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."

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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.

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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.

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"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!

Tyanna Blackwood Art (cheesecake!)

 

Mean Streets

 "Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid." -Raymond Chandler 

The fellow named Jon Chess ran through the streets of the Dampwick Ward. The buildings were ramshackle, and the area was the most impoverished district of Boralus. Criminals and ne’er-do-wells rubbed elbows with Tidesage doomsayers and beggars. Unlike the mythical hero, Jon was both tarnished and afraid; that said, he was also resolute. 

At midnight, the killer known to the city guardsman as the Smile-Maker would practice his grisly trade, and the kidnapped Draenei priestess Vlana Starbow would be forcibly violated and her throat opened by the Smile-Maker's straight razor.  

It was perilously close to midnight.

Jon made haste though the streets and alleys, and most abroad gave him a wide berth - someone armed and moving with celerity and purpose did not promise much profit. He entered the open area near the docks, and was surprised to find the night market all but deserted.

“Ho there, fellow,” called a rough voice in Jon’s path. Three ruffians of the Scrimshaw Gang stepped from the shadows. Without looking around, Jon heard more noise behind him to both the left and right. Just over a half-dozen enemies, each armed with weapons ranging from broken bottles to knives to clubs to cutlasses and broadswords. Jon recognized the scarlet signs of membership in the Scrimshaw Gang.

The Scrimshaw Gang control much of the criminal enterprise in Dampwick Ward and hook Pointe; loansharking, smuggling, bribes, illicit drug peddling, pickpocketing, petty theft, mugging, and prostitution. Based in the Kelp Club, they controlled much of the underground commerce in Boralus.

“You seem to be in haste; bide with us awhile”, continued the leader of the mob. “We have been well-paid to… ah, entertain you with our hospitality.” The weapons being carried by his friends became more visibly brandished. 

As if summoned by magic, twin long daggers appeared in Jon’s gloved hands. He was swiftly cataloging how to proceed; a thick smoke grenade tossed to the ground, providing Jon with concealment, roll to the right, take advantage of the confusion to slit the throat of the leader’s flanking flunky when the portly leader became enveloped in a conflagration of fire.

“Our father often runs off for no reason, and explains matters later,” commented a fellow clad in green mageweave garments. A flaming rune was suspended over his short hair, dancing around his brow like a fairy in the moonlight. “He generally has a good reason, though.” Jon felt a spike of hope in his heart. His son Baron had come to help.

Before the Scrimshaw Gang could react, a crossbow bolt found a new home in the base of one of the backline member’s skull. A leather-clad fellow had fired and dropped his crossbow, armed with a Kul Tiran short boarding halberd. A huge wolf with a disreputable coat festooned with the detritus of nature growled alongside his partner. 

Jon’s other son, Bishop, and his partner wolf Mange closed in from the other end of the crowd.

“Father, leave these wharf rats to us - you have a lady to save,” said Bishop. 

Baron Chess, Dalaran-trained, raised a shield of flame. “No time to waste. We got this.” The members of the Scrimshaw Gang snarled almost in unison, and battle was joined. Jon’s smoke bomb detonated, obscuring Jon’s location as he invoked an Aarokoan cantrip, and he merged into the Shadows, wasting no time but trusting that his children were more than equal to running interference for their father.  

His heart swelled with pride even as he sprinted down the alleyway towards his rendezvous with a killer.

At the north end of the Ashvane Docks were a number of buildings used as warehouses and transitory businesses for the Commissioned Privateers whose seized cargoes were disposed of, often with no questions asked. It was not a coincidence that most privateers used the Ashvane Docks for their ill-gotten goods; the area was run by the Ashvane Trading Company, which had a long and notorious history of quasi-legal operations. Wholly spurious Bills of Lading, false Certificates of Provenance, and other forged documents were easily and anonymously available to grease the skids of commerce. The company had interests in virtually all aspects of the value chain of merchandise including weapons manufacturing, shipping, security, smuggling, and outright piracy.

It was the ideal place for a sociopathic serial killer like the Smile-Maker - he fit right in.

