that Marisa liked her bedsports a little rougher than some (a lesson he had learned the most delightful way), but a rack seemed a little outre.

She and  Snow had shortly thereafter engaged in a strange conversation. Marisa had faked her kidnapping to draw me into the open, and captured me so that her boss, Vanessa VanCleef, could pass along a message: stop hunting the Defias Brotherhood.

"Ordinarily, there would be no discussion," clarified Marisa. "We'd just leave a cooling carcass behind in Goldshire where it would be certain to be found, marked by the Defias as a warning... but your family complicates things." Snow had looked up sharply at that; Snow was an orphana ward under the guardianship of the Ironforge Mystic Hall, sponsored by Dane "Griffonclaw" FitzSilver, also called "The Tarnished Knight. 

"Your guardian has a half-brother who is known to us; while the Defias Brotherhood does not fear him, he  could choose to make the cost of vengeance upon you too expensive, too unprofitable."

Showing uncharacteristic intelligence, Snow kept his mouth shut. She must be referring to a man introduced to him as "Uncle" Jon Chess, who was a well-known mercantile agent  for Elling Trias' cheese business. Snow also knew he was a smuggler and intelligence asset for Lady Jaina, whose relationship with Jon went back to before the mana bomb had destroyed Theramore. Snow accompanied Griffonclaw to dinner at the Chess home in Boralus several times. Jon had married a powerful and fiercely intelligent Dalaran mage, so small wonder they were stepping carefully.

"My boss offers this - stop hunting the Defias Brotherhood for whatever crimes you think they have committed, whatever  wrongs you imagined they have done you. From today, if you kill a Defias, it had better have been a clear case of self-defense, ir she will have you hunted down and your pieces dropped in Stormwind Bay." She waited for Snow to say something, but Snow remained quiet.

"Snow... tell me you understand?" she said in a low voice that layered concern around a core of iron. She may have come to like Snow, perhaps even care for him a little, but she was the Defias Brotherhood through and through.

"I understand," was all Snow said

"Very well... it might also be a good idea for you to get out of Stormwind for awhile, to avoid any 'misunderstandings' that might end up badly, but that is pretty much up to you." She rose and snapped her fingers, magically unlocking the manacles around wrists and ankles. "Goodbye, Snow."

That night, as Snow was pondering what to do, he had been offered the job in Surwich. Snow had no illusion as to the supposed virtue of honest labor, but a few months away at someone else's expense was vatther convenient.

Surwich was occupied by Gilnean refugees, and Snow found their accents comforting; the white hair he bore was a recessive trait prevalent in the Gilnean royal bloodline.; about an eighth of the population had silver hair or platinum streaks. Gilnean royalty had never cared to exercise restraint, and over the decades it had ceased to have a significant meaning. His Majesty Genn Graymane himself had sown more than his fair share of bastards before his marriage; one might truthfully jibe he was for some literally the father of his country.

Most of its citizens had come following the dream of an idealistic druid named Marl Wormthorn. Wormthorn believed that the Tainted Scar could be healed, and attempted to grow it back. The attempt succeeded, but it also lured the majority of demons still present in the scar into the area. 

Now Snow plodded up the mountain trail to Deadwind Pass, and the rain followed him. He realized that it had all likely been a con on her part, but Fel-damn it, he had liked Marisa. 

(WIP)

Snow FitzSilver (03) - Trapped by the Defias!

Vanessa VanCleef drummed her fingers on the tabletop in the bar of the Hall of Shadows beneath Dalaran, deep in thought. The Defias Brotherhood had supported the Alliance during the Third War against the Burning Legion and joined the Uncrowned, an organization, both Alliance and Horde, who walked the path of Shadows; while many of these were deadly enemies outside of Dalaran, Dalaran itself was considered sacrosanct neutral territory. VanCleef used it as an office and neutral meeting place. The woman standing in front of the leader of the Defias Brotherhood had just reported that Defias operatives in the Elwynn Forest had taken heavy losses in the last few months. Descriptions of the fellow were sparse; whipcord muscle, a dancer's step, and a long ponytail of silver hair. The fellow was adept at disguise and the use of poison, but was not seemingly affiliated with SI:7 or worse, with Ravenholdt. A troublesome lone wolf. VanCleef nodded to herself, and addressed her lieutenant. "You reported that the mages on Stonecairn Island had declared themselves independent, and no longer pay tribute. I think that it is time to show them how vulnerable they are without Defias protection..." As VanCleef gave her lieutenant her instructions, the lieutenant's eyes twinkled with mischief.

