The Tavern (RP-Story)

[shinnjin]

((Just a little thing inspired up by a combination of insomnia, Ingolfion and boredom. Hope you enjoy it.))


It was a night not out of the ordinary at the tavern.
This is to say it was anything but ordinary.
The young heroes bragging about their endeavours were conspicuous with their absence; the shady characters one always finds in dark corners were however in abundance.
This was due to the fact that this tavern was the local haunt for the Fallen Ones and their allies.
So, rubbing bony shoulders with the rough hides of orcs were free-willed undead, often referred to as the Forsaken; mighty taurens and sly-witted trolls were having drinking contests.
Or they would if this was an ordinary night, but this was, as we’ve already established, anything but.
Tonight something that hadn’t happened for as long as anyone could remember was putting a spell on the crowd.
It was raining.
The loudest sound to be heard was the gentle smattering of raindrops on the windows and the low crackling of the dying fire in the hearth.
Mighty warriors and tavern-maids alike were transfixed by this rare occurrence.
Suddenly the stillness was shattered by the sound of the door being flung open and a sack of bones clattering in over the threshold.
The only effect this had on the room was one troll reaching out and pushing the door closed again.
The pile of bones lay still for a minute before slowly picking itself up of the floor.
The young priest Logosh brushed himself off and checked that all his bones were in their correct places before looking around.
Sensing the mood he quietly made his way over to a mostly empty table and sat down opposite a tauren shaman who was buffing at his equipment with a piece of cloth.
“Sombre mood tonight,” said the undead in a quiet voice, “is anything the matter?”
The shaman didn’t look up, but the cloth stopped in mid-motion.
“You haven’t been with us long, have you?” The tauren asked in an equally quiet voice.
“I cannot say that I have. Is there some custom I am not aware of that has so entranced us?”
A low growl was suddenly heard from the dark corner in the far end of the room followed by the unmistakeable sound of a sword being eased in its scabbard.
Logosh slowly turned his head and looked straight into a pair of glowing red eyes, staring menacingly at him from across the room.
“If you value what you call your life. You will lower your voice even more, or better yet, don’t talk at all.” Said the tauren without moving a muscle.
Using all his training as a member of the clergy, Logosh tried to make himself seem as unthreatening as possible.
After a few minutes the red eyes disappeared and the mood of the room eased a fraction.
The shaman slid a tankard of beer over to Logosh who gratefully took it and chugged down a big gulp, quietly.
“Our friend in the corner doesn’t wish to be disturbed tonight. My advice is to grant that wish.”
Shuddering in remembrance of the complete remorselessness in the glowing eyes Logosh nodded.
Almost whispering he asked, “Who, or what, is our friend over there?”
Putting the cloth down and inspecting the piece of armour he’d been buffing, the shaman replied.
“That, is Shinnjin, one of the rogues that frequent the tavern. She’s a troll, and usually a nice girl with an infections laugh and a somewhat odd sense of humour.”
Setting the piece of armour aside, the tauren sighed.
“Is, I say, although I’m not so sure anymore. Something happened a few months ago that changed her…”
“Changed? In what way?”
“Well…” The tauren scratched his neck, “She has a darker mood now, and she can go all quiet and just look at you in a way that makes you feel like a rabbit before a snake.”
He shrugged his massive shoulders.
“I don’t really know the details, but from what I’ve gathered, it all started the night she came out of Onyxia’s lair bearing the fabled blade Vis’kag the Bloodletter.”
“I have heard tales about it. Supposedly the grandmaster blacksmith of the Horde and his opposite number of the Alliance cooperated in forging it during the final days of the Grand Alliance. A truly magnificent blade by all accounts, but why should that have such an effect on the rogue?”
Glancing at the dark corner, the shaman leaned in closer and lowered his voice even more.
“My guess would be that the blade is cursed, you know as well as I do that the old dragons are master spellcasters. It would probably be a small thing to put an evil hex on a weapon.”
At this, Logosh couldn’t but agree.
“I can tell you a few more things, but we should probably do it some other place, fancy a stroll in the rain?”
Downing the last of the beer, Logosh stood up and nodded.


From the corner, Shinnjin watched the two noisy ones leave and settled back, relaxing a bit.
She sighed, had they stayed much longer she would have had an excuse for some more blood-spilling, a prospect that had been looking more and more tempting every day since the fateful meeting in Dustwallow.
Drawing Vis’kag from it’s scabbard, she studied the magnificent blade and for the hundredth time tried to remember how it had been before acquiring it.
“Ya didn’ choose a good vessel dat nite metinks my beloved. But I’ll do what needs ta be done…”
A sudden flash of blue in her eyes was all that anyone would have noticed had they been close enough to see inside the hood.
“Yes, you will…” Said the slightly metallic voice of Shinnjin.