Jon’s destination was a building whose third floor was a small apartment with a wide patio deck. Jon felt sure that if he had a forensics mage on retainer in Kul Tiras, that he would be able to prove that the Smile-Maker abused and then killed his victims on that patio, secure in the neighborhood where people rarely looked up, and if they did, denied that they had seen anything. Often during his investigation, potential witnesses either refused to talk at all or had merely said “I did’na see nothing”.

Nearing the long, two-story warehouse that was almost the entire way across the Ashvane Docks, Jon mounted the stairs two at a time. He leaped atop a stack of barrels, and from the top of those, leaped to the covering rooftop of the second floor. Handy widows provided Jon with a ladder-like scaffolding to climb to the peaked rooftop of the second floor. 

He sprinted across the rooftop. The building he sought was now running in parallel with the building he was on, and Jon saw his chance. He ran down the roof edge, and leaped into the air, firing a Gnomish-made wrist harpoon. Less than a foot in length, the flanges of a grapple fell into place as the mithril-wire reinforced spider silk cord followed the grappling hook. Jon saw the grappling hook embed itself in a cargo crane arm attached to this destination, and triggered the mechanism for the harpoon device to retract the cord. The harpoon grappling hook held, and Jon was dragged forward. He dropped the device just as his hands found purchase on the waist-high perimeter fence of the deck area. He vaulted the fence and landed on the deck.

The Smile-maker turned to face him as Jon landed, perhaps fifteen feet away. The fellow was Kul Tiran, and had a mass of muscle forged by long days of slinging heavy crates and barrels on and off of ships. He stood a good head taller than Jon, and his shaggy hair, unkempt beard, mustache, and porkchop sideburns made him seem for all the world like a bear walking on two feet. He was clad in sea-leathers such as any Kul Tiran mariner wore. One of his hands gripped his trademark weapon, a straight-bladed Syndicate Dagger. The other hand was wrapped in the hair of his current victim.

Jon had discovered that the Smile-Maker had been purchasing blue-skinned “foreigners” - either Ren’dorei or Draenei women - from slavers. Slavery was technically illegal in the Alliance, but there were many places where the word “indentured servant” and slave were interchangeable, with forged indentureship agreements. Just up the Ashvane alley, so to speak.

His current victim had been an Emissary of the Light named Vlana Starbow, come to Boralus to heal the sick and feed the poor and indigent, much to the stern disapproval of the Tidesages, who otherwise had a firm hold of Kul Tiran spirituality; the official position of the Tidesages was that if something unfortunate happened to the Alliance Interlopers, that was just too damned bad.

The Smile-Maker had stripped his victim and drugged her to the gills to keep her pliable and quiet. Mercifully, she had lost consciousness and hung almost lifeless in his grasp.

“A knight comes to the rescue,” cried the Smile-Maker, bringing the knife to her throat. “Jon Chess, isn’t it, aping the fashion of Kul Tiras honest sailors? The lickspittle lackey of that Dalaran bitch who stole the Admiralty.”

“Jaina Proudmoore is every inch a Kul Tiran,” Jon said, drawing both his daggers. “As for my clothes, they have the advantage of being comfortable, given Boralus weather.” Mornings in Boralus were often cold and wet, with thick fogs that often did not burn away before the noon hour.

“Well, closer, little man… let's dance,” taunted the Smile-Maker. “I’ll have to clear my hands of this…baggage first though. Shame, too… I hadn’t quite had the chance to enjoy the foreign slut the way I did the others.”

“Well, put her down and I’ll put my blades down,” offered Jon. “That way once you kill me you can enjoy her afterward.”

“That is the first smart thing you’ve said yet,” smirked the Smile-Maker. “You first.”

One by one Jon let his daggers clatter to the deck underfoot.

“OK, your turn…” Jon started to say but was interrupted by the glove of ice that had instantly formed around the Smile-Maker’s knife, hand, and forearm.

“Wrong Dalaran bitch,” came Alia’s commanding voice from the rooftop, standing in front of a teleportation portal. “He’s MY lickspittle lackey, thank you very much - I just let Jaina borrow him!” She turned to Jon. “Take him.” 

The Smile-maker dropped the Draenei and reached for a weapon, but before he could draw it Jon’s flintlock pistol barked with its loud voice, and the ball tore itself a doggy door hole in the Smile-Maker’s throat.

