Night's Black Agent (Part Three) (Bramwald)

 (WIP)

I'zara looked over the cards in her hand... what she presumed was a winning hand. 

The sailing ship The Kraken's Wake was berthed at Ratchet, and many of the crew had come ashore on leave, seeking solace in the embrace of alcohol a few steps up from the shipboard grog, made from... well, I'zara didn't know from what grog was made, and given the taste, she had no intention of finding out.

Instead, she had found herself a card game at the Broken Keel, although to her chagrin her luck had been plentiful - but all bad.

Until this hand. Luck and persistence had conspired to bless I'zara with a run of four cards on the same suit. 

Then she had tossed back one card; she had two chances to fill the straight, on either end of her run. a three or a seven of Rogues would do nicely, and she had drawn the seven.

After a furious round of betting, only she and the captain of the Kraken's Wake, Vivian Heartsorrow, remained. I'zara had bet her last gold coin that she had held back to pay her bar bill, but Wiley would forgive her when she walked away from the table with her windfall.

And then Vivian raised, adding twenty - twenty! - more gold to the pot, arching an eyebrow.

"... I don't suppose you'd take a marker? I'm good for it," offered I'zara.

"I'm sure you are, but I run a ship... it might take months until I am back to Ratchet, and maybe years until you are here at the same time," refused Vivian.

"...how about if I have Wiley extend you credit at the inn?" I'zara countered.

"How about you pony up cash, friend. Or cede the pot if you can't..."

"How about if I indenture my slave to you for a year?" the orc woman said. "A year's service, and if I don't redeem him... well, he's worth at least twenty, in addition to the free labor you'll get out of him."

"The Kraken's Wake isn't a slaver," said Vivian slowly, narrowing her eyes. "And could use a new cabin boy..."

*     *     *

Bramwald's voice hit a pitch several octaves above normal. "What do you mean a year? You sold me?"

"I did not sell you... think of it as a lease? A year at sea will be good for you; you'll learn new skills, make new friends... it'll be a new experience, an adventure!"

"Adventures are stupid, getting killed for nothing," Bramwald said, his voice doing a credible imitation of I'zara. 

"...c'mon, kid... it's only a year."

"Then you do it. Its only a year, right?"

"You know I can't - Freke gets sick at sea." She turned to Freke. "Tell him you get sick at sea!"

The wolf, perched atop the bed, looked away with a whine.

"Fine. Traitor!" she snarled. "Look... I'm sorry, OK? I had a sure thing... almost a sure thing."

Bramwald came over to I'zara, and gave her a hug. "OK. A year. But you better get me back after the year."

I'zara looked disconcerted, disarmed by Bramwald's honest affection. She wrapped her arms around his slender body, and rested her chin atop his head. "Freke would never let me rest, otherwise, kid."

Night's Black Agent (Part Two) (Bramwald)

I'zara grimaced as the human named Bramwald entered their house; she had gone to bed at a late hour, and had been inebriated enough that she had simply collapsed across the bed. Her head ached with the buzzing like a swarm of hornets, made worse by the incessant talking of her human slave.

"Escaping slavery through death is not a good way to die, but if you keep up your chattering then you will soon be quite free... or what is left of you will..." I'zara grumbled, throwing her thick zebra hide blanket over her achig head.

"It's not my fault you over-indulged in Wiley's Wicket Ale, mistress," answered the human from the cooking stove. "Besides, if you kill me, you won't have anyone to make your morning coffee... although technically, its more your 'afternoon coffee' now." Bramwald seemed undaunted by I'zara's grumbling threat. 

Slowly I'zara recognized the scent of the black coffee available from the Broken Keel, which imported it by the bag for select customers. "I guess I will have to show mercy, then..."

"Yes, my most amenable and beautiful mistress! Show everyone the kindness and mercy you show everyone, even a miserable slave!" Bramwald wore an iron torc and wrist manacles denoting his legal status as I'zaras slave. He wore a simple cotton tunic, and carried no weapon openly; arming slaves was considered the height of stupidity in Azeroth.