[skrallik]

With rain dripping from his brow and clothes drenched with water, slowly taking the place of blood spilled hours ealier, an Orc dismounts from his loyal wolf. He looks at his pet, Kritz, and remembers the promise he had given..

"Come, my friend. Inside you will have food and rest. You have done well today."

Kritz starts to follow towards the Tavern.

The door of the tavern swings open, letting in the thuds sound of rain on sodden wood. A strong gale passes the Orc, allowing the door to slam open further, sending an echo through the silent bar as it crashes against the wall.

The Orc enters the tavern and closes the door behind him, but moves no futher. Kritz strolls towards the fire with a glare in his eyes as he surveys the room, stopping at the fire, remaining still for just a moment. A quick glance towards his Orc friend, as if to indicate the room is safe, and then sits, staring at the fire, content.

The Orc, seeing approval from his trusted friend, walks into the bar. Hanging what armour he can on the wall, and placing his Weapons nearby, he wanders in and orders some food for Kritz and a strong drink for himself.

After drinking his strong drink in one gulp, he orders two more, and sets his mind to carry out the job he had given himself. The Orc walks slowly to the darkest part of the tavern, knowing, no .. hoping he will find Shinnjin.

The Orc finds a familiar figure sat alone, in the dark, silent. He is aware that he has been watched from the moment he walked in the door, but is not deterred from his task. Kritz no longer looks towards the fire and intently watches his orc friend as he sits at the table, opposite the dark figure. He lets out a deep long growl, letting his friend know he is there.

The Orc sits down, opposite the figure who now stares at him with eyes so dark, so powerful. the orc makes a small movement towards Kritz to say tell him to remain by the fire, and that he will be ok. Seeing Kritz sit again by the fire, he places his drink in front of him, and slides one, only inches, towards his company.

Sat in the dark, he remains staring into the eyes of his old friend, but does not yet see Shinnjin. The Orc sits in silence, his eyes never leaving those of the troll opposite. One hand on his drink, and the other by his side, in reach of the dagger he prays he will not need.

He knows he can not, must not, be the first to speak. When Shinnjin retuns, all will be well for a while at least. But for now, to avoid a path he does not wish to travel, he must remain silent.

[shinnjin]

The light in the cave stopped flashing as the lantern rolled to a stop against the wall.
The scenery it illuminated was grotesque; mutilated corpses lay everywhere, blood and ichor painted disturbing pictures on the walls and ceiling.
All had fallen, not even the mighty High Warlords, or the dominating person of the Lady of Justice had been able to stand up against the power that inhabited the only being still standing
Dripping red, like some hellish demon, Vis’kag surveyed the cavern and let forth a roar in triumph, shattering the silence.
Taking a few steps, the vessel lowered itself onto its knees in front of one of the corpses.
The vessel was weak, but that served its purpose too, a stronger being might have resisted longer.
Vis’kag would have smiled had it possessed a mouth, at the anguish the vessel was feeling, looking at the dead face of its friend, knowing its own hands hand struck the mighty orc down.


Shinnjin looked in horror at the face of Skrallik, staring back at her through unseeing eyes already filming over with death.
The face slowly took on more life, the light coming back into the eyes as the cavern slowly transformed into the familiar settings of the tavern.
Heaving a sigh of relief, Shinnjin gratefully took the offered tankard and sipped a bit.
“Tank ya kindly mon. I needed dat.”
At hearing these words, Skrallik seemed to relax a bit, but Shinnjin noticed that he still kept his hand where she knew he had a knife.
“I was a bit worried there my friend, your episodes seem to come more frequent lately. And with you getting stronger, I am not sure how much longer I can best you without doing you serious harm.”
Shivering despite the warmth or the room, Shinny reached out to reassure herself that he was still there and wasn’t surprised as the orc flinched a bit from her touch.
“Sorry, I just wanted ta make sure… Neva’ mind, ‘twas a bad dream…”
“What happened? You have never told me about these dreams of yours, but from the look of it, they’re quite horrible.”
A slow smirk spread over Skrallik’s features.
“Did Tardon find a way to clone himself and lead an army of pink mages across Alterac Valley?”
Giggling slightly at the prospect, Shinny shook her head.
“Naw mon, but not sure dat wouldn’t be worse den what I saw… Da cavern… ‘twas…”
She stopped mid-sentence.
She couldn’t say it, she couldn’t explain, the words kept trying to choke her.
Taking a long draught from her drink, Shinny stood up.
“Anyway, isn’ it about time ta ‘ead to da ruins? I’s still got a score ta settle wit dat overgrown wasp in dere.”
Not waiting for an answer, she started for the door.
Passing Kritz, she glanced at his powerfully muscled form.
He had been the first one to notice the change, even before she herself had started to feel it.
As always of late, he let loose a low rumbling growl as she passed.
This time however, Vis’kag let its presence known, and at the flash of pure blood-thirst, the giant cat tapered of into a kitten-like whine of fear and sat up.
“You shouldn’t let your pet walk so freely all the time, he might have an… Accident…”
With these words, Vis’kag led the vessel out into the rain, letting it soak into her skin in anticipation of the carnage that lay ahead.

