Intermission: The Shattering: The Provenance of Specie

I snapped my wrist, casually flicking the blood from my sword on the still-twitching corpse of the last Twilight cultist. Well, the last one I had killed, anyway. I let a savage grin split my face as I turned my attention to the last living Twilight in the manor.

Backed against the wall, I’m pretty sure he wanted nothing more than to be able to fade through the walls and be anywhere but at the scene of my latest bloodbath. Not that I cared to ask. I was too busy enjoying myself. I paused long enough to clean my swords on the robes of the dead, keeping my eyes fixed on the trembling cultist. Strange how they didn’t seem nearly as threatening when they were shitting themselves in fear. Sheathing my swords, I drew one of my fighting knives and moved purposefully toward the last cultist.

“Don’t worry,” I said brightly, making sure my knife shone and flashed in the candlelight, “You get to live, though I can’t promise how much longer you’ll want to…”

Perhaps I should back up a bit.

* * *

The rusted screech of the cell door’s hinges was every bit as jarring as the first time I’d heard them two years ago. It’s funny, really, the kinds of things you can get used to and the things that never really settle. Two years in the Vault can make you get used to a lot of things.

Dammit, I’ve gotten ahead of myself. I’m afraid I’ll have to beg a bit of patience, as I’m still readjusting. Time passes strangely when you have no point of reference. Forgive me if I seem to jump around a bit. Keeping everything straight in my head is difficult.

* * *

My investigation into the Twilight’s Hammer had been almost laughably easy. It was almost as if they had wanted SI:7 infiltrating their little club. It was hardly a challenge to learn their half-baked plan to “bring Stormwind to its knees.” Said plan largely consisted of trapping an angry elemental in a magical time bomb and scattering them all over the city. To say the time bombs were hidden was being incredibly generous and stretching the meaning of hidden almost to the breaking point. Defusing them and releasing the elemental was even easier. As plans go, I’ve seen better. A better plan would have been to tie up Stormwind’s defenders in finding and defusing the devices, to distract from the real attack elsewhere. Not so much the case here, though. Just goes to show that intelligence is not a prime requisite for cult members and even less for their planners, apparently. Of course, when the bulk of your members are the most hopeless of the underclasses, you can’t expect much upstairs. These days, any idiot with a dull knife and an arm to swing it can make a decent living as an adventurer. If they aren’t smart enough to even do that, well…yeah.

Still, the revelation that it was the Twilight’s Hammer behind the recent troubles pretty much made it open season on the culties, which, really, was like my birthday, wrapped in Winter’s Veil and topped with Brewfest.

After what I’d suffered at the hands of the Twlights six years, to say that I had a grudge against them was probably the understatement of the century, possibly the millennium. I hunted and killed culties whenever I could like it was a career. Until now, however, I had largely only been allowed to go after the culties out in the wilds in the various ruins and fastnesses they claimed and worshipped the Old Gods in. With open season declared, I figured that pretty much gave me carte blanche to kill them anywhere I could find them, to include within the confines of my beloved Stormwind City, previously off limits.

This meant that the illustrious Lord Arkenhill was now a very, very viable target.

After Lady Katrana Prestor had been unmasked as the dragon Onyxia, and was subsequently killed by King Varian Wrynn, Lord Arkenhill had lost most of the favour he had been able to curry at court. Apparently, the mad scramble of Lady Prestor’s sycophants distancing themselves from her resembled nothing so much as roaches scattering before the lighting of a candle. Very few, Lord Arkenhill included, clung together, fervently denying that Lady Prestor and the dragon Onyxia were one and the same. It didn’t help his cause any that rumours of his affiliation with everyone’s favourite little doomsday cult persisted until even today; rumours that I’m fairly certain were the work of Shaw’s less visible agents like my erstwhile protégé, Shannon.

So, open season on my favourite enemies of the state plus a years-old grudge multiplied by a hint of psychopathic rage equaled a recipe for a bloodbath. But I’m getting ahead of myself again.

Now, in retrospect, perhaps waging a purely malicious campaign of psychological warfare on Arkenhill for the last five years may have been a mistake. While I had been forbidden from directly harming the good lord himself, nothing, and more specifically no one, had said anything about periodic reminders that I was still out there, still alive and, most importantly, still murderously angry.

Every few months, I’d pop by and see the latest in his improved security, most of which consisted of more and bigger guards. I’d leave a little present for him, usually something small and meaningful like a dagger sunk into his desk and soaking in a pool of poison or the stylized wind serpent device that was my emblem drawn prominently in the blood of one of his horses or other livestock. You’d think that after five years of this he would have figured out that I couldn’t actually touch him. Then again, if he was actually smart enough to have figured that much out, he would have been smart enough to get himself as far away from the Twilight’s Hammer as possible.

For my part, it amused me to leave one of my little presents and then watch his guards and staff scramble around like ants from a kicked over hill trying to figure out where the hole in the security was this time.