   

---

Snow FitzSilver 

The fellow known as Snow FitzSilver was crouched up a tree. Not the most uncomfortable position he'd ever been in, but it was made worse by the campfire burning below. Snow had ascended to the branch, taking advantage of the leafy foliage as cover in order to eavesdrop on a Defias road bandit gang which had plagued the area near Jerrod's Landing, a smugglers' dock. He had selected the tree because the wide base of the tree had been where the bandits had burned a fire the night before. What he had not been aware of was that the smoke made his eyes water and his nose itch. 

“Hey Arsenal… What are we doing next?” asked one of the bandits. 

 “Well, we wait here. I got orders for us to wait until a ransom arrives, minus the Dockmaster’s cut, of course. Once we have it, we go to Stonecairn Island; the kidnap victim is a mage, so it was the only safe place to stash her. ” 

Snow had already learned that Jerrod’s Landing was a big smuggling center, once operated by the Defias Brotherhood, but since then had been operating independently. 

 That was enough for Snow. 

 The first of the bandits died when a noose wrapped around his throat. His neck snapped when Snow used the other end of the rope to rapidly descend from his perch, sending the bandit;s lifeless corpse into the tree’s lower branches. The second and third bandit died with envenomed throwing spikes impaled themselves in the bandits’ throats. The fourth bandit got his sword halfway out of its scabbard before Snow’s dexter dagger opened his throat. The bandit leader Arsenal managed to draw his own longsword clear of the scabbard when he took in the carnage. “Boo!” yelled Snow, and the bandit turned to run. 

 He failed to outrun Snow’s loaded flintlock bullet. 

Snow FitzSilver Artwork

Art by Bugge!

Snow FitzSilver Microhero!

Snow FitzSilver 02 - Wagonload for Lakeshire

 The road from Goldshire to Lakeshire was well-covered in leafy shade from the trees which grew in the Elwynn Forest, and it made the loaded wagon almost comfortable is it trundled along slowly on it's way. The driver, a strapping young lad in inexpensive homespun work clothes that had seen better days judging from the patching on the pants, seemed in high spirits as he whistled a Dwarven mining song called Drunk Dwarves, singing at a creditable volume:

(Wind Rose! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oPQAfz1GulI )

One mug filled with mead till the morning

Too much for an elf

Two more mugs full of mead till the morning

Add more from the shelf

There's three mugs filled with mead till the morning

Long since I was born

Four more mugs full of mead till the morning

Worthy of a dwarf

Nobody is welcome in a tavern full of drunken dwarves

No respect for humans, dragons, trolls, or pointy ears

If you want to die, stay as long as you're alive

We'll bring chaos to the tavern till the dawn has come

Nobody is welcome in a tavern full of drunken dwarves

No respect for humans, dragons, trolls, and pointy ears

If you want to run, do it faster than my axe

Don't you dare mess with a hall full of drunken dwarves

May you hear us sing along, from the forest

To the tavern's hall, until we fall

Alchemy and magic forge the night into a hearth of stone

In the tavern's hall, until we fall

With five mugs full of mead till the morning

Someone starts to crawl

Six more mugs full of mead till the morning

Everybody falls

Seven mugs full of mead till the morning

Right or even wrong

With eight more mugs of mead till the morning

We will start the brawl

May you hear us sing along, from the forest

To the tavern's hall, until we fall

Our blood is boiling fast

Like mead poured on the table

In the tavern's hall, until we fall

Nobody is welcome in a tavern full of drunken dwarves

No respect for humans, dragons, trolls, or pointy ears

If you want to die, stay as long as you're alive

We'll bring chaos to the tavern till the dawn has come

Nobody is welcome in a tavern full of drunken dwarves

No respect for humans, dragons, trolls, and pointy ears

If you want to run, do it faster than my axe

Don't you dare mess with a hall full of drunken dwarves

It was clear that the lad, however high his spirits, had more enthusiasm than singing ability, but as his audience was composed of the nearby squirrel, no harm was done. He had reached the bridge past the Tower of Azora, where he had shared his flagon of ale with the Stormwind guards not more than an hour past.