Bramwald come to where she was still huddled in the hell of deserved hangovers, and made her wrap her hands around the large porcelain mug. She sniffed the beverage, and almost smiled when she recognized that Bramwald had added cream and sugar, the way she preferred (although in hard times she would take it any way they could afford).

"A second cup is ready when you need a refill. Are you eating breakfast today?" he asked, knowing that sometimes her post-bacchanal condition precluded aught but coffee.

"Just coffee is fine," I'zara grumped.

The town of Ratchet was a goblin port in Kalimdor, near the Northern Barrens. Owned and operated by the carefully neutral goblin Steamwheedle Cartel, it had unofficially - meaning there was no solid, tangible proof - that Ratchet had served the Horde. Ratchet's mayor, a goblin named Gazlowe had taken over the Horde-aligned Bilgewater Cartel.  As with most things goblin, solid answers were unclear and changed with circumstance, but Ratchet was still available to Alliance merchants and visitors.

After all gold had no loyalty.

After I'zara's wolf partner Freke had adopted Bramwald as his "cub", I'zara had found registering Bramwald as her slave covered a variety of legal nuance with one overriding truth; anyone threating or mistreating Bramwald would be repaid with a bullet. 

As he grew, Bramwald had learned how to scrape and cure the pelts that I'zara brought home. Wiley, the innkeeper of the Broken Keel taught the boy other skills while the boy did odd jobs for the tavern; goblin accounting, cooking, and the proper way to make coffee. 

If I'zara and Wiley taught him other skills, like how to throw knives, or fight with axe and dagger.... it was nobody else' business. The wharf ad warehouses were kept remarkably free of rats, and Freke was well-fed.

I'zara was troubled; Bramwald was almost an adult by the reckoning of the humans. Orc and goblin children would long since been sent out into the world to make a place for themselves; it wouldn't be long before Bramwald should be allowed to do the same. He seemed content to continue indefinitely as I'zara's bondsman, but one of the skills that Bramwald had learned from his goblin neighbors was to lie with skill and guile. 

(WIP)

Night's Black Agent (Part One) (Bramwald)

The grass on the sides of the ridge of the Dagger Hills was as gold as a dragon's wet dream, but much less valuable than a dragon's hold. The rocky ridge straddled the area between the deserted village of Moonbrook and the Stranglethorn Jungle. Before the Cataclysm, this area had been the home of several caps of the Defias bandits, but they were long since gone in the aftermath of the brutal invasion of the lands of Westfall by the Burning Legion. Only the living beings here were now the lonely camp of  Grimbooze Thunderbrew, and the occasional miner seeking to find and exploit the area's prodigious copper veins.

There was no one to note the plaintive screams of a terrified infant human, sprawled in the dry amber grasses. His parents were being ripped apart to assuage the never-ending hunger of a pair of rotting ghouls which haunted the area, drifting over the Dead Acre from the accursed woodlands of Duskwood. The ghouls had surprised the pair, who had been hauling a load of hops, seeking Grimbooze Thunderbrew to convince him to make them a keg of Thunderbrew Lager. Both humans had died, and the child they had brought with them had been fortunate enough to find a relatively soft landing in the grass. His screams had not yet attracted the attention of the ghoulds during their depredations, but the child's escape would only be temporary, until the ghouls finished their grisly feast on the remains of his parents. The terrified wailing of the child would act as an unwelcome beacon for the ghouls.

A thunderous crack momentarily drowned out the child's cries. A bullet splattered the rotting cranium of one of the ghouls. The other raised his head from the gorey meal, looking for the source. A second loud crack, and the other ghoul collapsed, now headless.

A large white-furred wolf padded ver to the two ghoul carcasses, and spurned their rotten meat with a disdainful sniff before turning to where the infant lay in the grass, warily silent after the gunshots. The wolf nuzzled the child, and licked it. 

The child began to giggle at the soft nose and tongue.

"What you got there, Freki?" asked the wolf's companion and hunting partner.

The wolf arched his back, and whined hopefully.

"No!" The woman said in a firm voice. "We are not bringing it along. We're not in the orphan-adoption business!"

Another whine from the lupine creature.