 

Love is in the Air Part III

The bitter cold of the wind made the bones in Snow FitzSilver's body ache. The trip on griffon-back from Stormwind to Booty Bay was long, and the winds could freeze a man's blood to ice in the dead of winter.

Snow woke up feeling stiff and cold in an alleyway where he had encountered the succubus Darynn and been given... a preview of his payment if he could find out the information she desired.

Unfortunately, Snow was not precisely sure how to proceed and whether or not his promised payment was worth that much effort. Snow was a very young man, but his innocence had been lost some time ago; pleasurable though his encounter with the succubus had been, it was not worth spending an inordinate amount of time. On the other hand, succubi had decades, perhaps centuries, of practice... Snow shook his head to clear it.

What amazed him was that he had fallen asleep in the alleyway climax; taking a post-orgasm nap was not unheard of, but in an alleyway, on the cobblestones and the cold? That made Snow suspicious that the sayaadi had used some magical compulsion in addition to her sexual skill.

Snow's task was to find the alchemist who had sold the compulsive colognes and perfumes for the Crown Chemical Company so that Darynn could obtain a sample. The Crown Chemical Company was a front for a renegade Forsaken alchemist's plan, but adventurers had foiled whatever that plan had been and destroyed the stock of the elixirs which had made the wearer very erotically compelling. 

Unfortunately for Snow, goblins had invented the concept of the "limited liability corporation". New ones sprung up and collapsed all the time. Fraud and chicanery were more common than not in Goblin business, with "take the money and run" often the rule rather than the exception.

Snow did have an advantage. Before heading to Booty Bay, he had sought advice from "Uncle Jon" - Snow's adopted guardian Griffonclaw was the elder half-brother to Jon Chess, a professional private investigator and widely-traveled Agent of Cheese. He had given Snow the name of a contact Snow could use, and a letter of introduction. With that in hand, Snow had hired a griffon and headed south.

Originally named Blackwater Cove, the area was originally occupied by humans, who were slaughtered by trolls. The trolls, in turn, were dispossessed by goblins of the Steamwheedle Cartel, who founded Booty Bay to act as a center of commercial operations. The city is run by Baron Revilgaz in conjunction with the Blackwater Raiders and is open to Alliance and Horde alike as neutral territory, keeping the city and area clear of the depredations of pirates such as the Bloodsail Buccaneers. 

The griffon landed safely, and Snow took advantage of the nearby side entrance to the Salty Sailor tavern, where he found an empty table and signaled for a server. 

"Hello! I am Zixxy, your server. What can I getcha?" said a pretty goblin ser4ver in a short sarong.

"What would you recommend? asked Snow.

"Gilnean Fizzy Water, Thistle Tea, and Tropical Sunfruit Juice" she informed him.

"Sounds delicious. I'll take that," confirmed Snow.

Zixxy returned shortly with a tall glass containing his drink, and a sporty little umbrella.

"That's four silvers" she said, setting the drink in front of Snow.

"Here you go,: said Snow as he laid a gold coin on the table. "I'm looking for a friend, a guy named Stavros DarKovin. Any idea where I might find him?"

"I have no idea, but you might ask Nixxrax," she said, pointing a disreputable-looking goblin fellow out to Snow while deftly scooping up the coin. "He's one of those guys who knows everyone." She batted her eyes at Snow. "I just know big tippers," she said, winking at Snow.

Snow smiled at the not-so-subtle hint. "Keep the change."

Snow rose from his chair, and took a sip of his drink. He approached the fellow that Zixxy had pointed out.                                           

(WIP)

Snow Art

 

Love Is in the Air, Part II (Smut warning)

 

The Slaughtered Lamb tavern was quite crowded, and the white-haired fellow who stood just inside the door let his eyes adjust to the smoky dimness of the lights. The seedy pub was located in the Mage district of the city of Stormwind, and was something of a base of operations for the the city's warlock community. In days past, warlocks had run afoul of Stormwind law and been subject to vigilante action by the Scarlet Inquisition and others, actions often overlooked by the constabulary.  After the defeat of the Burning Legion and the heroic roll played by the Black Harvest and other warlocks, the Alliance forces allowed Warlocks to openly practice their arts, although discretion was still a wise safety precaution; old prejudices died hard after so many years of war with the Burning Legion and it's agents.