Yes, it was petty and stupid but it was also vastly satisfying to my admittedly skewed moral compass. Ah, good times…

Where was I? Oh, right…

It was a particularly good night for wreaking some havoc. The moon was a bare sliver dodging in and out of thick, dark clouds that promised a good, heavy rain later. The farmers would be happy for it, but I doubted anyone else would. The impending raid and late hour had the streets deserted, especially in the wealthy quarter. I lurked in the shadows of a doorway about a block and a half from the main gate to Arkenhill’s estate. My investment into a pair of aether goggles was already paying off, allowing me to see quite clearly, despite the darkness of the night and showing me the new magical reinforcements Arkenhill had added to his walls. The wall itself had been raised, topping a little over eight feet now, unless my guess was off. It was now topped in sharp iron spikes angled in several different directions to prevent scaling. That was a pretty standard feature these days and was probably combined with the top of the wall being lined with shattered glass and shards of metal to make it even more painful for anyone foolish enough to try to get over by brute force. Assuming they survived the batteries of spells set to trigger if anyone actually reached the top, the spells glowing bright blue in the goggles’ enchanted lenses.

The gate itself was quite impressive, even without the dark, writhing energy waiting to be triggered by the wrong set of hands. The ironwork was all appropriately scary looking, with lots of sharp pointy bits and orcish curlicues that seemed to be very popular these days. The whole deal was secured with a very serious-looking lock that would probably take me whole minutes to pick, assuming the spells didn’t fry my eyeballs first. Appropriate to such a serious-looking gate, a pair of guards was studiously upholding the grand tradition of gate guards everywhere by looking both sullen and superior at the same time to anyone and everyone within sight of the entrance.

When presented with a seemingly impenetrable area, the wise assassin looks for the weakest point and applies pressure there to make his entrance. More often than not, that weak point is the human element; those parts of security that have to be overseen by a living, breathing person, like a gate guard. Most guards, gate guards especially, are only there for the steady paycheck rather than any kind of great sense of loyalty to their employer. Guard duty is usually pretty low-risk work since the main purpose of guards it to warn people away from causing trouble. You don’t usually encounter any kind of personal loyalty issues until you get a little higher up the food chain, like the guard captain or head of the household staff. The two near-archetypal examples of guardhood standing at Arkenhill’s gate were the kind of guys that seemed to exist for no other purpose than to fill the role of stereotypical guards.

After all, the archetype has to come from somewhere.

The one on the right was a thick-set brute with a lantern jaw and beetling brows under his polished steel cap. One look in his porcine eyes was all it took to see that deep, critical thought was something to be regarded with suspicion and avoided whenever possible. He’d probably been a corporal in the Army, simply by virtue of not knowing how to disobey an order but lacking the malicious cunning required to rise to a sergeant’s baton. He isn’t stupid, he just prefers being told what to do and think.

The guard on the left, by contrast, was as lean as a refugee and slouched against the wall with all the casual menace of a starving wolf. If the first guard was the epitome of duty and obedience, his partner was the personification of the self-interested thug who wouldn’t piss to put out a fire unless he was getting paid. Like the larger guard, this one had probably also been in the Army, but not on any front-line unit if he could help it and had all the markings of a nightmare of a platoon sergeant. He’d probably found work as a guard simply because it allowed him to legally fleece passersby and randomly beat and otherwise harm whomever he took to mind.

Naturally, this was the guard I approached.

I was eager to get to work, so I figured honesty would be the best approach. I walked up smiling with my hands spread wide and well away from my weapons.

Credit to the larger guard, he reacted well, snapping his spear down at my chest and growling rather menacingly, “That’s close enough, lad, what business d’you have wit’ th’ Lord Arkenhill at this time o’ night?”

I let him keep the spear pointed at me and addressed his partner, who had barely just bothered to look up from cleaning his nails with the point of his knife. His speak leaned against the wall next to him, but I had no doubts it could be in his hand and in the blink of an eye.

“I mean to kill him. Violently. Painfully, if time permits,” I said pleasantly, giving my most winning smile.

“That so?” the second guard drawled, making a bit of a show of putting his knife away and placing a restraining hand on his partner’s arm. I could see the greedy wheels already turning behind his vulpine leer. He knew I had an angle here and was going to try to exploit it for all he could.

“Exactly so,” I said, flourishing a bit of sleight of hand that dropped two fifty-crown coins into each hand. I made sure they both could clearly see Adamant Wrynn’s profile on the coins, “More to the point, I’m willing to pay each of you a hundred crowns to open the gate and walk away.”

The lean guard’s eyes lit up like child who’d just gotten a new toy. It seemed I had correctly judged his sense of avarice. His eyes never left the coins as he spoke, “Reckon us letting you through is worth a spot more than that, I’d say,” he smirked and met my eyes, “We got a duty, yeah?”

I’d expected him to press for more and made the coins disappear just as quickly as they had appeared, to be replaced with a rather stout fighting knife, “Yes, it would. About eight inches of straight silver, I’d say.”