"Not happening!" the woman orc named I’zara said, turning and heading back along the ridgeline to the coast. She had came from the Grom'gol Base Camp via boat to the abandoned pier in southern Longshore, dodging murlocs, fruitlessly searching for treasures left behind. Guided by a treasure map purchased from a goblin in Ratchet, the cache of gold and gemstones failed to materialize.

"Serves me right, buying a treasure map from goblin..." she muttered. "C'mon furball... wait, put that down." Freki had picked up the child by its cloth diaper, and had followed I’zara along the path.

Freki gave her a look of studied innocence, but did not put down her bundle. 

"Fine!," she said. "You want to adopt a human pup, then remember - it's your responsibility. You get to feed it, you get to keep it clean, you get to sleep with it..." She kept up an increasingly improbable litany of the wolf's responsibility, without any hint that she well knew who would find up with the necessary duties.

Vlados (02) - Alteraci Revenge is Cold

The warlock named Beve ignored the lack of powerful light and focused on the cramped, spider-like lettering of the forbidden book The Codex of Xerrath. She was desperate to absorb the book's contents, which would allow her to replace the fires of her spells with magical green Felfire.

A typical fire burned flesh. Felfire burned the flesh and soul.

Beve Perenolde

Her golden blond hair was loose and cascaded down over her shoulders. She preferred her hair down but rarely let other people see her that way; she inculcated the stiff formality of her position as the eldest child of  Aiden Perenolde and his deceased wife, Isolde. 

She was prized by the Syndicate not only because of her bloodline but also because she had studied magic use in Lordaeron City. She had joined her father in exile and was the leader of the magical operatives and the Argus Wake in the Syndicate.

She scowled deeply when a knock at her study door.

"What?" snarled Beve when she opened the door. One of her senior mages spoke respectfully to his mistress.

"Karvela has been found dead, Mistress," he informed.

"Elaborate." Beve was displeased; Karvela had been a personal protege, showing great talent and ambition.

"She was leading a team guarding a ransom prisoner. It appears that the team was killed by a Ravenholdt strike team."

"And the prisoner?" Beve asked.

"Gone."

She stood there, and the senior mage would have sworn he could hear a cold, impersonal clockwork mechanism grinding within her cranium.

"Find her. If we can't find her, we'll... ask.. her ransomer." Beve smiled, and the cold emanating would have made the harshest Alteraci winter seem like a Kaldorei spring. "Meanwhile, ask our sources inside Ravenholdt if they'd been hired for a retrieval."

"Karvela was quite an asset and has been taken from me. I need to know where to send the bill for payment."

                                                        *     *     *     *     *

Vlados pulled out the only unoccupied chair at the inn table. "Mind if I join you? he said to the seated woman.

Veranda

"Why would I mind?" answered the woman. "After all, I asked you to come." Vlados had liberated Veranda from the rapacious Syndicate, who had been holding her for ransom. Veranda had returned home to her merchant family unharmed, but Vlados was surprised by a letter from her asking to meet her at the inn in Andorhal.

"You did indeed. You are looking well." She was - her glossy long black hair reached past her shoulders, and Vlados could see that the bruises festooning her face from beatings given to her by her captors had all healed. Her bright brown eyes were the color of goblin chocoltes, and as sweet. Her smile indicated that her spirit had recovered as well.

"Thank you. Your healing potion did s remarkable job."

"I am glad you didn't need it for a more serious reason." Vlados signaled for their server. "Something to drink?"

"Thank you. Do you know if their wine is any good?" she asked.

"They have some Dalaran, Red which is quite acceptable," Vlados said.

She nodded, and Vlados ordered a bottle for the ands some fruit and cheese.

"So... what brings you here?" Vlados asked.

"You do." Veranda looked dow, and then back up to meet his eyes. "I asked my father who you were - he didn't know. All he could tell me was that when certain merchant circles heard the Syndicate was holding me for ransom, you were recommended as someone who could help. That you could resolve thi, and do what needs to be done. That you have before. My father... my father was beyond worrie,d  but he hired you." She hesitated. "Is it true you refused to take money for this?"

Vlados slowly nodded. "It is."

"May I know the reason why?"