The fellow had been sent a message, which simply specified a time and place. While cautious, the fellow was also very curious; a curiosity which had landed Snow FitzSilver in hot water several times before. 

Snow looked over the assortment of disreputable types and street rats. Having spent so much of their career in the seamy underbelly of society, warlocks were an eclectic lot, consorting with hirelings of a less savory reputation. Many warlocks also dabbled in necromancy, and while warlockry and trafficking in demons was now above-board, many of their assistants, minions, and collaborators still pursued borderline illegal activities.

Snow was about to turn and leave when a woman in a full cloak and hood stepped up and took his arm. "Shall we take the air, Snow?" asked husky contralto voice. 

"Nothing would give me more pleasure," assured Sniow, guiding the woman outside. Together the two of them slowly walked together with no fixed destination, their voices low and intimate to keep their conversation private.

"Master FitzSilver, my name is Darynn, and I need you to find someone fro me, someone who probably does not want to be found," explained Darynn.

"Very good. What is this person's name? Profession? Habits? General region?" asked Snow.

"That is part of my problem; let me explain," began Darynn, "During the last Love is in the Air celebration, some coercive magical wares were sold by the Crown Chemical Company. There were brewed and supplied by a renegade Forsaken alchemist but he was defeated before his plans -whatever they might have been - were realized. Most of the coercive wares were confiscated and destroyed... but the recipe for them was almost certainly devised, or at least known, by the head goblin in charge of alchemical products for the company."

"That might be a problem...," said FitzSilver.

"Yes, I am aware. Goblin companies are created and dissolved as swiftly as a summer snowfall, and it has been some months... what I am looking for is a sample of the perfume that they used, the one causing an irresistible lust in anyone fortunate enough to catch the scent."

"I see... well, I don't see, precisely, but that is of no matter. I assume that the pay will be commensurate with the effort?"

"Of course," replied Darynn, pulling Snow into a deserted cul-de-sac. She found a dark corner, offering some discrete concealment, and dropped her hood and cloak, allowing Snow a visual feast of her physical form.

The sayaadi was pink of skin, with glowing azure eyes and dark, luxurious black hair. Her tongue, slightly forked, wet her lips as she parted her lips. Sharp canines, resembling more a vampire's mouth than a human's, gave her lovely face a predatory cast. Her wings were carefully furled behind her, obscuring nothing of her firm, high breasts encased in a leather corset top. Her hips and the delightful apex of her thighs were covered by soft dark mageweave panties, and the material was thin enough that Snow could see her cunt lips and clitoris pressing against the soft material.

Darynn dropped to her knees. "Let me give you a retainer, so to speak..." she said, chuckling as she unlaced the front of his leather pants. "After all, I want you to do a thorough job, so I think that it is only fair that I do a thorough job." She exposed Snow's hardening cock to the night air. "I do so much love the taste of a virile man's hot, sticky seed..." she hissed. His cock was almost touching her lips as she wrapped her hand around it; she had contemplated just giving him a teasing hand job, but she had not had a taste of cock juice in weeks, and she found her own desire for the taste of spunk in her mouth causing an ache in her loins. 

She began slowly brush the cockhead against her lips, her forked serpentine tongue coming out to brush against the sensitive skin of his glans. she took another breath and began to lick Snow's cockshaft. She wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock and lowered her head, taking his hard cockmeat into her wet, eager mouth. Her head began to bob, and Snow moaned at the sensation of her warm, wet, silken mouth. 

Once more Snow moaned, and Darynn matched it with a sultry moan of her own. The resonance of her moan vibrated through Snow's delighted cock, and he slipped his fingers into her hair, enjoying the texture of her tresses. Darynn loved having her hair pulled while pleasuring a partner with her mouth; gentle, loving sexual pleasures were for mortals. She wanted, no craved, rougher treatment; she wanted to be treated like a toy, a sexual object to be used for pleasure like the slut she was. 