The larger guard’s spear twitched forward, dimpling my leathers before the lean guard pressed a little more firmly on his arm. The lean guard took several seconds to very obviously size me up. He knew I had at least two hundred crowns on me and I could see he was gauging if I might be carrying more and if he and his partner might be able to take me without getting hurt in the process. It’s not that I couldn’t have killed the both of them in a matter of seconds, but rather that I had no issue with them so there was no reason to harm them. A couple hundred gold was much better than a pair of pointless murders in my eyes.

He didn’t seem to care much for their chances and rolled his shoulders in a lazy shrug, “Yeh, awwright. A hundred crowns each, then.” I could tell it was an effort for him to put his hand out with calculated disinterest, “Cash before service, though, eh?”

There was a rumble from behind the skinny guard that it took me a moment to realize was speech, “I ain’t goin’” the bruiser grumbled, finally adding to the conversation. He set his speak more firmly at my chest. I could actually feel the point through my chest piece now. It was very sharp. I sighed inwardly; I’d been afraid of this.

I kept calm and continued smiling, though it was a tad tighter around the edges. The skinny guard looked at his partner as if he’d just sprouted a second head.

“Now, see here, Greg,” his voice was tightly controlled and it was very likely all he could do to keep from spittle-shrieking, “This very nice man is offering us a nice deal. We’d be fools not to take it,” he said, casting a suddenly nervous smile my way in an attempt to be reassuring. I could virtually see his mental image of gold coins flying away from his bleeding corpse on little golden wings.

“Don’t seem right, though, do it?” the brute of a guard rumbled, “Lord Arkenhill pays us good coin to guard this here gate.”

I smiled helpfully, edging slightly away from the point of the spear, “If it helps, after tonight, there won’t be a Lord Arkenhill anymore, so you’ll be out of a job anyway.” The spear point tracked my movement, though a slightly less surely. I was apparently getting through to him but at this rate the Titans would return before I got inside.

Greg looked to the skinny guard, his great brows forming a single entity in confusion. All this thinking made it difficult to just do his job. He said, “I dunno, Ray. Molly’ll have my hide if I lose this job. She said she would. I don’t like when Molly’s mad at me. She ain’t nice when she’s mad,” his tone was the same used by married men the world over when their single friends are trying to get them to do something colossally stupid.

Ray’s nervous smile shored up a bit, this was familiar territory. He wanted his hundred crowns and he wanted them badly. Of course, I never said they both had to agree to get the money. If Ray wanted to take the money and Greg didn’t, I didn’t have a problem letting Ray walk. I didn’t want to kill Greg if I didn’t have to, though. Still, I guess guys like me have a bit of a reputation for leaving a trail of bodies.

“What’s gonna piss Molly off more, Greg, you looking for work or you being dead?” Quite a lot of good sense in Ray, even if it did come from a hyper-developed sense of self-preservation. “Besides, you’ll have a hundred crowns to give her and, as a bonus, you won’t be dead. You know she’ll like that.” He glanced at me again and gave me that weasel’s smile.

For my part, I just stood there smiling pleasantly and casually resting my hands on the pommels of my swords. Greg’s uncertainty had caused him to forget about his spear and its point was now resting on the cobblestones. I was in no rush and could wait for these two to figure out they wanted to be alive and get paid rather than dead and dutiful. A little extra time was worth it to spare a couple of mostly innocent lives.

Why, yes, I do enjoy being a walking contradiction. Thank you for noticing.

Greg was silent for a long time, his might brow furrowed in thought. It was pretty easy to see the wheels of his mind slowly grinding to the inevitable conclusion like a millwheel. He may not think fast, but he did get there eventually. At long last, he looked up again and focused on me, fixing me with an unexpectedly piercing look, “A hundred crowns and all I gotta do is walk away?”

“I’d prefer if you unlocked the gate first, but yes. One hundred crowns, free and clear. You don’t even have to report it to the tax man,” I nodded.

That seemed to be all he needed to hear. Greg nodded once and unlocked the gate, pushing it open enough for me to pass through. I handed him his coins before he could ask and did the same for Ray, stepping back and waiting for them to depart.

“It’s been a pleasure, gentlemen,” I said, cheerfully, “You’ll forgive me, though, if I hope we never meet again.”

I watched them walk away, just catching Greg telling Ray in no uncertain terms that Ray would be buying the pints that night. Ray’s protests were quickly quashed with a large, firm hand laid upon his skinny shoulder. I waited until they were out of sight and then slipped through the now-open gate and onto the manor grounds beyond. Much as I suspected, the walls and gate were reinforced and magically enhanced to prevent being scaled or forced, but properly opened with the key and all those very expensive security measures were about as much protection as tissue paper in the rain. Once inside, there was little more than a few guard patrols as security.

Ah, blessed be the overconfidence walls provide.

I spent another three hundred crowns to send six more guards on their way; seven if you count the one who thought his life was worth more than fifty easy crowns. Why give the guys at the gate so much more? Simple economics. I wanted something from them. Now that I was on the grounds, it was just a matter of avoiding needless bloodshed. There would be plenty of that soon enough.