It was Vlados' turn to hesitate. He nodded to himself, making a decision. "My family was Alteraci, a minor noble House. The same people who formed the Syndicate killed my family and despoiled our hotheybefore the burned it to the ground." As he spoke, his Alteraci accent became thicker with emotion. "The Syndicate is an Alteraci problem, born of their treason against the Alliance. It is the duty of those of us who remain to stand against them when we can."

"One does not charge for doing one's duty," he added.

They both sat in silence, sipping their wine.

After a time. she spoke. "May I show my appreciation in another way, Vlados?" He nodded, finishing his wine. She completed her own, and stood.

She stretched out her hand to him.

He took it, and allowed himself to be guided to the stair which led up to the inn sleeping rooms.

                                                       *     *     *     *     *

The third noise from the inn’s hallway had Vlados swing his legs out of the warm bed and begin to shrug into his leathers. An inn hallway often made noise, but usually it was a boisterous, drunken noise, the result of a patron having spent too much time swilling his alcohol of choice for far too long.

These noises were the sound of someone trying so very hard not to make noise, and a third noise meant probably several someones. 

Vlados shook Veranda awake. “Under the bed, swiftly. Don’t make a sound.” Veranda wasted no time in questions but slid out of bed and under it. 

It was not more than seconds before the door to the room burst in, shattered with eldritch force. Two Syndicate rogues leaped forward, standing guard while the woman - presumably their superior - strode arrogantly into the room. She looked around, and seeing only Vlados standing ready, said “Fools! You’ve lost her and led us into a trap - take him.” she smiled nastily. “We’ll ask his corpse where she has gone.”

Vlados pulled a potion bottle from his bandolier, and confirmed via the coded etched sigils around the neck that he had selected the correct one; he had once tossed a healing potion to a Defias bandit he’d been fighting to the confusion of both parties. 

The cork came off and the potion splashed all over its target. The other attacked as his compatriot began to scream as the acid splashed across his face began to sear itself painfully into his face and eyes. The screams distracted his partner long enough for Vlados to step back and draw his matching set of pearl-hilted daggers. 

Vlados caught the thrust of the Syndicate assassin on one knife and stabbed the wrist holding the sword, spinning inside his opponent’s reachand stabbing him in the throat. Blood pulsed through the assassin’s  orange mask, staining the mask a dark shade of purple. The body crumpled to the floor. 

The supervisor finished casting her spell and Vlados watched, frozen, as the woman transformed into an undead creature; after the defeat of the Burning Legion, the Argus Wake had been forced to re-focus on necromancy rather than demonology, aided by their allies in Scholomance in Caer Darrow.

Vlados had known, but the fear emanating from the transformed horror in front of him had caught him off-guard. The hesitation cost him as the claws shredded the cuir boli chest armor and the flesh beneath.

Fortunately, Vlados had already prepared; another potion bottle shattered on the beast, and the liquid smoked as the necrotic flesh boiled away. The creature turned and took three steps before collapsing, the wounds continuing to putrefy after it’s unholy animation ceased. 

Veranda came out from under the bed. “Are you alright?”

“Nothing I cant endure,” Vlados said. The four talon-marks burned with infection; the claws had been filthy but it was nothing his healing alchemy wouldn’t repair. “Get dressed. They were looking for you. That,” he said, kicking the body of the creature. “She was looking for you, and not particular as to whether or not you were dead or alive before they questioned you.” Vlados knelt and put the acid-burned assailant out of his misery. 

“What do we do now?” Veranda asked.

“Pack. I’m going to head downstairs and apologize to the innkeeper for the mess, and file a report with the guards.” Vlados would announce to all within earshot that the Syndicate had fallen into the trap set by Ravenholdt, and that their agent posing as Veranda would have to find a new assignment. 

Vlados was sure that the Syndicate would get the report, via bribery or some other chicanery of their spy network. Veranda could go back to her life. The Syndicate would think that this was a Ravenholdt trap, and keep their distance rather than waste more of their resources.

Ravenholdt was a school who taught only the finest thieves and assassin. They had been in a shadow-war with the Syndicate since the Syndicate had begun their operations; framing them for the Syndicate’s deaths and defeat was jsut another mark in in their ledger.