[shinnjin]

Snarling, Shinnjin pulled up her bow and let loose one arrow, taking the fleeing troll in the back.
He stumbled and fell, the arrow taking the last spark of life from his body.
Slinging the box back over her shoulder, the vessel surveyed the scene, one of them was still alive.
Walking slowly towards where he lay panting, she savoured the pain and fear in his eyes, drinking it in like sweet nectar.
As she came to stand over him, he started to whine, like a cringing dog.
“Please mon… We done nothin’, ya don’ have tat a do dis…”
He coughed, a tendril of blood leaking from the side of his mouth.
He was dying, but not fast enough.
The vessel drew out the sword, had it had a mouth it would have been grinning with glee.
The troll tried to crawl away, but the wounds he had suffered had left both his legs and his right arm all but useless.
Taking no heed of his pleading Shinnjin raised the sword and thrust it through his heart.
He gave a last cough, then fell limp to the forest floor.
It was done, all five of them were dead, she raised her face and howled with the ecstasy of the slaughter.
It had been so easy, coming out of hiding she had fallen on them like an avalanche.
They had never stood a chance…
Wiping the blood from the sword, she listened to its entrancing song in her head, wondering why she had ever tried to resist it, this was life.
Sheathing Vis’kag once more, she set out looking for more victims to sate her bloodlust, never noticing the eyes that had followed her every move since she landed in Grom’gol.
The watcher silently moved out into the open and looked at the corpses critically.
“The instincts are right, but she could do with some more style, although she does get the job done. Hakkar will be pleased.” The watcher thought before ghosting after Shinnjin, into the deepening jungle night.

[shinnjin]

Leaning on his staff for support, Logosh looked at the shaman.
“So, it is a possessed blade then?”
The tauren grunted and freed his mace from what, until recently, had been the head of a human.
“Wish it were that simple, but we’ve had warlocks go over it minutely, which wasn’t easy, most of the people who get that close to the blade don’t walk away…
And before you ask, no, it’s not cursed either.”
They wandered off again in search of more guards, one of them had to have the orders on them.
“Then what is it? Something is seriously wrong, even I can see that. The sense I got just by looking at that troll was… Hatred… A remorseless bloodthirst that I have never felt the likes of.”
The shaman shrugged his massive shoulders.
“Your guess is as good as mine, but I agree about the bloodthirst, gives me the creeps just looking at her sitting there, and I’ve seen her use it too..”
He shuddered visibly.
“I have not yet had the pleasure, what is it like?”
The shaman glanced at the priest.
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a pleasure… Sure, her foes go down like wheat before a scythe, but the sheer violence is… Frightening.
She takes absolutely no pity upon anything, or anyone. Even the mortally wounded pleading for their lives gets no respite, unless you call a quick thrust through the heart a blessing.”
Nodding slowly Logosh pondered this.
“Well, it might be that she doesn’t want them to suffer. Leaving a mortally wounded foe on the field to bleed to death could be considered cruel.”
“Concidering the state in which she leaves the corpses, I’d say that pity is the furthest thing from her mind, I’ve seen some of those slain by her up close… d**n near decapitated, or at the least missing a limb.”
Shivering slightly in the rain, Logosh spotted another patrol up ahead.
“Well, what do you suggest we do then?” He said as he readied himself for the upcoming fight.
Drawing the two-handed mace from it place on his back, the shaman replied.
“She’s in a league far above us, so I suggest we worry about the things we can do something about, like these humans. Wanna bet the one with the feathers in his cap has the orders?”
Logosh grinned
“You have a bet my massive companion, I would wager the one in the dress to be the likely carrier.
A tankard of beer and a lamb-chop to the winner?”
Charging the unsuspecting humans the tauren yelled back over his shoulder.
“You’re on!”