 |
| 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.
Stone Cairn Lake was an island located just north of Eastvale. The lake is named after Heroes' Vigil, the stone cairn monument erected upon the island to commemorate the huge loss of life during the First War against the orcs. Once a popular pilgrimage spot, the island was taken over as a training site for mages employed by the Defias Brotherhood. The rogue wizards broke away from the Defias Brotherhood, but retained a business relationship with them.
Snow stepped out of the foliage he had used for cover on the approach to the island. While he rogue mages maintained a presence on the island itself, the surrounding area was festooned with gnoll bands and murloc huts. An uneasy truce existed, with both murlocs and gnolls staying clear of the rogue mages, and the rogue mages were content to use them as an early warning system for intruders.
Gnolls had very poor eyesight, and relied heavily on their sense of smell. Snow had been told by his mentor that when they scented demons, they often lost interest in pursuing potential prey; ti was usually suicide to force a confrontation with a demon. Many demons, especially Fel Hounds and Imps, carried with them the thick scent of brimstone, which could be replicated by mixing powdered sulfur and crystalized cat urine. Snow had been careful to sprinkle his backtrail with such a mixture, ensuring that any gnolls who might otherwise stumble on his scent trail would shy away rather than risk demonic confrontation.
The water was frigid, but Snow had borrowed two sets of Shimmerscale diving suits, including the helm. The diving suit helped him from freezing, and the Shimmerscale helmet came with an oxygen supply and enchanted goggles that gave him acuity of vision. Swiftly putting on the diving suit over his armor, he knifed through the water with great speed, traveling well below the waterline to avoid being seen.
Snow swiftly located the tent in which the woman to be ransomed was being held. A swift strike to the back of the guard’s neck with a leather sap filled with sand rendered him sensekess. Jon entered the tent, and the woman gasped at the strange sight.
Snow whispered “Don’t be alarmed.” The woman’s eyes narrowed, but she thought better of saying anything. “Put this on” Snow said, removing the second Shimmerscale suit and helmet from his now-empty pack.
“Turn your back so I can change into clothes” she hissed. “We have no time,” admonished Snow, but the woman was adamant.
“I am not leaving in nothing but my lingerie, young man!” she said.
“Fine,” said Snow, turning around, not without regret; the woman was quite pretty, with shining golden shoulder-length hair and enchanting emerald eyes. He resisted the temptation to peek as he heard - and imagined - her tossing her bedroll aside, hastily donning a simple mage's robe, and then putting on the Shimmerscale diving suit and helmet. When she was finished, Snow showed her how to breathe via the helm, and the two of them took to the water to make their escape.
They headed for the bottom of the lake, avoiding the murlocs and heading down the river, not leaving the water until they reached the guarded bridge southwest of Eastvale. Doffing their swim gear, they headed for Goldshire.
“So… not that I don't appreciate being rescued, especially by such a handsome fellow, you must tell me why you placed yourself at risk to liberate me,” she asked as they headed down the road.
“I had overheard the fellows who were waiting for your ransome, and I live to frustrate the plans of the Defias Brotherhood. They’ve done so much harm to the people in Westfall and the Elwynn forest that I couldn’t resist the temptation to even the score,” Snow explained.
“So you just took it on yourself to perform a rescue with no hope of reward?” asked the woman.
“I did,” confirmed Snow.
They finished the trip to the Lion’s Pride. In the morning, they met for breakfast in the Common Room, which seemed deserted; the carousers, prostitutes, whores, sluts, and fetishists who customarily patronized the Lion’s Pride were all of sleeping or sporting in private.
“Good morning. A comfortable bed in a warm, cozy inn beats the heck out of another tent in the cold and damp of Stonecairn Island,” said the kidnapped woman. “Also, I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced; I am Marisa DuPaige, mage of Dalaran.” She offered a hand to Snow.
“My name is Snow FitzSilver, Miss DuPaige. Honored to have been of service,” he said, taking her hand.
The inn staff brought them both mugs of black coffee, along with a small bowl of cream and sugar. Marisa added a dollop of cream to her coffee. “I was wondering if you could do me another favor?” she asked Snow.
“Well, you’d have to ask before I’d agree… “ Snow teased.
“I was hoping that I could convince you to see me home?” Marisa asked. “I know it souls a little silly, but I really don’t want to be by myself until I can lock myself in and set wards.”
FitzSilver nodded. “Understandable. Where is it you call home?”
“My home is at the top of the waterfall at Mirror Lake.” she informed Snow. “I made it my refuge from my work in Dalaran, my sanctum. Take me home, Snow. Make me safe.”
The two of them left for Mirror Lake shortly thereafter. Mirror Lake derived its name from the constant bright shine from the reflected daylight sun. The lake was situated at the base of the mountains surrounding Stormwind, and on it’s banks lay an apple orchard. Although Mirror Lake would be an ideal spot for swimming or fishing, the Defias bandits that infest the area make such sports hazardous, but Marisa and Snow saw no Defias on their way up the path up the side of the waterfall.
Marisa’s home was like a small pocket of Dalaran, and while the day was uncomfortably warm the inside of the modest cabin was magically regulated. The cabin was comfortable without being opulent. The walls were lined with books and what Snow imagined were enchantment books and supplies.
 |
| Lovely Black Dress |
“Excuse me for a moment…” purred Marisa, vanishing through a door at the rear of the cottage only to reappear a few minutes later. She had changed the clothes she wore, and transformed from a lady mage in traveling clothes to a seductive more reminiscent of a sayaadi than a mage,
She wore a delicate nightgown of soft, black mageweave, and it was clear from the lack of lines that it was all she was wearing. She sauntered up to Snow, whose jaw was still hanging down. His body tingled with a joyous tension; while Snow had not been a virgin for years, neither was he well-practiced in the ways of love-making.
In short he knew less of practice than theory.
Marisa took him by the hand and led Snow to the bed. “Let us discuss your reward for the rescue and escort, young Snow,” she said, pushing Snow down into the thick bedding.
(Fade to black)
Sometimes virtue is it's own reward.
No comments:
Post a Comment