“Shame I won’t be able to see her again,” Vlados thought. Syndicate eyes were everywhere, and to keep Veranda off their awareness Vlados would have to stay well away.

                                                       *     *     *     *     *

"I had such hopes for her, too.." Beve sighed. "She showed a genuine flair for necromancy." She paused, considering. "Let us see if we can devise a way to balance the debt we owe Ravenholdt."

Vlados (01) - Rabbit Stew

The fellow clad in black cuir boli leather armor cradled the crossbow like a lover. Downrange from his position, he watched the shaggy, white-furred yeti chase over hard-crusted snow and ice covering the Alteraci mountains after a frantic fleeing snowshoe rabbit. He let out his breath and depressed the mechanism trigger. 

Vlados Colton

The crossbow bolt flew true, speeding on the path the shooter had planned. The bolt smashed into the thick-skulled beast at the ear under the spiraling horn, punching into the animal's brain. Impetus carried the body six feet, churning up the snow.

The snowshoe rabbit wasted no time finding cover, not yet convinced that the danger had passed.

“Be safe, Little Brother,” murmured the shooter, rising from where he had been concealed. The snowshoe rabbit had earned another day in peace, however much he would have made a tasty stew. Once upon a time, the snowshoe rabbit had been an essential animal to the Alteraci, who had once lived here before the Alliance destroyed the kingdom. Their fur had provided them with warm boots, tunics, cloaks, and gloves while their meat had fed them, both as a tasty stew and as dried travel meat. As a child, their estate had raised them as a form of livestock.

Vlados shook his head to clear it from the cobwebs and replaced his orange wool mask. The mask was annoying when attempting concealment, and only Syndicate bravos wore them; the orange color had been initially worn to honor their Alteraci heritage and had become their signature.

The Syndicate was a criminal organization from the Arathi Highlands to the Alterac Mountains. It was formed by Alteraci noblemen and the remnants of their forces after King Aiden Perenolde had betrayed the Alliance and was subsequently destroyed by the forces of Stromgarde. Remnants of the Argus Wake augmented their sorcerous power and then strived to spread their power and influence using terror and depredation.

Alteraci Yeti

Vlados trudged wearily through the snow, finally coming to where he had hobbled his thick-coated Alteraci mule. Hunting the yeti was a tactic, using the scent of its blood to attract and distract others of its kind; they’d posture and fight over its carcass for the meat. Yetis were opportunistic feeders who did not scruple regarding cannibalism, and while they were distracted, they would not bother Vlados and his cargo.

It did not take Vlados long to locate the cave he sought. As he approached the mouth of the cave, a voice rang out. “Stand and step away from the mule.”

Being careful to keep his hands away from visible weapons, Vlados did as instructed; a figure, clad in much the same way as Vlados, appeared from concealment. 

“Speak,” he said, his voice muffled by his orange mask.

“Messenger pouch on the mule,” Vlados said. “Plus supplies.” Vlados held up a badge etched with the mark of the Syndicate.

The sentinel went to the mule and opened the messenger pouch. It contained a leather scroll case. He turned to Vlados. “You’re late.”

Vlados shrugged. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

The sentinel waved off his associates still in concealment. “Let's get out of this crap,” he said, leading the mule to Vlados and leading Vlados and the mule to the cave.

The cave was not very impressive, just the one chamber, with pallets of bedding along the walls. A warm fire of dried dung was close enough to the entrance that its smoke would exit the cave. The back of the chamber held a woman wearing a now-dirty merchant blouse and trousers. She had bruises on her face and kept her eyes averted from the rest of the cave’s occupants - four other armored Syndicate bravos and a woman in robes festooned with Fel-green sigils - a mage.

Vlados’ guide went to the mage; as a rule, mages in the Syndicate acted as leaders. “Message and supplies, Boss.”

“Good. We were getting low,” commented the mage as she opened the scroll and read. “Good news - Anacratus will pay to get his daughter back.” She looked at Vlados. “More snow tonight. You should be fine to leave in the morning, but leave the mule; we’ll need it for the hostage.” If the Syndicate followed the usual pattern, once the ransom had been paid, the daughter would be released on the road from Strahnbrad, once a major trade city of Alterac but now a ghost town sheltering the Syndicate. The road from Strahnbrad led to Andorhal and the Argent Crusade based at Chillwind Point. 