She swirled her inhumanly long and agile tongue around his cockhead and shaft, taking him deeper into her mouth. Unlike mortals, she had no gag reflex to fight. She sucked his cock in deeper and deeper until her lips were buried in the rough hair around the base of his cock. She flexed her throat muscles around the length of Snow's cock, and she was gratified when he began to move, tentatively at first but then with decisiveness until the cock was fucking the sayaadi's throat. Darynn purred; that was more like it! This is what she was made for, what she craved, ad she exulted in the pleasure she gave, the pleasure that she controlled. 

Darynn tasted it first; the taste of precum leaking from, his cock into her mouth. Salty and bitter, it was a taste that acted as a harbinger of what was to come. Snow's orgasm almost caught him by surprise as his cock convulsed once, then again. The third convulsion carried with it the wave of his climax, and Darynn had her own series of mini-orgasms as she received rope after rope of sticky sweet cum. She rode his cock with her mouth and tongue, collecting the spunk in her mouth as most of it went straight down her throat and into her belly. 

When Snow's motions ceased and his once-proud cock shrunk to its former self, Darynn pushed cum with her tongue, cascading over her lips, down her chin, and onto her breasts. While Snow watched in a daze, she played with the cum, rubbing it into her breasts, neck, and face. "If I had more time, I would suck that magnificent cock hard again, and give my cunt a taste; I love taking cum in my mouth, but I especially enjoy a cock filling my belly and then playing with it with my fingers, inside of me," she informed him, a hungry look in her glowing eyes. 

"You will find out what I need to know, and come back for your payment, yes?" teased Darynn as she shrugged back into her cloak and hood.

Snow snoring softly was his only reply.

Love Is in the Air, Part I

The Ren'dorei woman named Tyanna Blackwood was in her office, balancing accounts when a knock came from the closed office door.

"Come," she called, not even looking up from her ledger.

Darynn the Sayaadi

"You give the best commands, Mistress," laughed the sayaadi. "But we don't really have that much time.. besides you never take me to your bed."

"Darynn, we've talked about that!" admonished Tyanna. "It is no reflection on you or your appeal."

"Then why have you banished me?" whined the succubus.

"I summon you every day, hardly an exile!"

"You summon me to do laundry and housework! That is worse than banishment!" exclaimed Darynn. "Especially after you forbade me to... ask for a little help."

Tyanna rolled her eyes. "Enslaving my butler was not an acceptable solution, and we still haven't been able to find a decent replacement!"

"It's not my fault you insist on them having free will," sneered Darynn. 

"Enough - the subject is not open for debate!" said Tyanna.

"You don't see the irony of enslaving demons to obey your commands but denying us the right to do the same?" sighed Darynn. 

"Oh, I see it - I just don't care. The Burning Legion was a very costly lesson, and only a fool would give you the freedom to wreak more havoc," admonished Tyanna. "Did you need something or just want to needle me?" Tyanna's sayaadi never missed an opportunity to kvetch to her mistress.

Darynn sulked, mumbling as she returned to the seemingly endless list of chores that still needed to be done. "She doesn't appreciate me at all!" whined the succubus, feeling sorry for herself. "Just because she's given up on love... it would be just and fair if karma made her fall in love with someone unsuitable...a gnome, perhaps, or a stuffy paladin!"

Darynn pondered as she folded laundry; at least the Mistress allowed her to use magic to do the washing, especially Tyanna's lingerie. Tyanna was the designer and owner of the best lingerie business in the Alliance, relocating her Silvermoon establishment to Stormwind after her transformation from Sin'dorei to Ren'dorei and subsequent exile. 

That gave the succubus an idea... perhaps karma could use an alchemical assist? Darynn recalled last year's Love is in the Air holiday, a celebration characterized by sweet flowers, perfume, and sharing gifts with loved ones. There had been a sinister plot is afoot involving some shady goblins - if that was not redundant - and some alchemically-altered perfumes and colognes; they made the wearer quite interested in... carnal adventures, freeing them from inhibitions and stoking their libdios to a white-hot frenzy. 

If only the plot hadn't been thoroughly crushed by a bad of adventurers... a bottle of that perfume would be just the thing to inspire Mistress Tyanna with the right attitude to be more appreciative of her own sayaadi. Darynn continued folding while giving it more thought. What she needed was to find the goblin alchemist who had created the perfume for the Crown Chemical Company.

Darynn had a good idea of who she might convince to help her, too...