The Defias Brotherhood

"Stand and deliver!" rang out from a side of the road, and out from the trees stepped a ragtag.set of bandits, each clad in mis-matched armor, but each wore the blood-red masks of the Defias. "We hereby claim your wagon, your ox, and your cargo in the name of the Brotherhood."

The fellow slowe3d the wagon, having noticed that several more had came up from behind, surrounding the wagon. The driver dismounted, keeping his hands well away from the dagger at his belt. 

"What is your cargo, stripling?" asked the leader of the bandit crew.

"Just a load of cheese and a few barrels of some Thunderbrew ale ordered by the inn in Lakeshire" answered the young fellow, trying to keep the fear from his voice, and succeeding... mostly.  

"Nothing else?" the bandit asked suspiciously.

"Nope, hardly worth the trouble, isn't it? I don't suppose that you'd consider letting me through?" the driver asked. 

"I see no reason why not! Grab your bedroll from the back of the wagon, and be on your way - without the wagon! The turnoff for the Eastvale village is about a mile up the road, and with a little luck you can spend the night sheltered from the predators of the forest.... well, at least the wolves and bears," the bandit joked, his troop laughing at what was clearly a well-known jest.

"But I... I thank you for your mercy," the driver said, thinking that a profest as to the unfairness could only end one way, and that way not well for him.

"Smart lad... especially when you forgot to tell us about the smuggling hole under the seat bench," the bandit snarled. "Now step off sharply, before I remember that you tried to lie to us."

The driver did as he was told, gathering his sleeping rolland slinging it over his shoulder before walking so fast he was nearly running towards Eastvale, the sound of the amused bandits echoing in the road behind him.

It was not until near the midnight hour before the driver returned, and followed the bandits' trail. The driver's appearance had changed almost completely. Gone was the worn-out homespun peasant clothing, replaced by dark blue cuir boli leather armor. The barely-serviceable knife was gone, replaced by two Stormwind military daggers. No longer a scared wagon driver, he moved with a catlike grace, making nary a sound as he headed for  the old barn of a deserted farmstead, taken over by the Defias Brotherhood. Most dramatically, the coal-black hair had been rinsed of the black dye, and the silver hair hung down his neck in a very short foxtail.

He approached the abandoned farmstead warily, making sure there were no sentries to raise an alarm at the intruder in their midst. There were no sentries, just a firepit hastily dug in the middle of the fallow field, the charred remains of the poor ox who had been bought with this fate in mind. All around the large fie were corpses of the Defias bandits, many of whom had fouled themselves as they died. There were several pools of bile and vomit, as some of the bandits had figured out that they had been poisoned and tried to purge themselves.. too late.

There was one survivor in the old farmhouse that the band had used as an office for their leader. He was sitting in a chair at the kitchen table, an open bottle of the Silvermoon Port wine that had been concealed in the wagon's smuggling compartment. He looked up as the former driver entered.

"You... you did this to us! I'll see you in Hell!" ranted the Defias leader in a weak, drained voice. 

"I think you'll beat me to it" said the silver-haired fellow.

"Why? asked the bandit. "We let you go!"

"Only because you saw no profit in taking me for ransom. After all, who would ransom a strilplig wagon driver waylayed on his first trip? You'd have had feed me and guard me; no profit in such a little fish. Best to throw him back and catch him another day."

"Fair enough, I suppose..." chuckled the Defias weakly. "And what poison did you use?"

"Deathadder in the Silvermoon Port, and Essence of Agony in the cheese, just not enough to taste. It's called. The Essence of Agony made the Deathadder more potent; you might have survived one, but not both in concert."

"Tricky... where did you learn that?"

"My adopted uncle Jon showed me how; he's really good with toxins and venoms. He was annoyed that I ruined some perfectly good cheese, though," he said. "He also refused to let me use real Silvermoon Port - too valuable. He did give me the empty bottles and showed me how to re-seal the corks."

He stepped behind the Defias and drew steel, slicing hs carotid artery and nobly avoiding the sudden splash of blood. "You released me, so I release you from a slow,agonizing death."

The former driver collected all the Defias masks he could find, bundling them together for the Goldshire authorities. It was quite  the bounty, but he was determined to stay anonymous; vengeance rarely could rarely touch just another shadow in the forest.