She finished reading the scroll. “Sorry, boys - no playtime with this one.” She indicated their captive with a nod. “She’s payroll, not plunder.” When captives could not find someone to pay their ransom, they became little more than slaves, used mercilessly by their captors.

The Syndicate bravos unpacked the mule, but Vlados unloaded his own backpack. 

“What’s that?” one asked.

“Personal stuff; I went on a courier run to Redridge and picked up some peppers for Canaga,” Vlados said.

“Canaga? You cook?” asked one of the bravos. Canaga was a traditional Alteraci stew made with any bovine meat at hand, onions, apples, and peppers. 

“How about you make some for us tonight,” asked another bravo.

Vlados pretended to think about it. “Why not? Just remember to buy me drinks in Strahnbad after you get paid.” The bravos agreed to the deal, and Vlados handed them a fancy carved wooden box with the prize - dried and crushed Cindergut Peppers from Pandaria.

The bravos started the stew while Vlados made himself useful. Walking over to the captive, he took her food bowl. “Snowmelt and jerky are good enough for you,” he taunted. “Don’t fret - if Daddy pays, it won’t be much longer.” Vlados went outside, scoured the bowl with snow, then packed it full to bring back inside.

Returning to the captive, he put the bowl down next to her. “Drink only water. Eat only jerky,” he whispered. “Keep hope alive.” She replied with tight lips but the barest of nods.

That night the Syndicate celebrated the near-success of their assignment. The ale cask Vlados had brought was broached just in time to help the bandits fight the spicy fire from the stew. The guards on watch were changed after dinner and were delighted to find a veritable feast waiting for them. Around the fire, Vlados told stories for their entertainment. By midnight, the fire's food, ale, and warmth had them all bed down for the night, contented and full.

By morning, the fire had gone out; no one had fed it fuel during the cold evening. Vlados woke, shook the captive awake, then sliced the ropes that held her captive. “Stand up and walk around. We’ve got a way to travel and little time before they figure out you’re free.”

“What, the guards?” asked the captive.

“Oh, no… the rest of the Syndicate. These are dead.”

“Dead? It looks like they are sleeping,” she said, still not understanding.

“Yes, an eternal sleep, as it turns out, Miss Veranda,” said Vlados. “Anacratus hired me to rescue you, or avenge you, whichever worked out best.” He smiled at her. “As it happens, I have done both for the same fee. Quite the bargain.”

“How..” Veranda started to ask, but Vlados interrupted her. “A two-part poison. The first part was in the ale, the second mixed in with the Cinergut peppers to hide the taste.” 

“How did you avoid it, then? I saw you eating and drinking with them,” she asked.

“I made the poison; of course, I also made some antidote. I’d have slipped it into your water if they’d shown a little kindness and fed you the stew,” Vlados said. “Now steal a cloak and wait outside; I need to slit their throats and loot their bodies.”

Veranda nodded but asked while getting herself ready. “Isn’t slitting their throats kind of…redundant, now?” 

“Not at all,” he said, beginning his grisly work. “The blood scent will attract scavengers, and when the Syndicate discovers the body when their messenger fails to return, they’ll send someone to check. Slit throats and robbery give them an obvious cause of death, and the scavengers will obscure everything else.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, but I don’t want them to suspect poison - I may have to do this again,” said Vlados. “Fortunately, they drank all of the ale. Be ready to leave when I get back.”

“Where are you going?”

“To make sure the sentries match the others.” Vlados smiled again. “I may need to do this again, but I have done this before.” 

When Vlados returned, he found Veranda ready to travel. “Here, take this and drink. It’ll help with the bruises.”

“What is it?” Veranda asked. 

“Healing potion. It's a long way to Andorhal, and it’ll seem longer if you are in pain.” Vlados didn’t mention that he had brought it to help with any wounds she might have suffered from her captivity.

He helped her mount the mule and led her away towards Andorhal and safety.

Vlados Colton Art!

 

Post-Syndicate Armor

Syndicate Disguise

Vanessa Colton Artwork

 One of my RP partners, Vanessa Colton!